Bike Racing and Winning

I am hijacking this topic from a dear friend and fellow MABRA racer because he got me thinking about it a couple of weeks ago. 

A story circulated on Facebook months ago describing a certain subset of Generation Y-ers, Millenials and basically most younger people in America as lacking competitiveness.  Specifically this targeted those people who engage in mass participation running events like Spartan runs or color runs or zombie runs or whatever they are called.  The message passed around was simple, these events are merely participatory, i.e., the goal is not to win but rather to just do it, and their popularity spells doom for America. I've always been confused by these events because of their lack of "winning" but since I had no desire to do I spent little time pondering their significance.  

The last race I won was in 2009. It was my final season as a Cat 3. The euphoria I felt in winning that race was incredible. It's a feeling I hope to have again some day. In fact, I want to feel it so much that I have invested money and countless hours of my life into equipment, coaching, nutrition and training. I go to bed early and pass on social opportunities (but honestly, does anything good really happen after 2AM in Adams Morgan?) with friends who do not understand the impulse to succeed at amateur athletics. I have a nearly medical attention to the food I eat (yes hamburgers count as health food if you put lettuce, tomato and mustard on) and track my weight daily. The idea of taking a day off the bike is enough to cause a mild panic attack; until of course someone talks me down off that ledge and reminds of my grandfather's logic that everything should be done in moderation...including moderation.  

Despite all of that, it has still been nearly four years since I stood on the top of the podium. And, I regret none of it, even in the slightest. In bike racing we have this fascination with winning. It's as if getting second place, as Ricky Bobby's father mistakenly made him believe, "is the first loser."  Is it really?  Or is our obsession with winning an unhealthy fixation that belittles the myriad of achievements that participation itself offers?  

This is not a discussion of the distorted phraseology from a youthful endeavor of my own where "everybody swims, everybody wins."  That phrase never made much sense to me; but it did conveniently fit onto a wrist band that lasted in chlorinated water just long enough to survive a week of YMCA nationals.  There is something between participation and winning, it's the vast scope of most people's involvment in bike racing.  There are many people who upon paying $35-60 for a race, jump in it, never get near the front, never take a shot at winning and finish in the pack and call it a success.  For me that's a very expensive group ride.  Then there is the guy or girl who pays the same $35-60, gets in the race, goes off the front, rides the break, takes the shot at winning, pulls back the move for a teammate or just does something but still doesn't win.  

By some people's logic those persons are in the same position. Neither of them won so both of them lost. However, sitting here in a hotel in Houston I cannot accept that as correct. Some of the races I remember the most, the ones that I relive with either a smile or sometimes a chokingly to realistic feel of the joy of shared suffering are the ones where I got dropped because I took a shot. Or other races where I struggled to finish with the pack because I had tried to fight the pack all day long. Likewise, some of the tales of fellow racers' efforts that I most often retell are not the solo breakaway that went wire to wire for the win. Rather they are the desperate chases to bring back the dangerous move we missed or the guy who dangled 5 or 6 seconds off the front in a crit for 10 laps before being dragged back with 1 to go.  

We can certainly celebrate the winners of any race; but the list of people we celebrate shouldn't stop there. It needs to include those people who make the race great. It needs to include the person who tries and fails; otherwise what's the point? We have enough people in the pack who are too timid to try to do something because they believe they can win and therefore sit in for the sprint which for them never comes. If we celebrate both the winner and the guy or girl who makes the effort to become one then maybe, just maybe we will encourage better and more vibrant racing. We will get people to come out of the shadows of obscurity so that it isn't always the same 10 or 20 people on the podium every time. In the end maybe backing off of the obsession of winning will make more winners.

Return to Illinois

It takes on average 30-60 seconds of a conversation for me to tell new people that I am originally from Chicago.  It's a fact I take a great deal of pride in relaying.  There are purist who will remind me that I have never lived within the city limits; but for most, my identification as a Chicagoan, even though I grew up in a suburb, is appropriate.  So when, as in September, I had the chance to return to Chicago for work and bring my bike it was a happy occasion.

Heading north of Peoria through endless fields ready for the
harvest and tall enough to block a little wind

I've never identified myself as from Illinois.  The remainder of the state never laid claim to me, much like the fact that I never even thought of attending the University of Illinois.  Growing up my identification was always with Chicago, its majestic spires, and probably Notre Dame.  The remainder of the state seemed as distant a location as California or the moon.  So on this recent trip when my travels took me away from the strict confines of the city and put me on the open roads hundreds of miles from the towers that dominate the shoreline, I felt like I was discovering a new world.

I get into a rut sometimes.  It's an insistence on doing the same routes, the same workouts and no originality.  You wake up and get ready to face the day; but the eagerness to ride is a bit dulled because it has all become too routine.  The same can be said of a lot of things- from work to personal lives. Molds need breaking and repetition needs changing.

This year's winner of the most passionate Halloween
decorations contest.  I little too passionate for me

Rolling through endless fields of corn and soy and corn and soy I can get lost.  However, given the strict confines of the grid system of roads it's really not that hard to figure your way back to the nearest Hampton Inn.  When I let go of the confines of what I "must do" and where I "can go" in my riding I can find myself in some off the wall places.  These are definitely the places that I am not sure how I get to but I am glad that I have gone to.  For instance, among the farmland north of Peoria is a small town called Princeville.  Within that town, there was one house that was passionate about Halloween.  Ghoulish decorations from property line to property line, many of which were life-sized and quite life-like, some were disturbingly animatronic.

