Northwestern Cycling

The Gravel Metric

noreply@blogger.com (Bryan G) — Mon, 30 May 2011 16:17:00 +0000

The wind whips up, shifting yet again from a would be tailwind into a deadly headwind.

The rain picks up, pelting me in the face with hail-like raindrops. Perhaps it is hail, and I'm just too delirious to tell.

I turn yet again, ready to race another 5 mile stretch of gravel, riddled with potholes, mudpuddles, and the occasional dead animal.

Welcome to my Sunday in Hell.

When I first heard of the North Central Cyclery/Half Acre Cycling Gravel Metric, I was completely stoked. A chance to ride on some awesome gravel roads, ala the Strade Bianche in Italy? Awesomeness.

I knew I would have the perfect bike for the job. My road bike would do just fine, especially when equipped with the same tires used by many teams in Paris Roubaix - the Vittoria Pave Evo CG Tubular. I could only fit the 24c version on my bike, but I thought it would be more than enough.

The forecast for the day called for a 40% chance of thunderstorms. Psssh, thought I. That means nothing. The temperature was reasonably warm, the roads were dry, and I thought I could fly.

Turns out 40% is a pretty good chance. More on that later.

The ride started out with about 120 cyclists rolling out from the NCC shop in DeKalb. Well, at least we tried to rollout, until just half a block from the shop, when our progress was impeded by the longest freight train I have ever seen.

Great timing, guys.

Anyways, once we were able to get rolling, things went pretty smoothly. The pace was kept low for the rollout, which was nice, as it gave my legs a chance to warmup, and myself a chance to move up towards the front.

And a few turns and a stop sign later - all hell broke loose. We hit the gravel.

I managed to make it into the main break, a group of 10 or so riders. We were absolutely flying, with my sense of speed (I no longer use an actual computer) somewhere between "holy crap" and "insane". I used my better judgement and slipped quietly off the back of the group, knowing that my legs would likely not make it at that tempo for the entire ride. I found my way into a nice little group of 5 going only slightly slower than the leaders (I began kicking myself once I realized we were basically going the same pace - which had slowed down a bit).

We hit the first checkpoint, somewhere in Esmond, about 16 miles in. The checkpoint workers were quick, and I was able to roll through as they marked my wristband. Quickly back up to speed and into the group, we did the one thing that you don't want to do on a long ride - we took a wrong turn. It happened at an intersection where the road does a bit of a jog to the right. Instead of going mostly straight, we did a full turn to the right, and ended up about a mile out of our way.

Oops. (In hindsight, had we gone the way we were thinking, we would have been back on the actual route in no time.)

The group I was with decided to break up for no apparent reason, so I was left looking for a new group once I was back on the actual route. I got in with 3 other guys, 2 of whom were on 'cross bikes and the other on a mountain bike.

It was at this point that I noticed it getting darker. That could only mean one thing:

Rain. And lots of it.

I stopped preemptively to put on the rain jacket that I had stashed away in my saddle bag. I quickly caught back onto the other 3 just as it began raining.

Let me rephrase that: just as it began pouring.

It went from dry to torrential downpour instantly. Along with the rain came lightning, which seemed to strike on every side of us (and fairly close by). It was at this point that I was thankful to be riding behind a mountain biker, who, thanks to his higher bottom bracket and more upright position, was just ever so slightly taller than I.

If the GH were going to strike us with lightning, that guy would be first. See, mountain bikers do have a use in society.

Just as we passed the 32 mile point, we came across the second checkpoint. With my cuesheet now completely soaked (the rain jacket really wasn't doing much at this point), I was relying only on the stakes that the organizers had so graciously placed on the course. I asked the brave checkpoint workers which way, thinking that it would be down the gravel road to the right.

He pointed down a muddy ditch to the left.

Normally, I wouldn't have had too big of a problem with this, if I had been on my mountain bike or if I had this guy's bike. But, as I said earlier, I was on my road bike with 24c tires.

I managed to make it about 100 feet before falling over. Looks like I'm walking. To give you an indication of just how muddy this section was, have a look at this:

What the organizers were thinking by not telling us about this section, I haven't a clue. It probably would have been fine if it wasn't raining, but as it was, I had a nice 2 mile walk to think things over. My only thought was "The one benefit to carbon bikes in this situation is that they are extremely light to carry."

Eventually, we did get back on gravel, but only for a little bit. My Speedplay cleats, which normally are the greatest cleats in the world, had become jammed with mud, and I quickly gave up any hope of ever being able to clip in again. Mashing on top of the pedals it was.

Quickly, we came to an intersection that wasn't marked with a stake (which meant we were supposed to go straight). The other two directions had nice, smooth gravel roads to ride on. The way straight ahead said "Dead End: Dirt Road Ahead." I believe my reaction was somewhat akin to this:

More walking. Or was it? This road looked actually somewhat rideable, and to my disbelief, I was actually able to ride it in low gear.

Who'd thought that I'd ever need a 36x27 in the middle of flatland Illinios?!?

While the rain was doing a fairly decent job of keeping my bike clean, I was having a bit of mud buildup on my brake calipers (which didn't really matter, since I didn't need brakes to slow down). I thought it might be a good idea to try and wash the mud off by riding through a puddle.

The downside to puddles is that you can never tell if they are 1" deep and you can skim right through them, or if they are hiding a sudden dropoff. The one I tried to ride through: dropoff.

With my momentum lost, it was back to walking.

Fortunately, I had plenty of company at this point, having completely resigned any hope of ever riding fast again. We all walked along at the same point, until we came to this:

I'm not sure if this was normally a stream, but with all the sudden rain, the ride had suddenly turned into a game of Oregon Trail. With no option to caulk the wagon, take a ferry, or wait to see if conditions improve, we were forced to ford the "river". Even at the shallower upstream end, the water was still up to my bib shorts. I felt bad for the shorter riders, some of whom said it was up to their chests. Surprisingly, my legs actually felt warmer after going through, which I chalk up to them saying "Aw, screw this."

Soon after the river crossing, we came upon a set of railroad tracks. I turned to one of the women I was riding/walking with at the time, and said the following:

I want to stay on these tracks. They're flat, reasonably ridable, and I'm pretty sure DeKalb is that way.

She merely laughed at me, and we continued onwards, thankfully back on gravel, with all of the dirt sections behind us. (As it turns out, I wouldn't really have been right, as those particular tracks don't really go anywhere in the direction I was thinking.)

We came upon another right turn, and started to turn down it, only to discover a bunch of riders coming back the opposite way. We stopped to ask them if we were actually going the right way, and they replied that the third checkpoint was at the end of an out and back section. A 3 mile each way out and back section. While the thought of skipping it and pressing on was tempting, my desire to finish this whole damn ride won over.

Now, going back to what I said earlier about puddles: they can be kinda terrifying. So imagine the look on my face when I discovered that what once had been a road was now a puddle as deep as my hubs.

Yeah, it was a fun 6 miles.

The only saving grace of the whole section was the actual checkpoint. Despite the fact that it was now raining harder than ever, the checkpoint workers were miraculously still there, making sure our sorry butts weren't lying dead in a ditch somewhere. After checking in and attempting to get my wristband marked (even Sharpie doesn't work when it's wet), I noticed they had a case of Corona in the back.

"Yeah, you want one?" was their reply to the three of us standing there.

It wasn't so much a question of do I want one, it was more like how many would it take for me to keep riding. Knowing there were still a lot of riders behind us, my present group of three each took only one, toasted each other, and headed back down the road a bit to some random farmer's shed.

To whoever own's that shed: thank you. It provided a temporary bit of relief as I drank the most delicious cervasa I've ever had. I finished mine well ahead of the other two guys, and not wanting to be a litterbug, somehow found room in my back pockets for the glass bottle. With that, I headed back out through the road/lake, for the 20ish miles back to town.

It was a slog. When heading out of the barn, the wind was coming from the west, meaning that it would be a blissful tailwind for most of the way back. After getting done with the 3 mile out and back, the wind was coming out of the east. It was a strong headwind the entire way back.

I was virtually alone at this point. Another rider (on a 'cross bike) caught me after I took a nature break, and we exchanged words. But he never actually rode with me, instead dropping back about 100 meters or so, and staying there the entire time. I have no idea why, as this left both of us fighting the headwinds alone. But that's the way things go.

It was a bit of the blind leading the blind at this point. Perhaps the reason he dropped back was because he didn't know where to go. Then again, neither did I, as even my cue sheet that I had packing taped onto my top tube was largely illegible. To make matters worse, I had abandoned my glasses along time ago, figuring that the small gain in visability outweighed the downside of my horrendous vision. However, it lead me slowly rolling through every intersection, making damn well sure there wasn't a stake telling me to turn somewhere.

Finally, we were off the gravel, and much to my surprise, I found that my left cleat could clip in! After a bit of stuggling, I also got my right clipped in, and could now apply 0.0001% more power. This actually did come in handy, as there were a few sections where the paved roads no longer existed: soil from the adjacent fields had completely washed across, and torrents were sweeping more soil (and a few cyclists) into the ditch. Miraculously, I managed to stay upright for the entire ride, and eventually made it back to DeKalb, praising Hincapie for being alive and remembering to bring a change of clothes.

All in all, this was without a doubt the most epic thing I have ever done. 5:30 in pouring rain and lightning, about 2:30 more than I was hoping for (thinking the course was all gravel). Sure, I've done muddier races, longer riders, and harder events. But all of those were in fairly decent conditions (well, I was expecting the mud at least). Plus, all of those other rides I had an option to quit. The Gravel Metric was pure survival. While I could have probably eventually bummed a ride back somehow, my body wouldn't let me quit, instead saying "Eff it, we're going to do this." Would I do it again? Maybe. But definitely on a different bike, and definitely not if it looks like more than a 10% chance of rain.

And what raffle prize did I get for my efforts? A Park Tool bottle opener. Which is a bit fitting, considering all I wanted when I got done was a cold one (disclaimer: Yes, I am of age).

My EPIC Recovery/Return to riding

noreply@blogger.com (Nick Goossen) — Wed, 04 May 2011 02:01:00 +0000

Before I start, I'd like to give a big thanks to Chris, Courtney, Carl and everyone else that visited me while I was laid up. The named people are life savers for: realizing that I had been in an accident, temporarily patching me up, getting me to the hospital, and riding an hour and a half in an ambulance with me - things would have been a lot worse with out you guys.

As many of you know, I had a rather a traumatic accident over spring break which left five transverse processes (use the Wikipedia machine if you don’t know what these are) on the left side of my lumbar vertebrae fractured and some internal organ damage. I was hospitalized for three days and then released and given a back brace to wear for the next few weeks.

(Note the Northwestern Cycling socks)

The doctors said that it would be about 6-8 weeks before I could even start to think about riding a bike, and some time after that where I would be able to do anything serious.

But I’m THE ЯH!ИO.

I laugh at time lines, and several basic laws of physics/nature do not apply to me.

On Friday, I decided to restore my bicycle to it’s former glory, and then do a recalibration ride to get used to physical activity from 5 weeks of forced inactivity.

Saturday, I did a Century. Yes, that’s right. 100 MILES (actually 105). My longest ride ever by 21 miles. All the way to Highway 50 in Kenosha County, Wisconsin, and back. Only 5 weeks after my incident.

With the encouragement/help of Doug, I completed this “fat burner” ride, and still had several hours to spare in between returning home and going to guard the rock. Sadly, there are no pictures, as I am extremely un-photogenic in any light.

