My first foray into cat 3 racing and what a course to test it out. The Conestoga Challenge contains two really difficult climbs in each of four laps, the type that take a lot out of you, the type that fracture a peloton into little groups of riders. At 50 miles, this would also be about 25% longer than the longest race I've ever been in. The key would be to make sure I was in the front group when the peloton fell apart.
About 40 riders took the start. On the first lap, the peloton stayed together. Unfortunately, I was having some mechanical problems. In back, I couldn't shift into my biggest (easiest) cog without the chain skipping back and forth. Up front, when I would try to go into my big ring the derailleur kept throwing the chain over the top. Luckily I figured out how to fix this without stopping!
On the second lap, coming up the first big climb, the peloton fell apart. This was the moment and I was up to the task. Ten of us made the lead group and the other riders fell away. My only teammate in the race, Ryan Shebelsky also made the lead group as I knew he would.
On the third lap I started to realize that I was not quite as strong as my companions. On both of the big climbs I started to fall off the back a little at the end of the climb. I'm not sure if having that last gear would have helped me or not. At the top of each climb I was able to hook back onto the group.
The fourth lap started with my receiving a fresh bottle of cytomax from Rob Allen. All was going well and then we hit Stony Hill road. This is not one of the two big climbs, but it was enough. My nine companions simply climbed more quickly than I could. For the first time in my life, I fell off the back!
I kept at it, finding my own rhythm as they rode away from me. I just tried to focus on keeping 10th place. And then my mechanical problem became huge: my rear derailleur cable snapped. For the rest of the race (including the two big climbs) I would be stuck in my hardest gear. I pushed on. I had to jog my bike up the two big climbs and had to dismount on a third shorter climb, but I was going to finish the race.
As it turns out, we put enough distance from the rest of the riders that I was able to hang on to my position. My first cat 3 race was a pretty good result, 10th place.
Later I looked up the other nine guys in that lead group. The oldest guy was 9 years younger than me. The other 8 ranged from 18 to 27 years younger than me. Taking that into account, I feel pretty damned good.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Up to Cat 3
I heard through the grapevine that some people thought I was sandbagging in cat 4. I don't want to be a sandbagger, so win or no win, I decided it was time to move up to cat 3. The races will be longer, the competition will be stiffer, and unfortunately, I will not be able to increase my training hours accordingly. What this means is that the quest for a win may never reach the hoped for conclusion.
But I'm ok with that.
But I'm ok with that.
Tour de Ephrata - April 25 & 26, 2009
Disappointment numero dos!
This is one of the peak races in my training plan. It consists of three stages: Saturday's 40 mile road race, Sunday morning's 8 mile time trial up Pain Mountain, and Sunday afternoon's criterium. Last year I did really well in this race, picking up 18th, 5th, and 9th respectively on my way to finishing 7th place overall. I was pumped for this race, feeling in better shape than I was last year.
Saturday's road race did not go as well as I hoped. It ended in a bunch sprint which is not my strong suit. At the end of the day, I simply didn't have the gas to put in a good sprint. I finished 19th. I was bitterly disappointed.
Sunday mornings TT was the redemption for me. It's an 8 mile course: 4 miles relatively flat and then 4 miles up pain mountain. Last year I distinctly remember thinking that I would have to dismount and walk my bike up some of the steeper sections. At those times, I reached down and found something extra. Last year, I completed the stage in exactly 26 minutes and took 5th place. This year, it seemed just a little easier. I worked hard on the flat parts but saved a little for the climb. Riders go off at 30 second intervals but none of the three riders in front of me showed up. As a consequence the rider in front of me started with a 2 minute advantage. Very quickly on the climb, I started to see riders and I started to pass them. When I reached the steepest parts, I just kept on cranking. I felt great and I crossed the line in 24:49, a minute and 11 seconds faster than last year...and 4 seconds faster than the winning time last year. Would this be it? Would I finally get my win? It was not to happen. Wes Schempf (see Fawn Grove Roubaix post) put in a time of 23:53. As it turns out, shaving more than a minute off of my time landed me in 5th place again!