West of Naperville, just shy of redemption

The largeness of these decorations was matched only by the size of the smile on the homeowner's face when he saw me spin around and break out my GoPro to snap a few pictures.  If I thought his decorations were peculiar, I can only imagine what he must have thought about this spandex-clad titan who felt the need to roll by his house half a dozen times.  Then again, joy comes to me just in doing what others don't expect that I will do.  Behaving predictably is quite uninteresting.

Then there was the scene in Gridley north of Normal, which I swear are real places.  It was close to sunset when I spun through the town in the middle of an interval.  I could have blinked and the town would have passed by in-between breaths. I bumped across a railroad spur that linked an old warehouse to the main track line. In a split second I saw a flash of light from the corner of my eye and quickly twisted my head to see what I presume was a senior picture photo shoot with a young brunette.  Living in DC you probably wouldn't dream of the sitting-on-the-tracks-with-the-sunset-and-farmland image as picturesque, much less senior picture worthy or safe. However, growing up in the Midwest the image is highly sought after and undoubtedly is replicated hundreds and thousands of times this year.  

In either case, it's a slice of Americana that I forget about or, even worse, take for granted.  Of course, that's something that I cannot let myself do anymore.

Accountability and Training

It takes a moment of bravery to start anything and putting yourself out for critique requires a degree of ambivalence to consequences. I started this journal years ago without a purpose. Slowly a purpose evolved and then its importance to me faded. The desire to tell my story never vanished; more or less it simply faded into the background of those things that were otherwise deemed important at the time.

Took a big leap of faith and brought a bike with me to
Rio and discovered I could ride with monkeys there.

As I sit here on a cloudy and somewhat damp Fall day in Washington, D.C., I am looking at a forced day or so of training zone zero.  An illness stemming from the reality that one can only survive on adrenaline and espressos from Filter Coffeehouse & Espresso Bar for so long before stress, training fatigue and lack of sleep catch up to you.  Time off does not come easy to most type-A personalities but it hits me particularly hard.  I've been a competitive endurance athlete since I was 6-years old when my parents first tossed me into the deep end of a pool and said go swim.  In the nearly 3 decades since then I have had my share of victory and tasted the bitter pill of defeat.  What has remained constant during those 30 years has been the desire to wake up and attack what drives-- the thrill of competition.  Time off gives you the ability to think about that desire and to find a quiet moment of introspection that is often missing in my otherwise hurried existence.  I, like many others, need to slow down and relax.  I've been told I'll live longer that way.

We care the most about the things six inches in front of our nose.  Those things that were right there in front of me grabbed my attention and over time the desire to write and to record my history just didn't seem important. A short time ago I met a fellow American when we were in Brazil.  He told me of a new company he had started called Before-I, the idea of which resonated with me. While this was not necessarily the message he intended to leave me with; what I took away from our conversation was a renewed sense of self-accountability.

Riding in a legitimate rain forest in Rio.  Something as a
cat 5 in Kansas 10 years ago I never dreamed I would do.

There are an incredibly few people that you will meet in life that will make you be exceptional. In fact, few people in this world will make you strive for mediocrity. The drive for exceptional stems from within. This journal has always been about one aspect of my life- bike racing.  I've endeavored to leave the other parts of my existence free from public view; but that's not fair and frankly it can be rather uninteresting.

One of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever
seen from the heights overlooking Ipanema.

As such, from now on out, my ambition is public, my success is public and so is my failure.  A full accounting of these affairs is what I owe to myself.  There is no motivation quite so powerful as self-accounting.  This is of course quite different from self-doubt which kills motivation and strips the mirth from many a passionate endeavor.  The knowledge that you must be able to face yourself in the mirror and in viewing that image recognize it for all its characteristics-- it's perfections and imperfections.

At times I will rant and at times I will rave; but on these pages I will lay bare this story and not because I crave anything.  Rather because I seek that peace which comes from stopping for a moment and taking a deep breath to take in the occasional sunset or dramatic vista before diving into a harrowing descent or lining up for a twilight criterium.

New Beginnings

By the end of the month, many people will have started their racing seasons.  Of course, for most the real start was weeks and months prior to the first race day; but it's nice to think that the season has a brightline start date which coincides with a race.  There is a lot that goes into bike racing, beyond just hours and hours of training.  There is equipment and clothing to buy, coaches to talk to, schedules to make, babysitters to pay for and bargaining with one's spouse or significant other for unreasonably high amounts of training time and cash to be spent on bikes.  I recently detailed on a training ride the number of people and companies that contributed in some small way to me going out that day-- it totaled at least 15 separate contributions.  It cleary takes a village to outfit a bike racer.

This is a year of new beginnings for me.  By its end I will have married the love of my life, started racing for my first new team in over 7 years and maybe bought a new house.  Any one of these events could be enough "change" for a whole year in itself.  But true to form, and contrary to my Grandfather's sage advice, I don't like doing anything in moderation.  There is a true freedom in a new beginning.  It's the opportunity to remake yourself in the way you see best fit; to learn from the lessons of the former and make the new better. 

Progress, like new beginnings, comes in many different forms.  Most often progress is subtle.  We constantly search out the big change, the breakout story or the sudden smash hit.  However, progress is more often just a touch of advancement here and there.  When I was growing up I had a description of what it meant to be a capricorn on my wall in my bedroom.  I must have read it a thousand times, something that struck me was the message that capricorns feed on small accomplishments.  As a teenager I did not quite grasp that concept because I always wanted to be the flashy new kid on the scene.  I wanted to burst into success as the guy who came out of nowhere to the pinnacle, afterall that's what made the best stories on NBC's coverage of the Olympics. 