Doug and I met at 10am at Ravinia, and headed on a slightly meandering path northwards. He was riding his Scott Addict R3 with his brand new MADFIBER wheels (they are SICK), and I was using my trusty Trek 2.1. Traffic was light, and most drivers were nice (one guy gave us the finger, some wannabe suburban gangster in his mom’s SUV told us to get on the sidewalk, and one sedan ran a red light and almost clipped me – all in all a good ride).

(What would have occurred if that sedan got any closer)

The reason we called this an EPIC ride was three fold – foremost being that one of the riders involved was a recovering near-cripple and the other had only been on four outdoor rides this year, two was the distance covered, and three was the weather conditions. Those conditions ranged from sunny and calm to cloudy/drizzling with 20 MPH crosswinds. Somehow, I still managed to get a nice burn on my face, and a little around the whites of my eyes (yes, it’s possible to burn your eyes...). Don't let the little things scare you - the roads are perfect, scenery is pristine and the company makes it all the better.

That ride will be the start of hopefully many such (probably shorter distance) EPIC weekend rides from here on out. They are a great way to get to know your fellow riders, and frankly, riding a bike is (or at least should be) fun and non-stressful (damn cars).

Remember, if someone who fractured 5 spinal bones, suffered mild organ damage, and sat on his rather large/firm ass for 5 weeks straight can do these rides, so can you.

Keep an eye out for an email regarding the next EPIC ride - probably this upcoming Saturday.

Side note:
I'm probably not going to do many road races/crits this summer, but I'd like to make an effort to get out to the Northbrook velodrome and hopefully compete in the Allvoi cup. It would be awesome if we could get the Chicago-based riders to do track racing on a regular basis, and even be a force in the collegiate scene.

(The original hipster/track racer - Fausto Coppi)

Racing with the Pros

noreply@blogger.com (Bryan G) — Mon, 25 Oct 2010 03:10:00 +0000

It isn't often that, unless you are lucky enough and talented enough to have a Pro license, that you find yourself in a race lined up next to professional cyclists (events like the Grand Fondo excepted). So imagine by surprise when, in looking at the lineup for the Spooky Cross race in Irvine, CA, I found the following competitors:

Chris Horner: Team Radioshack member, 10th in the 2010 Tour de France GC, Winner of GC at the 2010 Veulta Cyclista al Pais Vasco
Sid Taberlay: 5x Australian national mountain biking champion
Brian Lopes: 4x UCI mountain biking world champion, 6x World Cup winner

And me, basically Schmucky the Clown.

What was I doing going up against these pros? In the SoCal Cyclocross series, there aren't very many Category 3 riders, or at least not enough to justify having a separate race. Rather than throwing us into the plethora of Cat 4 riders (who, as is the case across most of the country, seem to be multiplying every race), the race promoters decided it would be a better idea to have the 3s race against the Pro/1/2s.

Great. Just terrific.

So far this season, it hadn't really been a big deal. Sid was the only one of the three previously mentioned who actually raced the entire series, and while he absolutely dominated the field all the time, he was still respectful of other riders, knowing that we were out there turning ourselves inside out just as much as he was (or maybe not. Sid never seemed to look tired).

Fast forward to Spooky Cross:

(Image from 333f on Flickr)

Thats me in the blurry middle, right behind the Ritte rider. The race itself was awesome. Contrary to traditional SoCal weather, it had actually been raining most of the week prior to the race, which created my kind of course: muddy. Especially considering most Californians were not used to such conditions, I was at home. Add in the fact that the race started at 8 PM under the lights, and I had my dream 'cross course.

At the starting line, I took my traditional place towards the rear (even I realize I'm not actually that fast). Surprisingly, Horner was running a bit late, and actually lined up behind me. That's right, I was about to start in front of a Pro. Holy crap!

Since this was a Halloween-themed race, the rider next to me turned to me before the start, resulting in the following exchange:

Him: "Man, that guy has a really great Chris Horner costume."

Me: (turning to look at Horner) "I know! He should get some sort of prize for that!"

Chris looked directly at both of us and smiled. It was great. Fortunately, über 'cross promoter Dot Wong decided Chris should start at the front.

Chris: "But look at all these people who got here before me. It's only fair."

Dot: "Oh, come on."

Chris: "Alright . . ."

I've never see anyone be more modest about ripping everyone else's legs to shreds.

The race started fast, obviously, but I managed to keep to my strategy. The week prior, I had gone out very, very hard, and ended up bonking massively towards the end. This week, I wanted to ride comfortable hard: hard enough that I was pushing, but not so hard that I was going into the red. Fortunately, on this type of course, that proved to be a very fast strategy.

I was flying. I was sticking with riders who so far this season had been dropping me like a sack of potatoes. I was feeling great: my tire pressure was dialed in, my nutrition was dialed in, even the temperature was about perfect. With about 3 laps to go, the inevitable happened: I got lapped by Horner.

It happened in a sand section, which is always my notorious weak point. I was right on the wheel of my archrival, who had just spent a ton of energy bridging up to me. I heard shouts of "Go, Chris!" and knew I was about to get eaten alive. Chris was very respectful, just as I was to him. I purposely went wide on the corner (as that was actually a better line), and he cut inside to pass us with virtually no impediment. I shouted "Go, Chris!" as well, and to my surprise, he actually turned around and replied with "Thank you!". I may have blushed, honestly.

And then it happened. In a word: Hincapie.

With a lap and a half to go, I was making an off-camber corner from sandy soil onto tarmac. The corner had been slowly washing over with sand, which I didn't pay attention to until I hit the ground. The crash wasn't really bad, and at first I thought that nothing was wrong. I got up, and noticed my right shifter was slightly twisted, which again I didn't think was a problem. I did the upcoming run up, and tried to remount, only to steer directly into the caution tape lining the course. My bars were twisted about 15 degrees, and it took a bit of wrestling to get them back square. I tried to remount again, only to realize my chain had come off. This was a problem, as I am running a single ring with a chain guard in the front. How the chain managed to come off is beyond me (crashes do funny things), but I knew without an Allen wrench, I had no hope of sneaking the chain back on.

Dejected, I made it my goal to at least finish the darn race. So I did the only thing I could: I started running. That was until *kerCHUNK!* My now loose chain had managed to wrap itself around my cassette in ways I couldn't have even dreamed of. My rear wheel now no longer spun, and I was forced to get off the course to find the nearest USAC official, where I, reluctantly, had to DNF.

The only upside to this was that I got to see Chris win by about 20 seconds over Taberlay, who outsprinted Lopes. In the obligitory post race interview, Chris talked while drinking a beer, still his modest, casual self. It was so awesome to have a pro-caliber rider just chilling like the rest of us.

For those of you who have never tried cyclocross, I highly recommend it. It builds bike handling and tactical skills like nothing else. Or at least go out to a ChiCrossCup race and heckle people.

And last but not least: I will break this curse. One way or another.

Bike & Build - 90 mile warmup

noreply@blogger.com (Courtney) — Thu, 22 Jul 2010 01:17:00 +0000

Hello from the road! I am currently in Oklahoma - nearly halfway into my cross country ride from Boston to Santa Barbara with Bike & Build this summer. It has been fun, exhausting (mostly from leader duties, to say nothing of the biking), and generally awesome.

As we made our way out of the mountains and into the midwest, our days have been getting longer. A week ago or so was our first century day, followed by a 90 mile day in to Bloomington, IN (famously captured in Breaking Away).

And lo and behold, when we rolled into town there was a bike race happening a block away from our overnight host. Well, between peer pressure and my own secret desire to race my bike I decided to sign up for the Women’s Open. I had 90 miles under my belt already, but that just meant that I was really warmed up, right?

As they started call ups I realized that Becca Finley - of Marian University - was on the line. Oh crap, I thought, this is going to be really fast and I’m not quite sure how my legs are going to hold up. And fast it was. I was hanging on for the first 20 or so minutes until I unfortunately (or fortunately for my legs maybe) got caught behind a crash and lost contact with the peloton.

I spent the last half of the race with a two other riders, then by myself when they clearly didn’t want to work, then with two others that I bridged to. The racing, however, is not the interesting part. It was my fan base of 31 Bike & Builders who were cheering at the top of the incline with letters painted on their chests doing coordinated cheers and the wave and ridiculous things on every time I came through. The announcer took note of the mayhem and spent a couple laps talking about Bike & Build and how I had already biked 90 miles today.

I finished for 20th. Mehh. But it was maybe one of the most fun races I’ve done.

I will be sure to post more updates throughout the summer. Here is a list of fun/crazy/weird things that have happened so far:

-Epic rest stop involving minigolf, rootbeer, ice cream and a train ride through a field

-Given a warning by a sheriff for riding naked (see backwards chamois pic below)

-Free Chuckie Cheese tokens

-Free tickets to the City Museum in St. Louis (maybe the best playground ever!)

-Full on Thanksgiving Dinner in June

-Awesome generosity from our hosts and local restaurants. We have worked donation magic in nearly every town. Including free Chipotle in three different cities!

-So much ice cream!

-Ridiculous quad muscles. And tan lines (although considering that it's me, maybe they should be called burn lines).

And finally, I hate to end on a sad note, but yesterday Paige Hicks, one of the riders on a different Bike & Build route, died after a she was struck by a passing oversized truck. She was a trip leader and a current student at Brown University. This is the first death for Bike & Build and the community has come together in a big way to deal with this terrible tragedy. It is yet another reminder to all cyclist to be aware of their surrounding at all times. She was on the shoulder of the road, doing all the right things and yet this still occurred. Please keep her fellow riders and family in your thoughts.

Ride safe.

-Courtney

Bolivia.

noreply@blogger.com (Yannell Selman) — Mon, 19 Jul 2010 18:08:00 +0000

I arrived in Cochbamba, Bolivia about three weeks ago to do some study-abroad development work over the summer. Soonafter finding out that I would be spending six months of this year in South America, I started to worry about how possible it was to keep riding. A few months before leaving, I had learned that Cochabamba has a velodrome and had emailed with a few local cyclists about joining a club team, so I figured I could just start there and see what happened.

After two days, I went to the velodrome, which happens to be in the worst part of Cochabamba. The building itself was only half constructed and seemed sort of abandoned. After walking around the barbed-wire perimeter, I saw the silhouette of a guy walking in the shadows of the bleachers, so I called him over to open the pad-lock. He had one eye. I was alone and very much creeped out, but decided I should probably check it out anyways. The track itself was nice, and he said that sometimes people used it on the weekends. So I decided I´d go back on Sunday, probably with a few friends and pepper spray.

I also re-emailed my cyclist friend, and he said they all meet for drinks once a week at this one bar and that I could meet everyone if I went. After looking through some of his club-team pictures on his¨"Cyclist of Cochabamba" blog, I realized that his team was a masters 50+ all mens team that was the creepiest option yet. I gave up on cycling in Bolivia after that, and instead joined a gym that had spinning class every hour. That would have to suffice.

After about a week at the gym, I was walking through one of the main plazas when I saw two beautiful bikes. One was a BMC and the other a sea-green Bianchi, both with Ultegra shifters. A group of five 40 year-old-ish men were holding them, dressed in regular clothes, just chatting. I guessed it was my last chance to ask about cycling, and they seemed like they might be somewhat serious. After talking to them for a few minutes, I found out that they were on a club team that road mostly on the weekends, usually about 40 miles, sometimes through mountains. Again, it was all middle-age to older men, but they seemed nice enough. Once of them, nicknamed "Conejo¨(or "rabbit"), said he had several bikes that were my size, and the I could rent one from him for the time I was in Bolivia. Yay, things were looking up. He gave me a SCOTT bike, and it fit, and I liked it.