Still, I thought that with a strong finish in the criterium I could place well overall. Last year I remember feeling great in the crit and this year was no different. My family and several friends from my neighborhood were cheering me on. Coming into the second to last lap my legs felt strong and I was looking forward to putting in a good sprint and finishing hopefully in the top 6. But that sprint would happen without me. There's a saying in cycling, "there are two types of riders: those who have gone down and those who haven't gone down YET." Coming into the 2nd turn, several riders dove into the corner. There was a bottleneck with no room to move. I ended up crossing wheels with another rider and landed on my ass. My race was over. My new shorts had a giant rip allowing me to show the entire town of Ephrata my right butt cheek.
Despite the unceremonious end to my quest for glory, I finished the race in 12th overall. Not bad, but not what I was hoping for.
This is one of the peak races in my training plan. It consists of three stages: Saturday's 40 mile road race, Sunday morning's 8 mile time trial up Pain Mountain, and Sunday afternoon's criterium. Last year I did really well in this race, picking up 18th, 5th, and 9th respectively on my way to finishing 7th place overall. I was pumped for this race, feeling in better shape than I was last year.
Saturday's road race did not go as well as I hoped. It ended in a bunch sprint which is not my strong suit. At the end of the day, I simply didn't have the gas to put in a good sprint. I finished 19th. I was bitterly disappointed.
Sunday mornings TT was the redemption for me. It's an 8 mile course: 4 miles relatively flat and then 4 miles up pain mountain. Last year I distinctly remember thinking that I would have to dismount and walk my bike up some of the steeper sections. At those times, I reached down and found something extra. Last year, I completed the stage in exactly 26 minutes and took 5th place. This year, it seemed just a little easier. I worked hard on the flat parts but saved a little for the climb. Riders go off at 30 second intervals but none of the three riders in front of me showed up. As a consequence the rider in front of me started with a 2 minute advantage. Very quickly on the climb, I started to see riders and I started to pass them. When I reached the steepest parts, I just kept on cranking. I felt great and I crossed the line in 24:49, a minute and 11 seconds faster than last year...and 4 seconds faster than the winning time last year. Would this be it? Would I finally get my win? It was not to happen. Wes Schempf (see Fawn Grove Roubaix post) put in a time of 23:53. As it turns out, shaving more than a minute off of my time landed me in 5th place again!
Still, I thought that with a strong finish in the criterium I could place well overall. Last year I remember feeling great in the crit and this year was no different. My family and several friends from my neighborhood were cheering me on. Coming into the second to last lap my legs felt strong and I was looking forward to putting in a good sprint and finishing hopefully in the top 6. But that sprint would happen without me. There's a saying in cycling, "there are two types of riders: those who have gone down and those who haven't gone down YET." Coming into the 2nd turn, several riders dove into the corner. There was a bottleneck with no room to move. I ended up crossing wheels with another rider and landed on my ass. My race was over. My new shorts had a giant rip allowing me to show the entire town of Ephrata my right butt cheek.
Despite the unceremonious end to my quest for glory, I finished the race in 12th overall. Not bad, but not what I was hoping for.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Fawn Grove Roubaix - April 5, 2009
Paris - Roubaix is one of the most famous bicycle races in the world, one of what are known as the Spring classics. The race is a war of attrition that tackles a number of cobbled sections that wear riders down physically and mechanically (lots of flat tires and worse). Fawn Grove Roubaix was designed to emulate this famous race as much as is possible in this area. It is full of short, but steep climbs and a number of sections of gravel road. I knew that the key would be to stay in the front group during the first half of the race until the contenders were separated from the pretenders (I have absolutely no interest in being a pretender!). Another key was to keep an eye on Wes Schempf - a mountain biker who had won races at national championship races in 2008.
The race was harder than I imagined. Within the first half of the first 13.5 mile lap our field was already split into any number of small groups, there was at least one crash in the gravel, and as I figured, Wes Schrempf was off the front. But, I had busted my hump and managed to stay in the lead chase group. At that point there were six of us and we worked together to try to reel Wes back. Somewhere near the end of the first lap, we caught him, and he joined our group.