Reflection now, however, shows that the slow but steady climb up the ladder can be just as good as the bottle rocket to success approach.  It takes a different kind of strength to make these two climbs and honestly neither is better than the other.  I've spent so much time in recent years trying to figure out which way(s) are correct and thus the only way to do things; but it recently dawned on me that there are often mutliple different answers to a question and thus mutiple different "correct" ways.  In the end, maybe Granpa was right, everything in moderation...including moderation itself. 

Winter Duldrums-- Riding Clean

A couple years ago the BPA news broke and literally dozens of bike racers fled from store bought water bottles.  I was one of them.  It was a good thing for me because it forced me to dig into my collection of bottles that were far too old to get rid of those that had developed science projects worth of deposits on the bottom from powders and recovery mixes.  I settled on CamelBak's Podium Chill bottles as my first choice in hydration.  With their insulation they were great for the hot and cold days.  Even in the worst temps in DC's Summer I could expect to have decently chilled water for up to about 60 minutes after starting.   
The Podium Chill served me well but I began to notice I was having trouble getting the bottles out of my cages.  This became very true when I switched over to carbon cages.  I ended up having to literally twist the bottles out of the cages and I started to conclude that these bottles must be just a little wider than what the cages were made to hold.  I have no mathematical proof for that assertion but literally hundreds of hours of real world testing.  I also became concerned with the fact that they carried only 21 oz per bottle and cost in the neighborhood of $12 a piece.  Truth be told, CamelBak also made 25 oz Podium Big Chill but that bottle is so large that it almost doesn't fit into my 56-cm frame.  The fact that each bottle cost $12 made signing one for the adoring fans in the following picture taken at SuperWeek last year exhilarating with just a little financial sting. 

Around Christmas, I remembered a  Le Tour video of some guy running along the side of the road in a Clean Bottle suit and so I dialed up the website and took a quick read on the product he was selling.  I was looking at it as a possible alternative.  I found the 4 for $29.95 price much attractive than CamelBak's price and was excited to see that the bottles were also BPA free.  I read more into the story behind Clean Bottle and the outreach the owner undertakes with each purchase and was impressed.  So I bought a 4 pack of bottles and I'm now sold on the product.

I was pretty excited about the idea of a bottle that can be cleaned better in the first place.  Heck, even my Mom thought it was a great idea.  I was a little skeptical about how the bottles would hold up under real world use and I have to say I am very impressed.  I have been using them with a great degree of consistency for the past month and half, including numerous times through the washing machine and they have exceeded my expectations.  I thought you would get leaks with the twin seals but I have never experienced a leak from these bottles.  I have put them through daily hard rides, mountains, and gravel and they have done exactly what I have asked them to do. 

The plastic on the bottle is thicker than most of the store bought versions so they feel substantial in your hands.  Even with gloves on they are user friendly and I don't spend time fighting to get them out of my cages.  The added bonus I wasn't expecting is that the nozzle can be removed for cleaning.  This is a genius idea.  I can now finally get rid of the hangover taste of whatever powder or recovery drink I had used the prior time.  This is that taste which would normally outlast even the washing machine on older water bottles. 

These are officially now my go to bottles in my rotation and when they are clean they are the ones that will go first on to the bike before any others. 

Winter Duldrums-- The Ick

The common enemy of all bike racers, aside from roller bladers and taxis, has to be illness and injury.  Nothing interrupts training cycles of the determined more than being sick.  When we get sick or even feel illness coming on we should of course do what is good for everyone else-- rest, see a doctor, get the right medicine, etc...  So when I started feeling a little less than perfect on Thursday of last week you know exactly what I did . . . that's right, absolutely nothing.  I ignored those first twinges of a sore throat and a head ache that wouldn't go away until I was full blown sick with a chest cold this morning.

As a bike racer I fall victim to the same sense of invincibility many endurance athletes feel.  For most people in the United States, that sense of invincibility diminishes somewhere after pledging a fraternity or getting arrested for disorderly conduct.  But for a lot of athletes it never completely seems to go away.  We take risks and push limits well beyond what most would consider prudent.  Why else would we roll down a mountainside at 75km/h protected by spandex and a helmet made of foam?  And then ride back up it to do the same thing again, just this time faster.  

Being a bike racer is about calculated risks.  Knowing when to put in an effort or when to let the break go.  Knowing when to push it through a corner or when the outside line is really faster.  However, listening to your body is equally important.  We run our bodies at such high levels, between training intensity, fatigue and then just every day life.  There is a class of us out there who try to train like pro's just without the support of a team soigneur and masseuse to help us bring it back to reality.  Those folks are left to their own device to try and make sure they don't over do it all.

However, you take all of the above and toss in a little extra drama in life, a touch of extra stress at work or just a bad day stuck on a plane or bus next to the guy whose coughing up a lung and voila...you are sick. It's definitely time for me to start listening to my body just that much more.  Another nap is my near future.