When I went to pick up the bike, Conejo asked me if I had ever heard of a velodrome. I mentioned that I had been on one in Chicago a few times, but never on a track bike. He told me I should take my roadbike to the velodrome that afternoon so I could maybe try track. It was more popular in Cochabamba, and much safer than riding on the city roads. Since I hadn´t been on a bike in about two weeks up until that point, I decided I could just show up and ride in circles and that would be better than nothing.

Once I got there, Conejo pulled me around for about 45 minutes at a pretty fast pace. The altitude was affecting me, but my legs were feeling strong. Once we finished, he led me over to meet the director of Cochabamba track cycling. The director asked me what experience I had and whether I´d be interested in track racing. They were having a race that day, and there was only one other girl signed up, and I could do it on my road bike. I figured it would be a good experience, so I signed up for two events: 500m sprint and a 3K individual pursuit. (Note: all of my track terminology is in Spanish, so if parts of this don´t make sense, that´s probably why.)

After the 500m event, I found out I came in only shortly behind the other girl. I was happy, since she specializes in track racing and I had a slow start. Then I did the individual pursuit and was happy to not have her pass me. Still, I lost to her in both events, as expected. I started messing around on a random track bike that belonged to the velodrome, and found that riding fixed gear bikes is pretty fun. While I was doing that, Conejo called me over. The director told me that this race was actually a qualifying race for Bolivia Track Nationals, and that I had qualified. Nationals was going to be the following weekend. I´d have to learn to ride a track bike, but if I did that I´d get a free Cochabamba kit and probably earn some points for the team. Obviously, I died.

I spent the next few days going to the velodrome after work and figuring out how to not fall on the track. By Tuesday I felt secure enough to do both events with the track bike, and told them Tuesday night I was in. I missed work Wednesday to train a little more. I woke up Thursday morning with my only hope being not to fall during the race.

I spent the morning napping and watching, since my events were in the afternoon. During our lunch break, I started warming up, feeling slow. At that point, nine of my friends showed up to cheer for me, and all of the sudden I started feeling some pressue. I kept wondering what I was doing at Bolivia´s Track Nationals, especially since I had gotten on my first track bike less than a week earlier, wasn´t Bolivian, and could barely pronounce my event names in Spanish. I felt especially out of place once the inauguration ceremonies began and I couldn´t sing the Bolivian national anthem nor recognize any of the provincial politicians that came out. Eventually, I decided it just was an experience and not a big deal. The race was running 3 hours late, but they finally called my first event, individual pursuit, and I went for it.

It was only nine laps, but it was the most exhausting 3K of my life. I´m not sure whether it was because my child-sized helmet was too small or because of the altitude, but I couldn´t breathe. After the first kilometer, I really didn´t think I would finish. Eventually I decided I couldn´t just get off the track at nationals, well, because it was nationals. I kept thinking I would either fall or finish. Finally, I finished.

Because of further race delays, they postponed my second event until the next morning. I couldn´t take another day off work, so I ended up just calling it a day.

Anyways, I met a bunch of locals, and had a lovely time. It was really random, but now I´m interested in track racing in the US. That was probably my first and last nationals experience in any country, but it was really fun, so I´m happy.

The Horrible Insanity of Moving

noreply@blogger.com (Bryan G) — Mon, 12 Jul 2010 23:22:00 +0000

Allow me to summarize the three biggest things that have happened to me so far this summer:

The Horribly Hilly Hundreds

First off, just a week after finishing finals, I put on a bit of a different cap.

Alright, well not just literally. I turned from being a rider and racer to being an organizer of the Toughest One-Day Challenge Ride in the Midwest. For those of you unfamiliar with the Horribly Hilly, the event (not a race) consists of 100k and 200k routes over some of the steepest, nastiest climbs that southwest Wisconsin has to offer, featuring 5,700 and 10,700 feet of vertical elevation gain, respectively. Five years ago, with the ride having already sold out its 1300 slots, I stepped into the role of an organizer, being a rest stop captain.

Let me tell you: that sucked. Seriously consider your sanity before taking on a similar job.

Four years ago, I was actually planning to ride the darn thing, but before I could sign up, I got roped into being Route Commander, meaning that I was in charge of making sure the routes were not under construction, marking the courses ahead of time, and coordinating SAG vehicles on ride day, among many other tasks. I must have been crazy. I still think I'm crazy.

But four years on, I'm still doing the same job, and loving every minute of it.

Becoming an organizer is a different experience. It allows you to see all the behind-the-scenes goings-on that it takes to put on a bicycle ride/race. It really gives you an appreciation for the volunteers at any of these events, without which, our racing would not be possible. It allows you to lose a significant amount of sleep (in the years I've been doing this, I have stayed up for periods of 44 and 39 hours straight).

But most of all, it allows you to meet new people. My interest in HAM radio is a direct result of the HHH, and I couldn't be more thankful for that experience. Electronics geekery aside, I highly recommend that everyone finds at least one event to volunteer and give back at. It is highly worth it.

The Insane Terrain Challenge

The second major event put on by the Viking Biking Club (which explains the horns in the first photo) is the Insane Terrain Challenge. Not satified with only 10,700 feet of climbing in 124 miles, the designer of the Horribly Hilly set out to create a route with at least 100 feet of climbing per mile.

With the Insane Terrain, he succeeded.

My involvement with the HHH punched my free ticket to ride the ITC. I learned this on Thursday before the event, meaning I had two days to prepare for the 125k, 7,800 ft epic.

Thursday night, I decided to go and test my fitness on my favorite hill for repeats. It's been a few years since I've done repeats on it, but a few years ago, while I still had my fitness from being a ski racer, I would do 5 x 5 min intervals, which would take me to the top of the hill, and be hard as hell.

Thursday, I did 5 * 3:45. I think I'm going to need a bigger hill.

With the reassurance that I was actually on form, I started out last Saturday at 6:30 AM. I soon found out there is one thing in any ride that I absolutely cannot stand:

Big guys who can climb.

It upsets the natural order of things! Skinny guys are climbers, big guys are sprinters (or just guys like Alphonse in the new Lance commercials), and guys in between are just wankers at both. Everybody knows that! That's exactly the reason I don't typically go for sprints, and you don't see Clydesdales winning mountain stages.

But this guy was just unbelievable.

First off, he could just waste me on the downhills, which was to be expected, as he had a bit of an advantage in potential energy. We didn't actually ride together until after the last water stop, when I stopped to refill a bottle knowing that it was going to be freakin' hot, and he didn't. We got into a pattern of him getting away on the downhill, me catching back up halfway up the next climb, and riding together up the rest of the climb and on the few flatter sections of the course. This continued until I think 3 major climbs to go, when something amazing happened.

The guy dropped me. Flat out dropped me.

I was dropped on a climb by a Giant-factory-team-kit wearing Clydesdale. WTH?

I wasn't even feeling bad. The entire ride so far had gone great. Moving in a pack of mostly fast 200k riders, we covered 19.5 miles in the first hour (with several big climbs included in that stretch). I was one of the first few 125k riders, and up until meeting with this guy, I was pretty much alone after the 125/200k split, with not so much as another rider, car, or even a farm in sight. We were in the middle of nowhere, and it was very peaceful. I felt like I was on a long, solo breakaway.

Until Mr. Giant (the bikes, not the rider's physique) ruined it.

I still managed a decent time (despite this not being a race) of 5 hours, which could have been a bit better had I not been suffering on the final climb up Mounds Park Road (Nats riders - that was the last climb you did). Somehow, I made it to the top, and someone took a sweet shot of me trying to post up in my polka-dots before nearly falling over due to going 6 mph. Alas, I have yet to find said shot, but you can be assured it was full of awesomeness - just for the Womens.

Moving

If you haven't figured out the title of this rather lengthy post by now, each word refers to one of three events. Which means the third event is an upcoming move.

That's right. In about a month and half, I'm packing up my stuff, and moving here.

Sylmar, CA (click on image to hugeify).

There are two things I immediately notice about where I'll be living:

1) It'll be hotter than bejesus.

2) Mountains!

The reason I'm moving out there is a co-op position with St. Jude Medical. It's a 6 month position, meaning it will basically take up Fall and Winter quarters before spitting me out for my final quarter at NU.

While I'm saddened that this won't give me a chance to see Northwestern's fledgling mountain bike team succeed (other than at Michigan Tech), the opportunity to come directly into Spring Break as a lean(er), mean racing machine makes it totally worthwhile. I'll have to trade the ChiCrossCup for the SoCal Cross series, the Velodynes for actually riding outside, and Walker Brothers Rides for . . . well, nothing compares to the Walker Bros. rides. Maybe surfing. I'm stoked on getting to surf again.

Shaka!

The Great Egyptian Omnium

noreply@blogger.com (ScottR) — Mon, 12 Jul 2010 20:34:00 +0000

This was originally posted to my blog, http://prowanker.blogspot.com/

With Lance crashing three times in a single TdF stage and Interpol hot on his case, it’s easy to get caught up in the negativity. Between the doping, cancelled races, folding teams, bickering riders, and charisma-less stars,the sport has certainly seen better days.

The “Clinic” section of Cyclingnews.com Forums may be thriving, but cycling isn’t—not when Riccardo Ricco is still winning stage races.

Add to that my declining form and a crash rate that has smashed my Wankability Index to 56, and it’s easy to become disillusioned.

But then, cycling surprises. Like Lance in 1999, it comes smashing out of memory and into our hearts.

I may vomit when an unabashed doper receives a call-up at ToAD, but I also cannot help but thanking people like Chad Briggs and Gary Dahmer for their generous support.

As an Abitibi veteran, I’m used to sleeping in weird places with strange things. I’ve fallen off of desks and on to aero helmets, insisted on hugging handlebars to sleep, and have shared a bed with more than three people.

Naturally then, waking up on a race weekend to a breakfast of peach covered cinnamon french toast in bed was startling.

But the most startling part of the entire weekend was just how things came together. A great race promoter—Chad Briggs—made life easy for me and my cycling friends from Lindenwood.

First offering us his floor and then arranging accommodations at the Davie School Bed and Breakfast through Gary, he made sure we were more than well taken care of.

And then he found some of the coolest roads to race on in Illinois. Between sharp rollers, long climbs, smooth and safe descents, and winding roads, he put together one of the most enjoyable road racing courses I’ve ever ridden. In addition, he put on a painfully tough and technical TT and a genuine downtown crit.

Yes, the fields were small, the drive was long, and the payout was not SuperWeek sized. But in years to come, I hope to see more people make the drive. Between the great courses and dedication of the promoters and sponsors, the Great Egyptian will only grow and continue to impress.

I know I'll be back.

A state championship in memory of a great champion

noreply@blogger.com (ScottR) — Tue, 29 Jun 2010 03:13:00 +0000

Everyone who dreams of upgrading from the 3s has his own reasoning. Some aspire to avoid the two-headed Burnham and xXx hydra. Others upgrade to brag. And others yet upgrade to kickstart the long and tumultuous road to the professional ranks

My reasoning was a bit different. I wanted to be a 2 so I could race with Will Nowak (Verizon u25 p/b ABD). Three denials later, I’m here. And now he’s gone.

Racing with a champion—a Will—is an experience. In racing and the storm that surounds competition, you realize people are unique. Each reacts in his own way. Some under pressure crack, others become diamonds.

Will never cracked. But he wouldn’t want to be called a diamond. Simply, he was a racer who cared about his team more than himself and raced with a ferocity and hunger that only the SpiderMonkey (Ben Damhoff) could rival.