The first third of each lap contained the toughest sections and so as we crossed the finish line for the first time, I waved to my wife and kids, smiled and then began to dread what was to come. On the first turn (a sharp right from an asphalt downhill to the first section of gravel, one of our seven went down. So, there were six of us. During the first difficult climb, Wes just started to pull away. This time he wasn't trying to breakaway, he was just stronger than the rest of us. Myself and four others were happy to let him go. But one guy chased him (mistake!). By about the half way mark of the 2nd lap, the one chaser had been dropped by Wes, we caught him, and he fell off our back. So now it was Wes out front and a five man chase group.
Everything was going exactly according to plan. The five of us worked well together, knowing that no one else in the field would catch us, and at the end of the race, we would sprint it out for second place. And then it happened. About a mile from the end of the second lap, I flatted. The support vehicle had no extra tires (all 40 had been given out in the first lap!). I didn't see another cat 4 rider for at least 5-7 minutes. I changed my tire and made it back to the finish. I decided to stop there. It was a terrible disappointment - the first race I haven't finished. The disappointment grew worse when we watched the cat 4's finish the race. The four guys I was with had caught Wes, and the five of them sprinted for the victory - Wes came in fifth. I spent random moments for the next few days thinking about what might have been.
The race was harder than I imagined. Within the first half of the first 13.5 mile lap our field was already split into any number of small groups, there was at least one crash in the gravel, and as I figured, Wes Schrempf was off the front. But, I had busted my hump and managed to stay in the lead chase group. At that point there were six of us and we worked together to try to reel Wes back. Somewhere near the end of the first lap, we caught him, and he joined our group.
The first third of each lap contained the toughest sections and so as we crossed the finish line for the first time, I waved to my wife and kids, smiled and then began to dread what was to come. On the first turn (a sharp right from an asphalt downhill to the first section of gravel, one of our seven went down. So, there were six of us. During the first difficult climb, Wes just started to pull away. This time he wasn't trying to breakaway, he was just stronger than the rest of us. Myself and four others were happy to let him go. But one guy chased him (mistake!). By about the half way mark of the 2nd lap, the one chaser had been dropped by Wes, we caught him, and he fell off our back. So now it was Wes out front and a five man chase group.
Everything was going exactly according to plan. The five of us worked well together, knowing that no one else in the field would catch us, and at the end of the race, we would sprint it out for second place. And then it happened. About a mile from the end of the second lap, I flatted. The support vehicle had no extra tires (all 40 had been given out in the first lap!). I didn't see another cat 4 rider for at least 5-7 minutes. I changed my tire and made it back to the finish. I decided to stop there. It was a terrible disappointment - the first race I haven't finished. The disappointment grew worse when we watched the cat 4's finish the race. The four guys I was with had caught Wes, and the five of them sprinted for the victory - Wes came in fifth. I spent random moments for the next few days thinking about what might have been.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
One more run at Cat 4
To move up or not to move up, that is the question;
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
(by staying in cat 4 this year)
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
(by moving up to cat 3)
Actually, the slings and arrows of cat 4 are not too bad. But am I a sandbagger? I do well in cat 4. I haven't won a race, but I have three top six finishes and three more in the top ten. But I would like to win one...just once. After much thought I have decided that at age 43 with only two years of racing under my belt (and 2 1/2 years of riding) that it is ok for me to hang out in cat 4 for a little while.
The problem is that I don't think I have the time to train the way a cat 3 rider needs to train. And so, when I do move up, I fear that I will spend the rest of my racing career not contending for the win. In cat 5 and cat 4 I have felt that in almost every race I had a shot at winning. I'm definitely not the strongest person out there, but I'm a contender.
And so, I will start out the 2009 season in cat 4. Maybe half a season. Maybe a whole season. We'll see how it goes.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Al Toefield Memorial Race - Brooklyn, NY
We went up to Brooklyn for the week. I registered for the Al Toefield Memorial Road Race for this past Saturday. It has been six weeks since I raced and I was really excited to get into the competitive realm again. Each morning before the race, I rode up to the site, Prospect Park, and cruised around the 3.4 mile course. Big sweeping turns with one moderate hill. I've been in a lot of races now, and I've never won one. Throughout the week, I started thinking that I will never win a race in a sprint. I'm just not that explosive. The only way I'm ever going to win a race is to be in a successful breakaway. I decided that if the group were together on the last (8th) lap, I would attempt a breakaway on the hill. The hill comes right after the start/finish line, so to be successful, I would need to keep away for about 3 miles.