Winter Duldrum-- Picking the Right Clothes

I keep looking at the temperature hoping it creeps above freezing so I can encourage myself enough to go outside and spin for an hour on this recovery day; but alas, that just doesn't seem to be happening just yet.  We have arrived at the unpleasant time of year after Christmas and before it gets warm that tries my soul.  I realize I am from Chicago and should be "used" to winter; but that doesn't mean I like it.  All it means is that I own more winter clothes than people from Florida

One of the things about this time of year I enjoy are long team rides.  I get over scheduled during the season with races every weekend and on the rare occasion I am not racing, others I typically ride with are racing.  Sunday, while out on the District Velocity team ride we paused at the little convenience store on Travilah.  Just a quick stop to rehydrate and plan out the remainder of the route.  In the brief time we sat there talking I saw at least 4 other team rides go by us.  It was a huge breadth of fresh, albeit cold, air that made me feel good. 

I've been pushing lately to break old habits in winter clothing choices.  I've started wearing fewer layers but increasing each layer's heaviness.  In the past I've worn so many different layers that I felt I was cutting off circulation or that I couldn't bend my arms.  This year I have made the transition to long-sleeve jerseys and base layers.  I'm a huge fan.  To that end I've picked up a set of new long sleeve base layers from DeFeet both in regular and wool.

The bonus appears to come in shedding arm warmers in favor of sleeves.  The looser fitting sleeves keep me warmer and allow for increased range of motion.  I still think I'm one of the few people who feel comfortable in wearing two pairs of shorts on colder days rather than thin tights.  Maybe that's odd; but I've also added leg warmers to my collection for the first time.  Prior to this year I had gone with the college football style of winter riding with knee warmers and bare calves.  The addition of a pair of fleece lined Pearl Izumi leg warmers has really helped in the 40 degree temps. 

Still got to have ten different pairs of gloves for every ride.  It's amazing how 45 degrees on Monday requires a totally different set of gloves than 45 on Wednesday and then again on Saturday.  Odd. 

Rocking the Round Hill (VA) with a Neo-Pro

In looking back at this blog I  realize I post a lot about not being in DC.  Last year I spent over 80 nights away from DC for both work and bike racing, which could lead some to believe I do not like it here.  That is absolutely not true.  Riding in DC is some of the best I have found in the country.  We have beautiful roads, respected routes and a great community of fellow bike racers.  The Mid-Atlantic racing scene is also one of the best and most consistent in the country.

I also don't write a lot about local races and riding.  A quick review of Gam Jams on a Monday morning following a race weekend will prove how well covered the local scene is already.  It will also serve as a reminder of the painful moments my subconscious tried to forget as well.  Therefore, my own particular insights about these races probably would not provide extra value and might distract from my own joy of reading about other people's impressions of our experience. 
Now that the race season has subsided and I am back to long training rides I have headed back out to one of my favorite local haunts about an hour drive from DC in a town right under the Blue Ridge -- Round Hill.  For various reasons, I have become a regular in the area and I know I'm not alone.  In the past I have seen a host of MABRA's finest-- Joe Jefferson, the now west coastal Chuck and a bunch of team rides from NOVA-based squads on those back roads.  So the secret is definitely out.

One of the real joys of riding there is that I am joined periodically by Neo-Pro Curtis Winsor, pictured here in white (in full high school prom night glory).  When he is home and away from his efforts to conquer the cycling world I often join him for way too many long hours in the saddle.  He does have a tendency of getting us lost and convincing me to go for "just a little bit longer" which almost always turns into one more mountain or one more hour.

I need to brag a little bit here about my friend Curtis.  I have been riding with him for about 2 years and since then he has gone from elite ametuer to faux pro and now to an official neo-pro with Kenda/5-hour Enegry Pro Cycling presented by GEARGRINDER.  It has been incredible to be along for the ride while he has made this journey and I cannot say enough good things about his attitude and how grounded he has remanded.  Granted, his epic rise does mean I win fewer and fewer town/county/state-line sprints against him; but, I have grown comfortable with that fact.  And more importantly, it will not dissuade me from trying, again and again. 

Bike racing is, at it's heart, a social endeavor-- a shared suffering.  Growing up as a swimmer I realize the privilege we have in bike racing of being able to talk to others while we are training or competing.  It was always difficult in swimming to realize you were going to be staring at a black line on the bottom of a pool for hours without the ability to share thoughts or jokes with those who are nearest you.   

Winter training is about that aspect of the sport-- rolling out with your buddies for long rides.  In the race season, which now seems to be ever expanding with the inclusion of CX, I get so focused on getting to races on time, on prepping equipment and all sorts of things unrelated to just enjoying the company of people who share my interest.  When winter rolls around it's great to re-enter that world.  I have been admittedly isolated in the last couple of offseasons, much to my detriment.  I spent a lot of last offseason riding solo.  Too much time out alone will likely drive you crazy and I'm sure it did for me . . . to a small degree. 

So this winter, I have promised myself that I will be more present.  So if you see me out riding or on a group ride please just ride up and chat.  I can always use the company.     

New Orleans and New Sarpy

I've had a long standing love affair with the Crescent City and I got the chance to be there for a week. There is something really special about New Orleans- it's a perfect mixture of life, food, decadence and rust. I enjoy cities that are lived in, ones that have history which is evident from the moment you walk in. I get really annoyed with places that are so clean and so perfect that you wonder if you have to take your shoes off when you cross the city limits. New Orleans is a special place and you know it just by being there. You see it even more when you get passed Poydras and head out into Southern Louisiana.