But he has gone and left us—something I learned Sunday when I failed to be him.

Following a painful and informative Dairyland series, I ventured home with a partial Pro Wanker North hit squad to Peoria for the IL Crit Championships. With the high-speed racing in my legs and Chazz (IsCorp/Pro Wanker) on my wheel, I was confident that victory was possible.

So I entered the race with some hubris, but I had teammates and intended to play my cards well—test the field with an early break, cover some moves, try to get into the break and leadout Chazz if the field remained together.

That was the plan. The reality was rather different. Will would not have been proud.

When I would ask him—after each collegiate race—why he went with every move, was always on the front, and raced so darn dumb, he’d say, “I don’t ever want to miss the break.” I never understood his logic. Clearly, one can distinguish dangerous from non-threatening breaks!

Alas, I was wrong. When the move went in Peoria, I didn’t react. In fact, I don't know when or how it went. All I remember is following Hogan Sills’ (Verizon u25 p/b ABD) wheel one moment and the next not knowing where he was.

Yeah, we mopped up the primes and sorta won the bunch kick, but we lost the race. In my first race as a 2 on IL soil, I thought I’d do Will’s legacy well. I didn’t.

But there is a season to finish and a man in Connecticut to make proud. It’s time I get to it and show GH what’s what.

Fox River Grove (reposted from verizoncyclingteam.com)

noreply@blogger.com (Will Nowak) — Mon, 17 May 2010 14:23:00 +0000

Photos

Although 86 guys showed up for Saturday’s Monsters of the Midway, apparently some Chicagoland racers were scared away by Sunday’s tough Fox River Grove race near a ski jump hill. Only 30 guys showed up to race Fox River Grove today, and since we had a nearly full squad the onus was on us to win. [The notable absentee was birthday boy Hogan Sills.]

With only 45 minutes of racing, Brian Dziewa of ABD lit it up from the gun and people were already going out the back. I rode pretty conservatively the first couple of laps, waiting for more and more people to fall off the pace. I was also feeling my efforts from the day before- mainly attacking all race but also the 50 mile round trip commute down to Hyde Park from Evanston.

Fortunately, as more riders went out the back my legs came around somewhat. By about halfway through the contest it was down to Freund, Sherer, myself plus Bryan McVey (Recycling) and some strong XXX dude [Dave Moyer], so we had pretty good odds. I was pretty confident that Mike would have the race locked up if we all went to the line together, but why risk it? The three of us started trading attacks and Ryan made a good dig with 3 or 4 laps to go that stuck for a while. However, a strong move by the XXX rider on the climb brought Ryan back so I hit out hard again. I was able to hold everyone off for the last two laps to win solo. Mike cleaned up 2nd behind for a nice Verizon 1-2.

Hopefully, this race was a sign of things to come with big races at Champaign and then Memorial Day coming up.

A huge thanks to our sponsors as my Madone felt really great on both the climb and descent today, and also thanks to everyone who was out there cheering for us on on the climb.

Will

Great work to the rest of the NU riders out there. Ian "Too Pro" Murray completed his sweep of the weekend, winning his sprint by a huge margin (can you say, "time gap"?). Bryan and Andy looked strong on the climb as well. Axie battled hard for fourth in the women's open, and I hear Dane and Tommy and Eric (on his hot new Felt AR bike) did a great job in the 5's, though I got there too late to see it. And everybody was kind enough to stick around to cheer for me on the hill after their races were over- I appreciated the encouragement. So thanks, and let's keep representing NU cycling well as the summer continues!

The Track Laboratory

noreply@blogger.com (Ian) — Fri, 14 May 2010 08:55:00 +0000

Tonight was opening night at the Northbrook Velodrome and reminded me that I love track cycling. The races tonight were a 10 lap scratch, Miss-n-Out, and a 10 lap points. The scratch race was effectively a super short criterium on crack. A swarming pack and flurries of attacks created a race where I was never sure if I was off the front or dragging the peloton. Eventually, the final lap saw me sprinting from a few bike lengths behind a Cat 2 flyer and not quite catching him whilst being thrown on the line up track. Getting 3rd sucks, but it seems to be a theme for me:

The second race was a Miss-n-Out, which is track for hating on people in the back of the group. And making you cry, but that's another story. I was recovering well from the short efforts, so I decided to play it safe and waste energy in the wind to ensure that I made it to the final 3. After Surfing the boards for the first 11 pulls, things got serious and I had to drop the hammer on fools. Unsurprisingly the top 3 from the scratch made the selection for the end of the race. With 1.5 laps to go I got an unintentional 10ft gap on the other two and decided to have a go. If either of them hesitated I'd be gone, but sadly they did not, and caught me in turn 4 for another agonizing 3rd place finish.

The last race was a two-sprint points race. I tried to establish a break early and failed, so I ended up with 5th in the first sprint and 3rd in the final for 4th overall. That was a pretty poor performance, but I still netted 3rd in the omnium for the night, which comes with upgrade and rider of the year points.

Racing at Northbrook is a great way to get in touch with your strengths and weaknesses. Tonight I learned that 450m is way too far for me to try and stick an attack. 250m is probably my best bet in a situation where I want to launch an early dig. Also, I was able to recover and re-attack very quickly relative to the rest of the field, so expect me to try and shatter monsters with some repeated efforts and counter-attacks. Those little moves are inconsequential for me, but force new people to the front to close the gaps and allows my teammates to sit on. This ensures that everyone is good and tired when I go to whip them in the sprint.

Anyway, I encourage everyone to get out there at some point.

Learning to Lose—Nationals RR

noreply@blogger.com (ScottR) — Mon, 10 May 2010 22:23:00 +0000

Virginia Woolf walks with rock filled pockets into a lake. She breathes no more air.

F. Scott Fitzgerald writes of unrequited love while nursing the drink. His heart stops beating suddenly.

Hemingway loads a gun. He pulls the trigger. Neurons fire no more.

And when Scott Rosenfield rides the Blue Mounds course, his dreams are dashed.

Were this any other race and were the results any different than they are, this would be an exaggeration—the emotional writings of a boy too close to the action to write objectively. But it’s neither an exaggeration

nor a fiction. For today, Spider Monkey threw his bike in rage. And Will pulled out. Clearly, all is not well in a world filled with suffering and madness.

But certain races require suffering. In order to achieve victory, one must be willing to lose all. Not metaphorically, but actually.

One must walk up to George Hincapie with open eyes and say, “I grant you my body and soul.” He will laugh, possibly shed a tear, certainly flex a varicose-vein-ridden calf out of habit and say, “Are you really willing to do all of that?” You will say yes. He will smile crookedly. And if you win—another part of your soul will be forever lost, consumed by the great GH.

And at Blue Mounds, suffering is requisite for mere completion. To cross the finish line without the abscess of a DNF, one must be wanting to suffer and be yearning to bleed. You must watch with glee as your own soul evaporates before your eyes.

Today, it was clear who was heartless and who fancied himself a man with soul and morals. As the road tilted down in rain and gravel to explode up in steepness and pain, the few who had paid their dues road away.

As they—they tormented but weightless—moved up, we moved back. There was no denying it. We were unwilling to suffer the suffering that victory, even mere completion required. There were no excuses.

An exploded shifter cable and slowly leaking front flat—neither an excuse, but the work of a GH rendering judgment from on high. If my steerer tube must sheer, He says, you will flat and your cable will certainly break, too.

GH is an uncompromising god. He has no mercy. There is only cold logic. But it’s a logic with rewards great and understandable. The rule is simple: If you are unwilling to hurt, He will be unwilling to grant you victory. And if you are willing to hurt, He will throw in bad luck just because.

So tonight, I do not march toward the lake or drink or pull the trigger. I laugh—for I understand His game.

Postscript—Yeah, it's more than a bit too emotional, but it was written right after my race and the emotion carries some currency, I think.

The Fog of War

noreply@blogger.com (ScottR) — Wed, 05 May 2010 17:01:00 +0000

Often, bike racing is compared to war. And the similarities are real: In both, bodies become mangled, men and women lose all respect for health and decency, and one’s true character is revealed through the juxtaposition of misery and ecstasy. There is no hiding from yourself at the conclusion of a stage race in a foreign country. Similarly, there is no denying your identity after a tour of duty.

Sadly, the comparison has become cliched. As Orwell would say, it has lost its utility. Yes, we know bike racing is tough. But war, I would think, is far tougher. Between an IED and a pothole, I know of no one who would choose the latter.

Despite this, I could not help but thinking in terms of conflict as I lined up to start the Fat & Skinny Tire Festival Cat 3 RR (FS). When Will and I exchanged hugs and salutations on the start-line, I imagined myself being waved off, departing on some large ship for Europe or the East. I knew I had six laps (what, six months?) ahead of me. Oddly, I really didn’t care to win, but I didn’t really feel like losing. Vietnam War redux, anyone?

In all seriousness, USCF racing teaches the glory of collegiate racing. The rain soaked regionals at Purdue where I crashed and missed the break on alternating days was far more satisfying than my victory at the FS. Why?

Well, it all begins with the drive. Heading to a collegiate race begins with running late, stuffing far too many bodies and bikes into far too few cars; heading off with the music blasting and the camera’s flash firing (unless it’s my camera).

Then there’s the hotel–at which we arrive no earlier than 2 a.m. We sleep two or three to a bed. We have no Maginot Line, we have “protection pillows.” And we wake up at 5 a.m. Sleep—screw that.

As we eat the invariably shitty complimentary breakfast and watch both the rain and mercury fall, we laugh. Loading the cars, we scream and bicker—all in love.

And then the racing. Our D-Graders go first. And we cheer. But this isn’t the tame USCF “Go, Jared, go” cheering. This is Scott dressed in a frumpy one-piece swimsuit, wearing pink tights, jumping up and down, screaming “attack, Redbeard, attack,” thrashing his head and throwing objects into the field—in torrential downpour.

Following the D-Graders and the womens, we race. And As racing is what real racing should be. At it’s best, it’s fast, hard, and safe. There is no BS. Everyone knows each other and the pain flows as freely as the love. Watch Brandt bunny hop a mailbox, listen to the gravel as TK rides on the opposite lane's shoulder, see Spider Monkey attack through the ditch after missing his start... it’s all good.

After the race, some disaster warrants a WallMart run. But we procrastinate: Snack (at Panera), shower (all at once, naturally), eat dinner (at some crappy Italian place) and then head to the Arkansas cancer hub. Invariably, we’ll run into another team playing WallMart bingo. We’ll converse for a bit, buy our supplies and then head home to pow-wow and enjoy a few short hours of sweaty sleep.

When we wake, Saturday repeats itself—except in better dress and with far more insanity. Generally, we break into the Marian Bus (the Death Star), fraternize with the officials (we love you, Andrew) and pester the other riders. It’s all part of the grand plan. (This does not even include—for lack of space and out of deep respect—the drive home or interacting with Sinead.)

So compare this to USCF racing. You wake up—in your own bed. You drive to the race—all solemn and lonely. You cheer on your teammate—and get yelled at for actually showing emotion. The racing is boring—people obey the yellow line. You win (or lose). You drive home—usually richer, but depressed.

Is there any wonder that I’m crying to close the collegiate season?