The first two laps were a bit chaotic. It occurred to me that perhaps New York cyclists ride like New York city taxi drivers drive. However, things eventually settled down. We were keeping a pretty good pace (~24-25 mph) but nothing that was taxing me too much. On the sixth lap, a four man break went off the front. I was a little far back and couldn't go with them. However, I moved up towards the front, and when a couple of riders made to bridge the gap, I went with them. In the end, about six of us chased down the four and shortly after we caught them, the peloton caught us. So, by the start of the 7th lap we were all together. The pace slowed as people prepared for the last lap.
The mind is funny. It tries to convince you of things. As we crossed the start/finish to begin the bell lap, I tried to convince myself that I would be better off in a sprint. The hill begins with a short part that is not at all steep. During this time, I worked my way to the left side of the peloton about 3 or 4 riders deep. There is a short leveling off, and then the "big" hill comes. It's fairly long and has a bit of a grade to it. I remembered not to listen to my mind during a race and jumped as soon as we hit the hill. I came around the three or four riders with a few pedal strokes and when I went off the front I was moving quickly. I came clear of the group straight away and only one person was able (or willing) to follow.
I stomped up the hill with great speed, extending the gap. About 3/4 of the way up, I motioned with my elbow for my partner to come around. A quick glance showed that he was not coming. I say "c'mon man...if we're going to make this stick we've got to work together." No response. I get to the top of the hill, still busting my butt. I throw the elbow out. Nothing. Now, I'm angry. The last thing I want to do is drag this guy the whole way around the park so that he can beat me in a sprint. I start weaving back and forth, trying to shake him off my tail. No luck. He's glued to my rear wheel. So, I sit up. I literally sit upright, put my hands on my waist and stop pedalling. He pulls through and I turn to him and say some choice words. But now I'm on his wheel. The problem is he's not moving fast enough. So after about 5-10 seconds, I pull off to the left and rip by him. He can't follow me this time. I'm on my own.
I've got somewhere between 2 and 2/5 miles to the finish. My heart rate is screaming at 182. And I am flying. I'm in the drops, I don't look back. I just push as hard as I can. Although I know the course, I don't know it well enough. As the time moves on, I keep looking for the registration table around each bend. It has to show up...but it doesn't. My legs are burning. My breath is so heavy. I'm virtually dying.
Finally, I come around a bend and there is the finish line, maybe 300 meters away. I take one glance behind me and see the pack. They are gaining, but I still have a decent gap. As I get closer, I see my brother and niece on the side and hear them cheering. I feel as though I will vomit. But, with every last bit of energy I have I stand up on the pedals and sprint for the line. 200 meters, 100 meters, 50 meters...
In the last 50 meters I go from 1st place to something like 15th place as the peloton flies past me. It's as if I'm standing still. I'm completely dead. I can't talk, I can barely breathe, and I still wonder when I will throw up. As I turn around and make my way back to my brother, I am congratulated over and over. "Man, was that you on the breakaway? That was awesome!" My disappointment gets tempered by these comments.
Afterwards, I run into my breakaway companion. I ask him what happened. Why didn't he help? He says he didn't have it in him. He was too beat to come around me. He needed a few minutes to get his energy back. "Well why didn't you say something?" He says he couldn't talk, he was too beat. I apologize for my choice words.
It didn't work, but I feel really great about it. Someday, I may win a race. If I do, I think that this is the way it will happen. I've got a few more this year. We'll see.
The first two laps were a bit chaotic. It occurred to me that perhaps New York cyclists ride like New York city taxi drivers drive. However, things eventually settled down. We were keeping a pretty good pace (~24-25 mph) but nothing that was taxing me too much. On the sixth lap, a four man break went off the front. I was a little far back and couldn't go with them. However, I moved up towards the front, and when a couple of riders made to bridge the gap, I went with them. In the end, about six of us chased down the four and shortly after we caught them, the peloton caught us. So, by the start of the 7th lap we were all together. The pace slowed as people prepared for the last lap.