While the pavement might not be perfect, New Orleans is a really rideable city and one that I have gotten used to riding in. It also has a growing cycling community with well attended local weekend rides. By virtue of living in Mississippi for a couple of years I came to know the racing scene and a bunch of the elite guys who are legit hammers. I wanted to test out my legs on the river levee which is an about 25-mile stretch of paved bike path along the Mississippi River which heads out to New Sarpy, which is a small town on the river. The path is not nearly as congested as you would guess and it's a good place to get in a strong ride out into the swamp. Just don't expect any elevation change but do expect a strong headwind at some point.

I love eating in New Orleans. My experience is that food is a celebration down there and not something which you just do. I had to have a couple quick meals and hit up one of my favorite sandwich shops Mother's which is perfectly located right across the street from the courthouse. Just remember when someone asks you if you want debris on your po-boy that means a whole bunch of dressing and not road trash. And everyone at Mother's refers to you as "baby" and they don't take tips. Just accept those facts.

I also got to try out a place I've wanted to try for a long time- Upperline-- which is just up the road off St. Charles uptown a bit. It was delicious meal and the bartender made a great sidecar which is always a plus. And who can complain about a $45 prix fix three course menu? I enjoy places where the owners and managers are there and take an interest in your enjoyment. Just thinking about it now makes me want to go back down.

DON'T FLY US AIRWAYS

I cannot make it any clearer than that. I have been a longtime critic of the random pricing of airline bike fees; but a recent charge I was forced to pay was unconscionable. I went down to New Orleans for a trial last week. Based on our position in the case I knew I would have some periodic free time while I was down there so I thought it was a good idea to bring the bike with me. Plus, I wanted to test out my form on the river levee-- nothing says fun like 50 miles of absolutely flat reptitive riding (sarcasm font)!!! So I boxed the bike up and took it to DCA for my morning flight. After some back and forth with the ticket agent, I was charged $200 for just my bike-- $200!!!

This was a $140 increase over the fee I paid in 2008, on the same flight, on the same plane, on the same airline. I consider this to be ridiculous. Of course I thought that this was just the latest in a long line of airline's charging random amounts for bikes for no good reason. And, that on the way back the price would fall back to the $100 range like it is on United and most other airlines. Sadly I was mistaken. I checked the US Airways website and sure enough, the bike fee is listed at $200.

I guess I should have checked the website out first and would have been spared the grotesque shock of hearing that dollar amount. However, in my wildest imagination, I did not think it could possibly be that much of an increase in such a short period of time. What is most interesting is that the bike fee is a 10x increase over their standard charge for other checked bags. I debated doing an airline-by-airline spreadsheet of charges; but I found that the fees change so regularly that it really is not worth my time to try and keep up.

Moral of thes story, check their prices online beforehand and simply do not fly US Airways. The service has always been marginal and its employees are lackluster anyways. By and large Southwest and Virgin are the best and cheapest airlines when it comes to baggage fees-- $50 each way. If possible, my goal is to limit the number of times I check my bike this year. Just means more driving for me; but to save the aggravation of fees and bike boxes I have no problems doing it.

The Rivalry

There is something pure about a rivalry-- a simplicity in the dislike rivals have toward each other mixed with a grudging respect that comes with heated competition. Rivalry is part of what makes sports great and why watch. What would baseball be without the Yankees and the Red Sox? What would football be without the Bears and the Packers? It is games like those that get circled on calendars long before a season starts. It is those games which draw people in like no other throughout the season.

When I was a swimmer, back in the days of yore, I had a bitter rival. We did not race each other each weekend but we found ourselves staring across the lanes more often than not. With each race our rivalry grew and the competition got better. Eventually I would outpace him and the competition ceased but while it was on going it produced some magical races.

In the world of bike racing I have missed out on that for some time. So you can imagine my happiness when Nick Versus Gravity brought back the joy of rivalry to my life. It started subtle, a text taunting me about his prowess in CX followed by a Facebook message encouraging me to bring my "A" game. Then came his assurances I would find myself in the tape. Because of a trial scheduled this September I was not able to open the CX season in MABRA but sure enough when Winchester rolled around I got to line up right behind him and this is what ensued:



Granted neither of us won the race but all the fireworks do not have to be at the front of the field right? In the end his mouth was bigger than the wattage he could throw down...however he did go down a bunch of times. We have not resumed our rivalry yet because frankly Nick Versus Gravity chose to chicken out and not go to Granogue; presumably because it was too much of a man's race for him, and I raced up in the 1/2/3 at DCCX.

Come Ed Sanders the Rivalry will resume. This one is likely to get ugly.

Raining and Pouring

The weather here, and around every part of the country that I've been to lately, has been spotty at best. One moment it's sunny and the next moment it's raining sideways. Such has been the pains of my season as well. I showed moments of greatness in Phoenix and had a solid ride at Black Hill to be followed by three sub par performance over the past three weeks. A battle with a couple mechanical problems and a crash have a way of sorting things out for you in a hurry. Especially when my margin for error is so small.

I took a rare day off to do my other favorite thing. . . sit and enjoy a Spring day with food and friends at Oatlands for the annual Hunt Point-to-Point. I am bringing out a new fashion trend this season. I noticed a vest as a replacement for the sport coat in a recent episode of White Collar and wanted to give it a test drive. I think it's a great move for the blistering temps of the Summer. Who ever is running the costume shop on that show has been inside my closet lately. As long as looking classy is in style I am a happy guy. To that end I was introduced last year to Suresh Khemlani of Custom Executive Outfitters. He's been my tailor since then and put together a great set of shirts for me as a Christmas gift from the pretty brunette pictured here. I strongly recommend him to anyone. It's harder than you think finding business clothes that fit the body of an athlete. He comes to you and has been a pleasure to work with.