Rosie

Searching for Indiana

noreply@blogger.com (Joe Hooker) — Tue, 04 May 2010 05:40:00 +0000

At 2:30 PM today, Nate Harner and I (Joe Hooker) met at Kellogg to go on a ride together. Seeing as no one else came for our Ft. Sheridan ride, we decided whimsically to ride into Chicago via the Lakefront Trail. While we were headed south on Sheridan Road to get to the trail, a lady swings her car in front of us without looking. Nate confronts the lady at the next light, and she apologizes. Hopefully she'll be more cautious next time.

We get to the trail. 5 minute pulls each at a moderately brisk pace. The wind forces us into an echelon-esque formation as we traverse The Windy City. We arrive at the golf course south of the city - the very same place where we rode to and turned around a few weeks ago. This time, we decided to venture forth.

I asked a man approaching us on his bike if there is a good road to get to Indiana. He pointed to the road in front of us and said that it had a great bike lane and it led to a trail that goes to Indiana. The bike lane was lined with potholes, forcing us into the car lane, and the bike path was across an impassable drawbridge.

So with the help of the iPhone, we improvised. Immediately, we decided I90 wasn't the best road to take. An apple and a Clif bar later, we decided on a road going in the same direction as the highway. After a few miles, we ended up on a mainstream road that ran below and to the side of I90. Ahead, we spotted a Welcome to Indiana side. We needed a picture (i.e. evidence of our trip), so we pulled into the parking lot of KFC.

Before going over to the sign, I went into KFC to fill up our water bottles. I open the door to laughter that awkwardly stops as soon as I step in. I guess a purple polka-dotted cycling kit is a little out of place in South Chicago... I fill the bottles up with ice and water and flaunted my school colors on the way out.

Nate and I make our way over to the Welcome to Indiana sign:

Standing in front of the sign was more than a photo op - we realized just how far away from campus we really were. We made it to another state. At this point, we talked about riding up to Wisconsin some day soon. After adequately relishing in the moment, we decided it was time to head back.

Following signs to the Lakefront Trail, we ended up on a rock trail lined with shattered glass and adjacent to train tracks. "Cyclocross practice," we thought aloud. The collective two tubes that we brought now didn't seem to be enough. Surely we would each get multiple flats on this surface. Somehow, our tires prevailed.

We got back onto the Lakefront Trail, where we again exchanged pulls, dodging all of the obstacles on the overcrowded trail: bikers, runners, rollerbladers, walkers, carriages, etc. At this point, we decided to stop at Navy Pier for some food. We both got tuna salad sandwiches from a Deli shop at the Navy Pier food court. Tasty and filling on the spot, but queasy and regretful for the remaining 12 miles of our ride.

We eventually got back to campus. 65 miles, 3 hours & 20 minutes, and a great ride.

Circuit of Sauk

noreply@blogger.com (Ian) — Mon, 03 May 2010 16:51:00 +0000

Cross post from my xXx report:

4/5 racing may be the lowest category at most road races, but that by no means makes it easy. Going into the Circuit of Sauk, I’d been racing collegiate for 2 months and seen my form develop as I ascended from Cat C (4) to B (3/4) and finally the last four race weekends where I raced in the A category (1/2/3). I was one of only 2 Cat 4 riders in the A field, but managed to finish 18th-40th in fields of about 60. During the races I was able to mark attacks and get in breakaways and never felt in danger of being dropped. Naturally, mixing it up with the caliber of riders in the A fields gave me a tremendous amount of confidence going into my first USAC race of the season today.

xXx had a good contingent on the start line with Matt, Patrick and William, but we didn’t really talk about a team strategy for the day (it’s hard when you’re not sure how strong everyone is). Ultimately, the Circuit of Sauk is fairly straightforward. Don’t get dropped on the climb and protect yourself well in the crosswinds. You have to stay as far to the front as possible not to get caught behind fading riders. Just my luck, I see a neon jersey roll up right before the start. It’s Tony Damhoff, the other Cat 4 in collegiate A, and he’s stronger than I am on the hills (F!). We banter a bit before the neutral roll out and I introduce the field to his collegiate nickname, the swamp monster (he crashed into a mud pit and rode the remainder of the race covered in mud).

The race official explained that we’d be neutral until the first corner before the climb, but Tony apparently didn’t hear that and attacked the roll out. There was a lot of head scratching in the field and for some reason the pace car driver sped up to 35. I tried to yell at Tony, but he was too far away by that point, so I let the field know that I’d bridge and tell him to come back. I got within shouting distance a few hundred meters from the corner, so that was a nice waste of energy before the climb.

With the field together, I hit the first ascent second wheel but was quickly swarmed by Tony and a few remarkably strong riders. I battled to maintain contact over the top and thought to myself, “what is going on?!?”. Climbing isn’t really my thing, but I figured that I had most of the field out-gunned. At this point, I had to adjust my plan and opt for a more conservative race of marking wheels and staying out of the wind instead of attacking the second, smaller climb as I had planned (boring). As it turns out, there were some really good descenders in that field as well, so I bet on a bunch sprint at the end regardless.

True to form, about 1/3 of the original field came to the line together. I got boxed in for the start of the sprint by some questionable yellow line riding, but at 200m to go the road opened up and I started picking off riders. Damhoff led a train of people up the right side, but neither of his two followers could come around his sprint. I was closing hard on them, but ran out of space before I could throw the 3rd place guy on the line. If the swamp monster had stayed home, I think I might have taken the sprint, but that’s bike racing.

4th place netted me my entry fee and it came with a big helping of knowledge. 4/5 racing is not much slower than 3 racing, which is not much slower than 1/2 racing. I’d been racing with 1’s and 2’s for a month, but still could not control the race. It’s never a good idea to roll up to a start thinking that you’re a sure thing because there will always be other sandbaggers out to eat your lunch. It’s unfortunate that it works like this because it creates a sizable barrier to overcome for newcomers to the sport. I’d imagine that almost every person in that field was seriously training 4-5 days/week. It might be worth making a cat 6 with races that are prize-less and cheaper to enter so that people don’t get discouraged by being destroyed in races like the one yesterday (you could also have a one-and-done, win=upgrade to 5 policy to ensure that everyone has a shot). I’m moving up to 3 after Snake Alley later this month, but hopefully I’ll be able to get a win before that happens.

Michigan Massacre Part D

noreply@blogger.com (Andy K) — Tue, 20 Apr 2010 04:48:00 +0000

With the season coming to an end the Michigan was the last chance to improve the team’s ranking before regionals. 11 points ahead of 6th and 44 points behind 4th meant it every race, every result, was going to matter.

Since my background is mountain biking I was excited to race on some dirt. Upon seeing it wasn’t single track, wasn’t a fire road, but a wide smooth road dashed by enthusiasm. I decided to stick to my standard habit and stick to the front, launch one attack to see how everyone attacks and see if I can cause pain. Nothing much seemed to be happening so I relaxed expecting a large field sprint. But as I relaxed going into the last lap, the pace picked up, I was gaped. Looking behind I realized there was no one. I hadn’t just been gaped but flat out dropped. It was time to dig deep and redeem myself. Gradually I brought myself forward, jumping from wheel to wheel as Tommy dropped them from his little group. It’s painful to see the peloton ahead and know that it’s just out of reach and then to see two more of your teammates fall off is heartbreaking. But you make the best of what you’re given. Tommy and I collected Nate and Taylor along with an IIT guy who was sticking with us. I tried to get an echelon going but IIT was refusing to work with it so I said screw it and jumped to try and drop him but sadly we only dropped Tommy. Taylor made sure I was awake as he nearly misses the last turn. IIT and I ride to the line together where I out “sprinted” him. Looking back, with 4 on 1, we should have just boxed him in at the line. My mental game is what I learned needed improvement.

My mental game was what I wanted to focus on Sunday at the crit but warming up it all felt wrong. The weather was cold, my legs were sore and the team needed every point I could earn. I decided to go for the prems and get as many points as I could before falling off the back. However something strange happened, after winning the first prem I felt great. I hadn’t felt so good in a race in a long time (never mind how long it had been since my last race). It was time to sit in and come up with a plan to win. Our team had 7 people in the race but there was no formal strategy, simply a goal to ride together. Going into the second to last lap 6 sets of polka dots appeared on the front. 6 teammates all together in total control. You could feel the panic from all the other schools stuck behind. I shouted for an attack and began a surge of my own. In front with Brad we built a small gap from the field as I pulled him through the lap. Unfortunately Brad didn’t have the strength to pull through the bell lap and we were caught but the rest of the team was still in good position. A counter attack saw a group of five get ahead, including Tommy. It was time for me to be defensive and just mark. A Serotta began to chase and I sat on his wheel. Looking up I could see Tommy sprinting, clearly winning, so it was time for me to sprint too and make up a few places. Surprise surprise 4th, and only about half a wheel from 3rd! Northwestern D men finished with 3 in the top 5, 5 in the 10 ten!

Best personal results of the season and best D team results of the season was the perfect way to cap off a fun weekend with 21 fantastic people. Setting up for a strong show at Purdue Regionals.

"It's not really a nice feeling..."

noreply@blogger.com (Will Nowak) — Sun, 11 Apr 2010 18:08:00 +0000

So, one might ask, what the hell happened to me?

First, for an appropriate analogy, more or less, watch this video:

http://www.cervelo.com/en_us/testteam/video-documentary/

Basically, I echo all of Haussler's sentiments.

For those unaware, I have injured my IT band and haven't been able to race since the DePauw race weekend four weeks ago. I originally agitated my leg at the Lindsey Wilson road race. Even though I was able to win the time trial; that effort, combined with nearly 80 miles in the hills, was simply more than my legs, being only accustomed to the flats of Evanston up to that point, could take. I made the break in the next day's crit, but my leg was already beginning to act up, even then. I tried to ride early in that week, but my knee hurt, so I rested and stretched, and assumed I would be good to go at the Depauw road race. I wasn't, and the 50 mile race in 40 degree rain really did my leg in, and I was in a lot of pain after the race. I skipped the next day's crit and took that week off the bike. In the meantime, I saw the doctor, who gave me some stretching and strengthening exercises.

The next week was our spring break trip, and I wasn't going to let anything stop me from riding. Sadly, I wasn't able to kill it with Scott and Ian, but instead was resigned to riding by myself or with Axie and Hannah, who were also injured at the time. When we returned to campus to start the spring term, my leg was better, but still not ready for any hard efforts, so I again took a whole week off. Since that time, I have been riding, but only as hard as my leg will allow. I was upset to have to miss Marian and then again miss racing at Hillsboro/ OSU this weekend.

My leg is improving, but it is taking much longer than I would have liked. It is a pretty frustrating injury, on many levels. When I ride, I can spin lightly, but the pain starts up if I really try to hammer down with my left leg. I keep hoping that I will get on the bike and be able to ride as I usually would, pounding on the pedals and going (somewhat) fast, but this hasn't happened yet. In addition, after so much time off, even if I am able to come back, my goal of performing well at collegiate nationals has been derailed, as I don't think it is possible for me to regain nearly the form I would need by then. And lastly, as Heinrich says, "I miss being out there, with the guys..." It's not fun to miss racing with a team that I take ownership in, having seen almost all of our riders start out as complete beginners, and progress to the point that they are at now. I miss watching them race, and hanging out with everybody before and after the races. I also miss racing, and riding hard and fast, and just partaking in the friendly banter of the Men's A field.

I know when we are at races every weekend, we often wonder why we do it. When we wake up at 5 A.M. to go sit in the cold rain, we think, why don't we just stop racing, and just become normal? Sleep in on the weekends, and not punish ourselves with this crazy bike racing stuff?