My out of town season starts in mid-May with Tour de Grove. It marks the first opportunity that I have had since becoming a Cat 2 to get into a race with my coach and friend Adam Mills. I have been looking forward to this for two years. No doubt it'll be one of the toughest races I have been in for a long time but bike racing has always been about challenges and meeting them head on, especially when they have a tendency of meeting you back.

Local Racing

MABRA has a style of racing I have not found in too many places-- the circuiterium. It's not long enough to be a circuit race and its not short enough to be a crit, it's the race somewhere in the middle. During the opening months of the race season in the Mid-Atlantic our calendar is dominated by these races. They take a couple different forms but mostly they are about 1 1/2 miles without much in the way of technical challenges. In most cases the races come down to a match up of rider against rider and not riders against the course. Our first local race like this took place recently out in Maryland in a particularly unassuming place. It was great to get the local season started here but the remainder has been less than satisfying. Our early season races appear to be vanishing this year. Some have been postponed, some have been canceled. I am not passing judgment just expressing my frustration in wanting to get some racing in. It is making it difficult to follow through on the plan that I made at the start of the season. At a minimum it requires me to be more flexible as to when I'm going to line up to do battle. I set out on work travel last week to Rochester, NY. At first when you hear that, you are at a loss for anything good to say about the locale. And, I will admit that there really is not a ton to do there but it is not half as bad as I thought it was going to be. I have heard that Rochester's Museum of Play is not bad for the family folk among us and the Eastman Kodak Museum has some great exhibitions throughout the year. However, when I am on travel I do not get the opportunity to check out things unless I get done really early. What I do get to enjoy is the local flavor. I refuse to eat at nationwide chains while on travel. Whenever possible I go out of my way to find something local and something off the beaten path. While driving from the airport to a meeting I ran across a little pizza joint called Perri's Pizza. It's classic New York pizza with counter service. I am not saying it was just like pizza down in NYC, but it is definitely better than any of the soggy-crusted pizza we have in DC. As a Chicagoan I can appreciate good pizza and I am not going to engage in a debate of what is the better style of pizza. Let's just put it this way, NYC pizza is better for lunch. Whereas Chicago pizza is the better style for dinner. These are just facts that should not be disputed.

Cowboy Boots

San Antonio surprised the heck out of me. I first found myself there a month ago and was blown away by how big the city actually is and what the city had to offer. Growing up in Naperville, with our own version, I had heard about the Riverwalk in San Antonio but had no idea what to expect. So I put on my cowboy boots and headed out to see what I can find.

I have had a fascination with Texas for as long as I could remember. I am not exactly sure what there is about the State but I really enjoy the food, music and culture, especially in central Texas. So when I knew I was heading down I was really charged because it had been a good long time since I have had some BBQ. Also, I knew I had to make my pilgrimage to the shrine of Texas itself-- the Alamo. Just being in this humble building was like walking into a center of pride; especially for a guy like me who grew up idealizing Davy Crockett to the point where my Grandmother made me a coonskin cap that I wore all over the place.

I was only gonna be there for a couple days so I did not bring the bike with me; but I can see how there would be great riding in the area. Despite a big downtown, it looks likes it would be easy to get on some lesser travel roads and eventually into the open country. And, with the hill country nearby I can only imagine the trouble someone could cause on two wheels. If I get the chance I am definitely gonna bring the bike.

The first time I was there I took in a classic Texas experience with a former teammate and his wife-- Rudy's. Having lived in the South I am familiar with the tradition of mixing bad for you food with gas stations. I loaded up a plate full of different meats, creamed corn and topped it off with some Lone Star. I do not care if the latter is Texas' version of Bud Lite; when I go native I really go native. The "Q" was as good as I remembered it.

The most recent time I was there I met up with a long-time cycling friend and the guru behind State Wheels at the Gristmill River Restaurant for some Chi-Friy and to discuss exactly why I love the wheels he builds. One of the great things about traveling as much as I do is the ability to keep connected with people and to experience all the country has to offer. The Gristmill is located right next to Gruene Hall, one of the oldest dance halls in Texas. I was told that on any given night you could find just about any one playing there including some of the biggest names in music. The food was great and, by the looks of things, that dance hall is definitely a place to head back to when I get my boots polished up.

Escaping the Cold: Valley of the Sun 2011

After a hiatus from travel and blogging (but never from racing) I returned to a faux pro lifestyle in the early Fall 2010. It's taken a while but I'm back in form and am ready to provide that bit of unique commentary that I have and to share the stories of racing and riding throughout this most beautiful country.

In D.C. we have languished under some pretty cold temperatures for most of the winter and I have found myself wearing my thermal jacket way too much this year. So when I had the opportunity to depose a witness down in Thatcher, AZ I jumped on the first plane I could. It happened that this trip would coincide with Valley of the Sun so I packed up the bike and my new set of State Cycling Wheels which I will demo for the first part of the season.

After a quick deposition and a stop at Pima-based Taylor Freeze for a remarkably cheap, delicious and greasy lunch, I made my way up to Phoenix for the start of bike racing season ver. 2.11. Valley of the Sun is a three-day stage race which features a flat time trial, hilly road race and a downtown criterium. Without a time trial bike I rolled the first stage and determined to hunt stages starting with the road race on day two.

ROAD RACE:

The road race consists of 16-mile triangular laps which feature a 4-mile 400 foot climb and corresponding descent into straight as an arrow valley road. The challenge to this year's race was the strong cross wind in the valley road which put everyone into the gutter. I rode well through the first lap until I felt that sinking feeling that corresponds with a flat rear wheel. I looked down and sure enough I was rolling on the rim and was about to launch into a 73-mile chase.

After a wheel change I dove into the headwind just in time to see the field turning into the cross wind about a mile ahead of me. Throughout the course of the race I picked up and passed shattered riders and formed a small groupetto that continued to chase. Eventually the effort wore us down and the chase finally went out of the group. We rolled in a good distance behind everyone else. When they say that its a dry heat in Arizona what they should say is that it is a heat that will suck all the water out of you so you better drink double what you are used to drinking. At the end of the race my legs were white from salt and my body was dehydrated beyond belief.

CRITERIUM:

The profile of the crit said it had a 40-foot elevation change so I was expecting a hill. What I got was a figure eight course flatter than my IHOP pancakes. With no large teams in the field it was negative racing at its best. Guys threw themselves off the front but each time they came rolling back through the field like a bowling ball heading downhill. After a brief second of toying with the idea of doing that myself, I settled in for a field sprint I had great position all the way through the race until about 3 laps to go. At that point in time I looked up and suddenly saw 50 guys in front of me and just about nobody behind me.

I have always been curious how this phenomenon happens. You roll in the top 10-20 guys for 25 miles and are vigilant about what is happening and where everyone is and it is as if you suddenly find yourself teleported back to the lantern rouge. I remedied my positioning problem with a few dives into a couple corners and was back into good position...just in time for some guy to flat right in front of me through a corner and nearly take out the middle part of the field right as we hit the ultimo kilometer. I scrubbed speed hard getting through his shaky line and found myself thrust to the back as we hit the final lap-- packfodder. I was not pleased with my result but pleased with the effort I put in up until that time.

After the races I visited two solid local spots: Los Olivos Cafe in Scottsdale and Monti's in Tempe. Definitely places to go to when you are in town. If you get to Los Olivos, which I've been to twice, ask for one particular server, she's been there for 56 years and has the greatest stories ever. This time I was served by her granddaughter who also works there

Solvang, California Days 3 & 4, Vineyards and Chris Carmichael

The weather turned on the third day and it started raining. I needed a lighter day and the hour-long recovery ride fit just perfectly. Rather than waste the day I made contact with the brother of a dear KS friend who works in valley managing vineyards. We met for an incredible lunch and then went around the Santa Rita Valley sampling some of the finest grapes that the land can offer. Surrounded by so much wine I just couldn't resist snapping a shot.

The fourth day was the big day for me. A ride without serious mountain climbs but with serious distance. We chose a route through the vineyards and down to the sea. Then we turned north and shadowed Vandenberg AFB and up and over Harris Grade before heading off to Santa Maria.

The way back was through some of the most beautiful canyon roads that I have ever seen. With blue skies above, the lush green of springtime California is eyepopping. Carmichael Training Systems has a camp in this valley and we've come across them a couple times, so it was nothing odd to see a lone CTS rider in the valley in front of us. We caught him at the base of a climb and struck up a conversation. We introduced ourselves and he introduced himself simply as "Chris" leaving it to us to realize that it was in fact Chris Carmichael.

We rode with him back into Los Olivos and then down into Solvang. It was a great time and we talked about everything. He was very pleasant and unpretentious and took his turn at the front of the paceline just like us all. Definitely the kind of guy that I'd love to have on my rides all the time.

Later that evening we headed up to San Luis Obispo to meet with the folks at Highroad. We had a great dinner and shared some incredible laughs under the stars. Just standing in the office of HTC Columbia was impressive. The office is a converted garage filled with leader's jerseys from every imaginable major race in the world. Being in such a room was like being in a miniature cycling museum.

Solvang Day Two: Into the Wild

After 7 hours and 8500 vertical feet of riding we thought we'd keep it easier today. So instead of two mountains we set off to conquer the 4500 feet of Figueroa Mtn. The sunshine of the previous day had given way to grey and overcast but the temperature was still in the 60s. It's always amazing to me how different 60 degrees feels in places that lack the humidity of D.C. because it was definitely a touch chilly at the start. Upon setting out on this march you cross a series of serene vineyards and horse farms. Nothing to hint to you of the mountain top monolith that awaits you. "Fig" as the locals call it, was a beast. We went up from what I guess would be the back side where the pavement was worse and where the road again gave way to dirt.

There appears to be a bunch of impromptu shooting ranges dotting the California forest. By impromptu I mean, two guys, a glock and some paper targets set up in front of a hillside. One of these was tossed in about 4 km into the climb which made for a pleasant distraction. Somewhere about 3 km from the top I began to crack and crack hard. I find it really heartwarming, and disheartening at times, when the road is painted with mile-to-go markers. I try to think to myself that someone was kind enough to think that it would help me focus, but there is always the ever present thought that if I find that person I will likely smack them around for the hours of conscious pain that they have brought upon me.

On the way back down we came across pastures of cows. As we rode by them I was reminded of the commercials about good cheese and happy cows coming from California. At this point we had been riding for about 3 hours and despite eating shot blok after shot blok I was still running pretty much on empty. My training partners out here swears by jelly beans (the cheap ones) and rides with a pocket full of them. Since he rode me off his wheel like I was standing still I imagine it would work. I'm definitely not above that, it's just at this point in time a cheeseburger was just what the doctor ordered.