Well, having done that for two weeks, I can safely say that I don't like the "normal life". When I woke up at 9 AM today and got a text telling me that Tommy won the Men's D race (!), I was super stoked for Tommy, and the team, and also extremely upset that I wasn't there to be a part of it.

Anyways, I hope to be back out racing as soon as possible, and I'm trying everything in my power to get better. If anyone has any tips or suggestions with how to deal with this injury, please let me know. After all of this time off, I just want to get healthy and fast again.

I will end with a Haussler quote:

"I just wanna come back next year and absolutely kill 'em, and that's what I'm gonna do."

My Season So Far, Part 1

noreply@blogger.com (Bryan G) — Fri, 02 Apr 2010 12:36:00 +0000

Well, I figured I should post up some bloggification on my race season so far. I'll devide it into two parts, to make it easier to read.

Murray State, er, Hayward, WI

While most of the team traveled a long ways South to Kentucky, I instead held out for the last bits of winter, and headed North. Hayward, WI is home to the American Birkebeiner, the largest cross country ski race in North America with over 7,500 participants. I got up there midday Thursday, and had a couple of days to actually get back to the feel of skiing on snow before the race.

The race itself is a 50K, which is a bit more than a standard running marathon. With no ski specific training to speak of for two months leading up to the event, I was mainly hoping to finish coherent enough to enjoy some brats (the greatest part of Wisconsin) after the race.

Starting off flat, the race soon kicks uphill with a 5K climbing section known as The Powerlines. I was mainly trying not to blow up at this point, but in looking down at my watch at the 10K point, I saw I was on pace for 3 hours, which would be a great result. The next 30K were kind of a blur, and at 40K I was still roughly on pace. However, my legs decided to be a bit uncooperative, and the last 10K were a grind, with 7K of climbing (including an infamous hill full of hecklers) and 2K across a lake into a headwind.

The best part of the race is that it finishes on the streets of Downtown Hayward. Everyone comes out to cheer, and it really gives you a boost of energy (that, along with the shot of Jager I grabbed from a spectator at the beginning of the lake). I finished in a respectable time, got my stuff, and went to find some brats. Fortunately, an enterprising group had set up a brat stand directly across from the changing area, so I didn't have to wait long.

But I didn't forget about the team, and rocked the whole way in my purple polka dots:

I even got a few "Go Northwestern!"s, which I think was more due to my hat.

Lindsey Wilson

So after my journey to the Northwoods, I was excited to get back on my bike and actually get out bike racing. The next race was Lindsey Wilson, and with the Blue Raider Omnium competition, I was hoping for a good result.

Saturday started off with a 10K TT, which I was confident in. However, my race was basically over before it began, as I was unable to get my left foot clipped in at the start. Since I was fumbling with this, rather than making sure I was in the proper gear, I lost even more time trying to push a large gear from the start. I did get my right foot clipped in, but still couldn't get my left. Given a choice of spending a lot of time getting it in or continuing on without full use of my power, I opted for the later, hoping that the time penalties would be less severe.

Will and Scott, on there aero machines, eventually passed me, which was expected. At this point, I was cursing USAC for there incredibly stupid ban on aero equipment for non-A riders. At least let us have clip on aero bars! They are cheap, and make it a heck of a lot safer when trying to get into an aero position on a road bike [/rant].

I wound up 10/18, which I was upset with. Upset mainly at myself, for not properly lubing my Speedplay cleats and causing myself to lose time. Let that be a lesson kids: Always do the routine bike maintenance!

The road race was next, and cautious of another cleat episode, I made sure I was clipped on on the left well before the start. However, as overzealous as the D's pack was to get going, we nearly forgot to let the Women's A follow car through. This resulted in my being towards the back of the pack at the start, definitely not a good place to be. I had to wait until the first big climb to work my way to the main pack, which I was only able to catch the back of thanks to the yellow line rule. Fortunately, the pack wasn't accelerating too much, so I didn't have to do a lot of needless yo-yoing.

Things were looking good, until a small rise before the final climb. In a moment of inattentiveness, I came off the back of the pack, and watched as a 5m gap turned into 10m, which turned into 20. I knew my chances of winning were done, but I still wanted to do a good final climb, which I managed to, even passing the Women's A follow car ahead of me. At the top of the climb, I saw what I thought were two NU riders just ahead of me (it turned out to be Taylor and a Butler rider), and I went into attack mode to try and catch them before the line.

Ka-chunk!

Rats, my gears jammed up upon doing this. Fortunately, I was able to right my wrong before anyone else caught me, but I ended up having to solo in to the finish.

Now throughly out of the omnium, I wanted to use the Sunday crit as a training ride, mainly since I hate crits. The course suited me fairly well, with its one short steep climb. However, I didn't quite have the gusto to stay with the main group, but Red Beard and I got together just behind them, eating up anyone shot out of the back of the pack like a pair of hungry alligators. I would pass RB on the climb, and lead through the next 2 corners, where he would take over on the backstretch. I thought I had him in the final sprint, until I looked and saw him on my wheel. I let up, letting him place ahead of me due to all the hard work he had done.

Overall, a good weekend was had at the Dreamland Motel. I think I'm finally over the incredible smallness of the rooms.

Look for Part 2 coming soon!

Southern Illinois University Team Time Trial

noreply@blogger.com (Nate Bartlett) — Fri, 02 Apr 2010 01:52:00 +0000

We had fun. Bottom line. Will was happy that his dream for the past four years was finally coming true. He wanted to have a big team with dedicated riders who were putting team aspirations over personal priorities. He wanted a team of good friends who had fun. We had fun making ourselves look funny, and not taking anything too seriously. I wanted to wear my KONA jersey for the TTT, but I had to take it off, and deal with just riding on my mountain bike.

Wait, mountain bike?! TTT? What was I thinking?! Lets backtrack a little. Last Tuesday on spring break, before our morning ride, Nick noticed a crack in my seat stay on my road bike. A crack, that upon further examination, enlarged when flexed. I decided that even though I had probably ridden it for at least the day before, I didn't want to ride it that day. Just the day before, I had put my mountain bike together, enhancing the flat pedals with some longer 2mm pegs for better traction, and a new super heavy-duty rear tire. So, I decided to put the road bike away, and ride the mountain bike. I put in 45 miles on the mountain bike that day, keeping pace with some of my teammates. I rode Wednesday and Thursday on my mountain bike as well, and then we got some slicks to put on for the races on the weekend. But I put my bike on the back of a car with hot unfiltered exhaust, and the front tire had a melted hole straight through the tire and tube when we pulled into the hotel on Friday night. I had to throw out the melted front tire, and then swap out the rear slick to the front wheel, and then mount up my least knobby mountain bike tire for the rear. UGH.

So, Saturday morning, I was riding around on my mountain bike, with my Carhartts and Kona jersey on, looking like I was just having fun, but really getting used to the new feel of my mountain bike. When we lined up for the TTT, people asked us if I was really riding it in the race. I was. We weren't going for the win. We were going for fun, and for points.

Will, Tommy and I lined up for the start, and watched our other A team and our Womens A ride off. A Lindenwood team rode off, we waited a minute, and then rolled out slowly. Will led us most of the way for our 14 mile time trial, and the team behind us didn't catch us til a mile and half. The Marian team caught us a little later. We had a nice time, going along around 15mph or so, went up the long hill, and then around the turn around, where we noticed another Lindenwood A team on our tail. They passed us at the top of the hill, but we kept pace with them on the downhill and the flat following the bottom of the hill. I was spinning really fast, with my 44:12 gearing. According to Tommmy, we hit 36.5; much faster than I expected. We had some nice conversation on the return trip, slowed for a flatted-out Lindenwood rider, who was fine, and kept on for the finish. We rode across the finish three abreast, which was fun, and although we were last, it had only been about 45 mins, which was faster than we had thought it might have been.

"That was what I wanted us to be like. And thats what we were like. It was awesome. " ~ Will Nowak, President

Southern Illinois University Criterium - Mens D

noreply@blogger.com (Nate Bartlett) — Thu, 01 Apr 2010 02:00:00 +0000

I had only had one banana to eat for breakfast; I had meant to eat more, but I hadn't had time. As a result, I was not feeling particularly strong. After all, I was still riding the mountain bike(explanation to follow in a subsequent post), and I had decided to keep my gearing to two gears: middle or big ring in the front, and my 12 tooth sprocket in the back. It made things simpler, and I could still spin fast enough to get up the hills, and that way it made shifting simpler. At the start, a bunch of riders mentioned that I had the upper hand today, with my better gripping tires.

We had strategized to have repeated attacks off the front, and Tommy shot off the front from the start. Tommy held the lead for the first lap, which broke the field up very quickly. I was not so quick out of the gates. I took a few pedal strokes to clip in, and I wasn't feeling strong. I held on to the back of the pack. Nick attacked next, and led the field for pretty much the whole rest of the race. Joe kept his place in third position. Occasionally I would get up in the top 8 riders, but I usually would get passed on the finishing stretch. Later in the race, I wasn't feeling like I had the upper hand. I entertained thoughts of dropping off the back so far I got lapped, and then placed. My glasses fogged up several times, often so bad that I had to look over the tops to see. I took the opportunity during one stretch on the finish when I was off the back to take my glasses off and wipe the insides with my glove. That cleared up my view for a while; it continued to fog a bit, but not as bad. As a result of the fogging, the rain, and the fact that the officials moved the clock, I had no idea how long into the race we were.

I knew I had no chance for the primes anyway, so I pretty much waited until I heard the bell ring for the third time, and then punched it on the back downhill stretch, spinning fast, but the field wasn't going too fast. I got into second position, and the guy in front of me took the uphill corner too fast, and went off into the grass. I was pretty sure it was the last lap, but I wasn't actually convinced. I also was prettty sure that a break had been made at some point, so I wasn't actually in first place. I didn't think I could maintain my lead on the field, since I was not feeling my best, and it was probably the last lap. However, I held on, and placed fourth! Even after I crossed the finish line, I still wasn't sure we were done, but no one was passing me, so I kept going and slowed down for the cool down lap, where I talked with Joe about our race, and met up with Nick, who had apparently crashed with two laps to go, off the front. He was reasonably angry about crashing and not winning.

We rolled back to our spectating team, who were very congratulatory for our efforts. I was talking with Axie, who asked me if I was just toying with the D field, by staying at the back for most of the race. I was not, I was actually pretty tired. I guess I got my second legs with about 6 mins to go. As Axie and I turned around, a GVSU B girl barreled into me and my front wheel. She fell to the ground, and I checked to make sure she and her bike were ok. It was then that I noticed the crash had caused my front wheel to "potato chip". That's kind of like taco-ing, but less severe. Either way, it was un-ridable. I remembered that someone had mentioned to me Saturday that some of my spokes were a little loose. So! Now I'm in the market for a new mountain bike front wheel, a new Trek frame(explanation to follow in a subsequent post), a new road crank, a front mountain bike fork, and most of a new component group. Yay!

Oh yeah, and it was raining for the whole race.

Rhythm

noreply@blogger.com (Andy K) — Thu, 18 Mar 2010 13:43:00 +0000

In all sports timing is important. In skiing it's all about timing your turns through the gates. Cycling is more than that. It's about rhythm, the rhythm of the race and the rhythm of your ride. When in a group ride these two are always in sync, complementing each other. Individuals shift around in the pack but all have the same goal of completing the designated route safely and efficiently. Racing changes everything. Each person is riding to their own rhythm creating the chaotic rhythm of the race. The winner is the one who can feel both and bring them create a harmony for themselves.

Sometimes the rhythm is for you and sometimes it is against you. Saturday it was against me. Three laps was all the D's race was. Lap one was a dull and simple flow with everyone just feeling out the course. Lap two on the courses kicker is where I knew I would no longer be racing. While standing up to move up in the pack, I strangely found myself moving backwards. My rear wheel was spinning out, low on pressure. Battling just to finish, I lost, losing all pressure about halfway through the third lap and have to wait for a ride back. Morale, if you feel yourself losing air and your tire starts to washout in gentle turns then pull out, don't gamble risking a crash or damage.

A team time trial simplifies the rhythm game. Now it is just you and your team complementing each other. The better this works, the better the result. Dane and I worked together and got 4th for the D's. The A team struggled a bit more to find a rhythm but we pushed as hard as we could but came 1 second short of beating IIT.

Sunday I was pumped! My rhythm was going to be the race rhythm. 50 feet from the start was a 180° turn and I was determined to be the first one through it. The whistle blows, I shot off, low and behold there's someone on my outside doing the exact same thing. Going in hot and tight, I slide out, stand up and laugh, just laugh as the pack rides around me. Walking back to the start I just laugh and relax. Once back in I let my rhythm go and feel into the races rhythm, moving back up to the front. Once there I launched an attack to try and restore my rhythm again but after a lap or two I just wasn't able to keep away. More laps passed and I just rode with the races rhythm. It was great to hear the coaching from my teammates even if it didn't always seem to make sense. When the rider before my jumped for the second prem he gave me themperfect leadout to secure some points. After falling back into the rhythm of the race, our laps were nearly over so I clicked back to my own rhythm, battling up towards the front. Third wheel going into the sprint were my instructions and I was battling LWC for this position when I lost feel for the race rhythm. An attack came up the other side. I jumped to chase, just as we came into the 180°. Hot I exited wide, nearly in the grass and was gaped from the new lead group. In such a short time I went from racing for 1st to 7th, at least I got that and more points for the team. 3 weeks into the season and I have learned so much, hopefully next time I'm in my first field sprint.

Proof Scott has better timing (that's me passing in the background):

Winds of thunder, kisses from the fair lady of peanut butter and a boy who couldn't possibly be nutter: Depauw race weekend.

noreply@blogger.com (ScottR) — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 18:43:00 +0000

The Crowning of a Rain King

They know the whines of engines revving, the tortures of wheels slipping and the danger of things flipping. For them, life is a constant terror.

But as rain falls, they fidget. Men have no place racing on slick rubber when wind and water dominate, they think. No two fears are the same. And the fear of death ushered by rain and crashing is a particularly powerful one. A fear that can render the stoic soft, they agree.

But they are wrong: One of them is unfazed. In what becomes one of his greatest wins, Michael Schumacher moves forward from sixth to first. Despite the rain and his finicky car, he wins—by over a minute in a race usually decided by thousandths of a second.

Now, Schumi is back from retirement. And so is Gregory Christian.

The Return of a Legend

In a race defined by rain and the feeble souls of frightened “men,” Greg earned a title that only Schumi owns: Regenkönig (rain king). Known for his TT prowess, Greg races for Team Panther and Michigan State. And Saturday, the Rain King proved his legs have become nothing but stronger in his brief absence from collegiate cycling.

But just as Schumi’s victory required context, so too does Greg’s—this weekend was no ordinary one.

Stage Setting

To start, Mama Bear (Hannah/NU) had been angered. (They say all is fear in love and war. They are right...) The entire conference felt her weather changing wrath as clouds descended and temperatures dropped. Not even the Sea Otter (Axie/NU) could penetrate the haze and calm her hate. I was a wanted man with little chance of survival.

Under these conditions, I was set to declare my eternal admiration for the conference goddess: Sinead Miller. As much as I adore her, I fear her. Beauty and strength are something, but omnipotence is frightful; the dangers of a vengeful god are numerous. Just ask Job.

I, therefore, risked death as I unfurled my poster—I was disturbing the start of Sinead’s coffee shop spin. Mercifully, she greets me with a smile. She does not strike me down with pestilence or plague, but gifts me the courage to race.

So I line up only to see the Sinead-scarred remnants of the Women’s A field crash and Clara (NU) win the field sprint. Yes, it was practically a victory. But a near-victory marred by the blood and banged wrist of our Sea Otter.

Road Racing or Abitibi Redux

There is little time for sympathy; my race beings. Naturally, conditions turn from nasty to Third World. The laps are fast, my glasses are covered in gunk and my body is soaking. Longfellow (Will/NU) and I fight to make breaks, but he suffers a bayonet blow to the knee and I have food threatening to emerge from both bodily orifices. In the face of such calamities, we resign ourselves to the pack.

Yet, we remain vigilant. Spider-Monkey (Ben Damhoff/UW Platteville) is looking strong. Marian remains dangerous. Lindenwold has the power from down under and up North. Kip, well, no one rides harder than Kip... So yes, we are thinking, but we aren’t thinking about the right man.

On the final lap, the Rain King attacks. He dangles just meters off the front of the pack. But who is there to chase? He crosses the line in victory. In the sprint, I brake for 8th place OA.

(For want of space, I will skip the TTT. But I will say this: Our team showed perseverance and several riders showed their potential.)

Critification

Having witnessed the strength of the Red Baron Rain King and the love of the Black Widow (Sinead), the crit was an exciting but dangerous prospect. Especially, considering it was to be held in a parking lot with a 180 turn. But fear is no match for my fidelity; I began my preparations.

The course required adornment. At each turn and at other key locations, I marked the course with chalk. My writings were simple and reserved: “Sinead, raise arms in victory salute here!” “Lapped the field five times? Time for a tea party?” “How many dreams do you intend to crush today?” and the classic, “Mow them down, chew them up and spit them up!”

Naturally, she prevailed— this despite taking time for a tea party and a short nap. But Sea Otter went down hard, Mama Bear showed signs of rage and my race was soon set to begin.

On the line, the Hyena-Komodo Dragon (Alder Martz/LWC) saw my wanton eyes and called over Sinead. In a moment of terror and bungled saythings, I handed over my green cookie. It read: Kiss Me.

Well, she did.

Frankly, the rest of the day was a wild blur, a reverie. When men are touched by the gods, little can they be blamed for daydreaming.

Until next weekend,

Rosie

(P.S. The rumbling [near synonym] winds of hill country have little to fear. Things are never as they appear—they are there only to deceive. For what purpose? This you should know.)

Skiing and Art of Bicycle Maintenance (but mostly skiing)

noreply@blogger.com (Ian) — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 06:17:00 +0000

I was unfortunately unable to race last weekend because I was doing some extreme skiing in Colorado with my brother (secret altitude training plan). But beyond the low oxygen exercise, I found an interesting parallel between cycling and ski equipment on which I will elaborate below. First, a bit of intro. My brother Jon works on classified weapons systems at Sandia National Lab in Albuquerque, NM, so I flew into ABQ on Friday night (I love Southwest, ski bag an suitcase checked for free!). Jon is an insane skier. We used to be relatively similar skill levels, but since I moved to the Chi and he’s out west he's gained a significant advantage. Nonetheless, when he needs a ski partner to go into the deep backcountry he still calls me. This time, our destination was Silverton Mountain, an expert only park where you have to reserve a guide and do avalanche training, then hike off a lift for 30min to 2hrs to access some of the most extreme terrain you can find without a helicopter. They mince no words with their logo:

In advance of our Sunday date with Silverton, we drove up to Durango early Saturday to do a bit of warm up skiing. I was looking forward to getting Jon into some terrain parks because I brought my twin tip freestyle skis, which, like my bikes, I set up and tune myself (relevant later). We had sunny and warm spring conditions, so there was great visibility at the top:

Jon vetoed the terrain parks as they were packed with some really unskilled teenagers, so we spent most of our time in the trees hitting semi-natural features like down trees, lean-tos, and drifts:

I have some really funny follow-cam video as well, but needless to say my brother and I are lacking in the cinematography department. Anyway, the day finished without incident and we drove 1.5hrs north to our hotel in Silverton.

Steep and deep runs call for special powder skis that are significantly fatter than my Rossi’s, so the first thing I had to do at Silverton was rent skis and have them fit to my boots (my brother and most of the other people had their own powder skis). We were divided up into 8 person groups and given a guide. Predictably, Jon elected for one of the more challenging groups, so we were going to be doing a lot of hiking. The conditions were wicked as we took the lift up to the start of our first hike. 40+ mph winds and heavy snow made for whiteout conditions. Our first hike was the longest, a 2 hour sufferfest to summit the mountain. Later in the day I was able to get a clear shot of the ascent:

Here’s Jon making it up a steep section after we shimmied around a rock outcropping:

I was somewhat nonplussed at the top:

We waited a little while for a break in the storm and started heading down the back side of the mountain where we encountered a steep bowl above a line of cliffs. There were several chutes to pass the rocks, so the guide went down first to show us the line. I was the first to follow and as I started down the bowl the wind kicked up and cut down the visibility. I continued to approach what I thought was one of the chutes, but as I was executing an unremarkable jump turn my right ski popped off for no apparent reason. I tried to stay up and stop my momentum, but the 50%+ grade was too much to for a single edge to hold. I pitched down the slope head first with my left ski still attached, and unfortunately found that I was approaching a rock outcrop instead of the chute. I lost my second ski as I slid onto the top section of the rocks, allowing me to rotate my legs out in front of me in advance of the drop. As I tried to stop myself I only succeeded in banging my knee against the top of the next section and falling about 10 or 15 feet into some mercifully deep snow. I was totally juiced on adrenaline and frantically crawled out of the person shaped depression that I had made. To add insult to injury, I knew that at least one of my skis was on the rocks above, so I wasn’t going to get any assistance retrieving it. As I scaled back up the rocks, Jon looked up at the cliff and got a picture of me crawling back up. It’s difficult to see in the photo, but free climbing in ski boots is not advisable:

Once I made it to the bottom, I quickly found out why my ski had released so unexpectedly. Apparently they had neglected to adjust the binding tension on the right ski, so instead of an 11/12, it was set to 7/12. While I was annoyed at this discovery, I admittedly should have checked the tension before heading up on the mountain. The whole episode was a teachable moment. Having a ski pop off is usually a harmless occurrence, but in this case, the location of this malfunction greatly magnified the impact of losing a ski. In that way, it was a lot like bike maintenance. If something goes wrong on a training ride and you crash, the consequences are usually mild. Conversely, going down in the middle of a pack during a race can have significantly more severe ramifications (as Tommy's broken seatstay and my chainring scar can attest). This is a great reason to get into doing a lot of your own mechanic work. Regardless of how much you trust a shop, there's no substitute for knowing that you tightened all the bolts yourself. Then, you can race without reservations and know that the bike can handle whatever you throw at it.

Anyway, the rest of the day saw better weather and I overcame the knee pain to do some pretty sweet skiing:

Once you get to the bottom, you get to do a sketchy creek crossing and eventually end up at the sketchy bar:

So, when I got back I chilled out on the training for a few days, but used the time to build up a new bike for this weekend:

And that's what I like to call...serious business.

My room reeks of 2.5wt SRAM suspension oil.

noreply@blogger.com (leopard) — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 00:03:00 +0000

What is biking all about for me?
Winning. Being faster than everyone in my field. Winning. Basking in the glory of the top step of the podium. Snagging those primes. Winning...