The descent was perfect. Much better than the descents the day before. Wider and more open roads allowed us all to get up some decent speed. I've grown so accustomed to the descents back in Virginia that the California ones with their hundreds of switch backs are a pleasant distraction and a definite challenge. The weather isn't looking good for day 3 so we may just switch up the plans for a little vineyard touring.

Solvang, California: Training Camp Day One

I was fed up with the endless snow, cold and dullness of the mid-Atlantic this winter. So I got on a plane and came out to southern California to ride without thick gloves, without knickers, without 9 layers of clothes. Two days in and it's been great. My legs are exhausted, my body is cracking and I'm just getting warmed up.

The first day we set out on a path from where we were staying in Los Olivos down Refugio Rd and over to the coast. Before the base of the climb over the coastal mountains we came across a 60-year old man on a mountain bike. After we told him our route he asked if we had cross tires on our bikes. He kept warning that the road was closed and that it was all dirt on the way up. That gave us no pause.

About five miles in to the climb it became paved again right at the summit. Prior to that it was a mountain bike course. Most of our time was spent picking through the wet rocks. Thankfully and painfully our way was being led by a pro mountain biker. At the top we paused for a few minutes to dress for the descent and eat some food. The 60-year old came up the same path at the time and said that we must all be pros because we chose the best lines through the rocks. I didn't have the strength to tell him that it was just survival instinct for me.

The mud climb paid off in a great view of the Pacific Ocean and the channel islands beyond. The decent was gnarly and technical. I rode the breaks because the longest straight stretch was about 200 meters long. It dumped us off on the 101 right along the beach. We rode tempo into Goleta before turning our attention upwards over the San Marco pass.

San Marco pass gave way to Painted Cave Rd which 3000 feet above the nearby ocean started to cap out with these indian cave drawings. By this point in time I had been climbing for about 45 minutes. Despite standing there staring at the sign for about 5 minutes I have no idea what it said. At the top of the climb we came across a small community. In the driveway of one of these houses was a hippy holding his dog in his hands. As we passed by him he commented to the people standing next to him that "they say the path to peace lies through suffering." An unpleasant thought directed at him crossed through my mind at that point in time.

We rode along the ridge line above Santa Barbara for a while looking for a way down and then came upon this road. The one thing about google maps is that they don't distinguish between paved roads and their less paved counterparts; or in this case a road that really didn't exist at all. At the top of this road was a makeshift shooting range while at the bottom was trailer park. We road down 7.2 miles along what was in reality a horse path (complete with hoove marks) which at times had more grass on it than dirt. After reaching the bottom we decided to make a straight line for homebase.

When the World is White

Credit first goes to U2 for giving me inspiration for this post. It's snowing outside and I'm getting increasingly annoyed by the lack of opportunity to ride outdoors. I'm also annoyed by DC's complete inability to clear streets. I can understand the difficulty they are having but the pace of cleanup in the area is making the nation's capital the laughing stock of the nation . . . for more reasons than normal

It seems like most of my long riding is done when the weather is cold and this year most of that riding has been done will there is snow on the ground. Here are a couple pictures taken from recent rides, complete with snow.


What seems like an eternity ago I was able to go outside and ride my bike. I took this picture of the clothes that I wore on a day when the temperature was just above 20 degrees (and not the strange Euro 20 degrees which is really 60 degrees). In the summer I can get dressed in about 5 minutes and be out the door. In the winter it takes about 15 minutes. I miss summer.




During my recent individual training camp I discovered a new route from Marshall, VA which took me up and over Skyline Dr before descending back into the valley around Luray. For some reason the road was closed to cars that day so I had 30 miles of perfect open road with 3000 feet of climbing to myself. The 3400 feet up to Hogback Overlook is the highest that I've climbed on the east coast. About a year ago I climbed the 7000 feet up to the top of Mt. Mingus in northern Arizona, that's still my personal record (it was also snow covered).



Sometimes I forget how lucky I am to live where I do. On a recent week day ride I found myself at this point and snapped a quick picture. While it looks like a great pastoral image that could be taken anywhere in Loudoun County or beyond into West Virginia, it's actually taken in D.C. This was from Rock Creek Park and only about a 15-minute ride from this point back to my office in downtown.

Back to riding the trainer.

Statistics

The last math class I took was freshman year of college. I hated math. I bought an Srm and suddenly I love statistics. Five days of hard riding in the first training camp of the year are now in the books. Here are some statistics from that camp.

Total Number of Miles: 340 miles. Distance from D.C. to Pittsburgh, PA: 241 miles

Total Time on the Bike: 20 hours 19 minutes

Number of States Involved: 3-- Virginia, Maryland and West Virginia plus D.C. (Statehood Now)

Number of Civil War battlefields traversed: 4-- South Mountain, Antietam, Loudoun Heights and 2nd Manassas (the outskirts). Total number of American casualties at Antietam: 22,719 (single bloodiest day in American history).

Number of Mountains Climbed: 3-- South Mountain, Skyline Drive and Sugarloaf. Total Elevation Gain: 19,741 feet. Heighest point in the US: Mount McKinley-- 20,320 feet.

Total Calories Burned: 12,420 calories. Calories in a McDonald's Big Mac: 590 calories.

Total Number of Heart Beats: 162,246. My normal resting heart rate: 48 bpm.

Now for a rest day and then back to the normal life.