...At least, that is what I would have told you a week ago. Throughout winter, the only thing I dreamed of while spinning away on my bright green trainer was winning sprints for the finish. All I wanted, obviously, was to win. However, a combination of my laziness (avoiding the trainer like it was a rabid nosferatu all winter break) and my Hincapie-esque bad luck (forced off the bike for 6 weeks by a knee injury and two severe crashes) left me in rather poor shape for the start of racing season. I didn't know this yet at the first race at Murray State since I got crashed out only 2.5 miles into the first race, ending up with a cracked frame and a fractured pride. I felt great those first 2.5 miles though, and that inflated my confidence to epic proportions.

One week and a beautiful new 2010 Tarmac later, I was back in the game. My foolish confidence had persevered to the Lindsey Wilson race weekend and I was ready to kill Saturday morning.
At the start line I felt like I had never been more ready for anything in my life. The sun was shining, we were lined up at the very front, and my new steed was faster than a 426 hemi. Conditions were perfect. The official said "go!" and we were off. Everything was going well until the first hill whereupon I blew up like a thermonuclear device. My lungs suddenly imploded and my quads spontaneously combusted. I got passed left and right. I was a paraplegic tortoise in a field of Alberto Contadors. When I finally rolled across the line I was dead last. Joe was reclining in a chair with his legs resting on his bike.

At this point I was pretty severely emotionally (and physically) crushed. I had never been so disappointed in myself. I had let my new bike down, as well as the team. I shouldn't have been racing a on Tarmac for NU. I should have been racing a on Walmart-special for IIT. Sunday's crit was almost just as bad. I spent the next few days bogged down in procrastinated school work and haunted by the disastrously shameful results of the previous weekend. Needless to say, those few days were pretty terrible.

After my final Wednesday afternoon, something caught my attention. It was my recently purchased Yeti AS-R SLc frame that had been sitting untouched in my room for weeks. She is a real beauty. One, of the last batch of AS-R frames to be built in the US, and in unusual, unexplained colors. This rare team-turquoise stunner from Golden, CO makes my Specialized bikes seem like soul-less, manufactured whores.
My school-work was done for the week, so I decided to spend the time to build her up. I ran out of time Wednesday evening and saved the fork rebuild for the next morning. The entire process took 2-3 hours and involved lots of unique-smelling fluids, much of which was inevitably spilled onto my carpet. During this process I remembered this time last year when I was building my first bike, an inexpensive Rockhopper. I remembered the joys of learning how to build a bike, the pride I felt when I had completed it, and most importantly, how I felt riding it aimlessly around town. The bike was heavier than an aircraft carrier and rolled slower than a rectangular wheel, but I was happy.

Now this was greatly confusing. I now have most, if not all, of my dream-bikes and am many times faster and stronger but I'm most unhappy. Makes no sense!!! I put the confusion aside and walked under ominous clouds to tech for history class. When I came out the strangely heavy front doors, the sun was out and it felt very much like spring so I decided to take the Yeti out for a little spin to get her dialed in. I wore jeans and a cotton T-shirt instead of race-worthy kit, just like I did last year. After getting the fork and shock pressures about right and the saddle adjusted, I kept riding even though I had no water and was only prepared to ride 15 minutes or so. I rode around aimlessly, just like I did the previous spring. Pop off this curb, go down that little hill... I just rode for fun. The sun was shining upon me again, but this time I wasn't thinking about beating anyone to the finish. After an hour or two, I stopped at an empty section of the lakefill thirsty and exhausted and realized that I was, unbelievably, once again happy. Suddenly, all my troubles seemed so far away. I felt nothing like I did yesterday.
I sat there in the sun bathing in the bliss of peaceful happiness. I remembered why I started biking in the first place, many many moons ago... to escape from the stress of school and be happy. Sitting there in mud-splattered jeans, I resolved to never lose myself to obsessing with winning again. Today, if you ask me what biking is all about for me, I'd answer simply, "To be happy."

Black Widows and Bicycling: When Womens Win

noreply@blogger.com (ScottR) — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 04:28:00 +0000

Time Trial Time

When teeth tears flesh, male gazelles fear females. It’s a truth of the animal kingdom: Female lions are the hunters.

As I rolled to the start of the LWC TT, my heart beat with a kindred fear. Where was Sinead Miller? Was the slayer of women, devourer of all human flesh and goddess of cycling starting behind me? Was I bound to be passed, killed—and emasculated?

Thankfully, she had already raced. My pride was spared a ravishing.

Until the finish—a ho-hum 5th place to a flying Billiam T. 12-inch Longfellow. Remarkably, Will won riding a borrowed TT frame fit to him the night before his race—at around 1 A.M. Nobody, not even Sinead—the grim reaper of cycling mortals—could touch him.

The Road Race

Since Will and I both had skipped warming up for chatting with the Womens, we finished the TT with fewer than 30 minutes on our legs—a fine spin for the RR.

But that was enough to inform me of impending disaster. My legs were clearly too weak for the road race. I knew I would need resort to physiological warfare if I were to have any chance at survival.

Remembering the teachings of biology, I selected and donned the famed pink and black striped panty-hose. My hope was the stripes would confuse the fast-men and allow me to escape unscathed. I dreamed that the apex predators would be bewildered.

They were: they let a break go from the start. But I, too, was befuddled. I missed

that same break.

So missing breakfast and paranoid that Sinead would ravish me, I settled into racing. The main test came on the final climb of the first lap. As my tiny legs attempted to spin my 39-28, images of the Tour of the Death River Gorge flashed across my closed eyes.

(Contrary to popular belief and my habit, It’s always best to descend with your eyes closed and to climb with your eyes open.)

Soon enough, the strong mens were off and I was left dangling. I was a gazelle who had just had a big chunk bitten out of his buttocks by angry crocs, but I was not dead.

So I chased hard, and continued my bleak fall. A full lap of groupo sucko chasing and praying for fortuitous death.

Until the pack we spotted and caught. I was overcome by a wonderful mix of pleasure and pain: I was no longer DFL; I had to race another damn lap.

Thankfully, most of it was slow going. Until I remembered the words of Petey Davis regarding the Trek 100: If I pay, I race.

With that in mind, it was time to make a move. So I follow some attacks and make my acceleration on an appropriately sloped climb. Crippled as I was, I slid forward gently and motivated my thunder thighs. A super strong Lindenwood rider joined me and we finished together. He, naturally, ahead of me.

Critification

The road race was done and the crit—they separated by an omelet, toast, some pancakes, cajun and cottage fries, grilled cheese and sleep served in a smoke filled restaurant—remained.

With a hardy meal consumed, my hopes were high. The snuggie fit well, the womens were happy, Redbeard was smiling and the legs had positive sensations.

But things had looked good for the U.S. in Vietnam at one time, too. And lord knows how that ended.

And my Tet Offensive was more than just a blow to credibility, it was an actual tactical defeat; I wanked myself across to a break, failed to contribute, blew up and missed the winning move.

Back in the pack, I resorted to a series of attacks and blocking measures—none of which were necessary, all of which were painful.

Finally, it came time for a move. Will had lapped the field. He needed a slingshot and a Marian man was off the front. So feeble and feckless Rosey Face moves to the front for a final pull. Rosey’s last call.

He rides himself off th

e road—Pro Wanker.

(Luckily for our national championship bid, Will finishes well.)

Sinead and Depauw await... One weekend down—three battles in a year-long war waged.

Rosey

Racin' Time!

noreply@blogger.com (Will Nowak) — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 20:24:00 +0000

Tommy being the man, and Scott wearing his bright pink snuggie he just purchased at Wal-Mart. This is our team.

NU Cycling Featured in Daily Northwestern:After 2 days of racing, 14 hours of driving, and 3 hours spent finishing a problem set at the library, this is a photo of my room upon my arrival at my apartment at 2.30AM last Sunday night. But I had just gotten back from the first race of the season, so life was still good!
Picture of me featured in Daily losing sprint- sorry Scott! Thanks to Andy for the cool photo.

Bicycle racing is upon us.

Like the past two weeks of my life, this post will most likely be a scrambled, incoherent mess.

The Murray State weekend now seems long ago, and my memory is hazy, so I won't dwell there. Courtney kicked some major tail in both women's B races thanks to the help of first time racer extraordinaire Yannell, who more than held her own. The Men's D was insane, as their first weekend always is. Crashes were plentiful, and, unfortunately, the object of my bro-mance affection, and badass team mechanic- Tommy Peng- took the brunt of the damage. A cracked frame kept him out of Sunday's crit, but, rest assured, he was back for more this weekend at LWC putting in two crash-free, solid finishes. Ian Murray did what he does, and laid the foundations for his B upgrade, which was recently approved. He will be rockin' the A's in no time, to be sure. Hannah (or the Hans) and Axie had a successful first weekend in the Women's A field, scoring some solid points for Northwestern and strengthening our bid to go to nationals as a team.

Sporting some obnoxious gas station aviator shades, Scott and I were easily the most ridiculous looking riders in the Men's A race, but we were also some of the fastest. In Scott's first ever Men's A race, he only succeeded in making the day long breakaway and pulling its gap to over four minutes at the finish. On top of that, he executed a perfect leadout for his teammate (read: me), but said teammate either botched the sprint, or didn't have the legs, or both, and lost the win by ~1/2 a wheel. See the picture below.

All in all, without a doubt, a great time was had by all.

----

This past weekend was hosted by Lindsey Wilson College, and a group of 14 of us made the 7 hour drive, packed into 4 cars. Space was tight, but the sensations were good. Things only improved upon our arrival to the Dreamland Motel, which proved to be just as dreamy as the name would have you believe. The fourteen of us, along with our 16 bikes, squeezed into our three rooms. Before bed though, Scott and Tommy were working crazy hard to prep my time trial bike and the Women's A's wheels for the TT on saturday morning. We got to bed around 1, and got up around 6, but the lack of sleep apparently didn't deter us. I was able to just edge Kip Spaude for the win, with Scott right behind me in fifth. I owe that win completely to Scott and Tommy, so thanks guys! The girls rode fast (this will be a recurring theme), and Andy led the Men's D's with a fourth place finish.

The RR was crazy hard. It was 75 hilly miles, and I don't want to relive it all. In short, I missed the early break, and attacked like the dickens to try to instigate a chase move. I eventually succeeded in this regard, and got away with this crazy fast, UW Platville mystery man, Rob Bush of Marian, Chris Uberti of Purdue, and another strong LWC rider. We were going well, and gaining on the remnants of the breakaway, until around mile 50, when I felt that my legs were not going to be around for the finish. I tried to stretch, and eat, and drink, but I just don't have that endurance this early in the season (again, the time honored tradition of excuse making). An attack ~10 miles from the finish did my in, and I had to slowly roll it in for what would have been 8th place, I believe. I say would have, because I later found out that I was DQed for a yellow line violation. This happened at ~ mile 10, but they let me finish the race without telling me. Oh well, it was a day of good training. Scott soloed away from the field for 15th.

The crit was a short, four corner circuit with one short, steep hill. It played out fairly similarly to the road race. Crazy strong mystery rider (name: Ben Damhoff?) solos away to lap the field by himself. The more sane of us did the same, but in a group- the way breakaways are supposed to work. So there ended up being 6 of us one lap up. I am no Mark Cavenish, and thus tried to get back off the front to avoid a field sprint, but LWC was having none of it. I rolled in somewhere in the top 10 of the field sprint, which resulted in a fourth place finish on the day.

A long drive home, a short sleep, a few classes, and now (as a Weinberger) I am enjoying reading week, which will hopefully provide me with the respite I need to catch up on...everything. Depauw is on tap for this weekend, and we'll be sure to write back and let everyone know how it goes.

Thanks for reading!