The mind is funny. It tries to convince you of things. As we crossed the start/finish to begin the bell lap, I tried to convince myself that I would be better off in a sprint. The hill begins with a short part that is not at all steep. During this time, I worked my way to the left side of the peloton about 3 or 4 riders deep. There is a short leveling off, and then the "big" hill comes. It's fairly long and has a bit of a grade to it. I remembered not to listen to my mind during a race and jumped as soon as we hit the hill. I came around the three or four riders with a few pedal strokes and when I went off the front I was moving quickly. I came clear of the group straight away and only one person was able (or willing) to follow.
I stomped up the hill with great speed, extending the gap. About 3/4 of the way up, I motioned with my elbow for my partner to come around. A quick glance showed that he was not coming. I say "c'mon man...if we're going to make this stick we've got to work together." No response. I get to the top of the hill, still busting my butt. I throw the elbow out. Nothing. Now, I'm angry. The last thing I want to do is drag this guy the whole way around the park so that he can beat me in a sprint. I start weaving back and forth, trying to shake him off my tail. No luck. He's glued to my rear wheel. So, I sit up. I literally sit upright, put my hands on my waist and stop pedalling. He pulls through and I turn to him and say some choice words. But now I'm on his wheel. The problem is he's not moving fast enough. So after about 5-10 seconds, I pull off to the left and rip by him. He can't follow me this time. I'm on my own.
I've got somewhere between 2 and 2/5 miles to the finish. My heart rate is screaming at 182. And I am flying. I'm in the drops, I don't look back. I just push as hard as I can. Although I know the course, I don't know it well enough. As the time moves on, I keep looking for the registration table around each bend. It has to show up...but it doesn't. My legs are burning. My breath is so heavy. I'm virtually dying.
Finally, I come around a bend and there is the finish line, maybe 300 meters away. I take one glance behind me and see the pack. They are gaining, but I still have a decent gap. As I get closer, I see my brother and niece on the side and hear them cheering. I feel as though I will vomit. But, with every last bit of energy I have I stand up on the pedals and sprint for the line. 200 meters, 100 meters, 50 meters...
In the last 50 meters I go from 1st place to something like 15th place as the peloton flies past me. It's as if I'm standing still. I'm completely dead. I can't talk, I can barely breathe, and I still wonder when I will throw up. As I turn around and make my way back to my brother, I am congratulated over and over. "Man, was that you on the breakaway? That was awesome!" My disappointment gets tempered by these comments.
Afterwards, I run into my breakaway companion. I ask him what happened. Why didn't he help? He says he didn't have it in him. He was too beat to come around me. He needed a few minutes to get his energy back. "Well why didn't you say something?" He says he couldn't talk, he was too beat. I apologize for my choice words.
It didn't work, but I feel really great about it. Someday, I may win a race. If I do, I think that this is the way it will happen. I've got a few more this year. We'll see.
Grandview Grand Prix
So now I know what it FEELS like to win...it's one of the greatest feelings ever!!!! Too bad I don't know what it's like to ACTUALLY win... What follows is the story of the guy who needs to learn how to pay attention to the whole race***.
I woke up...not feeling great. I got to the race..not feeling great. But Grandview is a great criterium and my hope was that as the race started or went on that I would feel ok.
At the gun we started off pretty quick. Not surprising. I settled in somewhere around the front of the back third for the first of 18 laps. Not a great position, but that's where I felt like being. I was just sorta hanging on.
By about the 8th or 9th lap I was starting to feel a little better and moved into the front third of the pack. I think that by this time a break of four riders had gone off the front, but I wasn't aware of exactly what was up in front of us (see *** above).
I think it was about the 15th lap that one of the Shirk's guys, Manny Caliz jumped off the front. Manny is a strong rider and I didn't want him to get away, so I went quickly with him and a third guy followed us. We built up a bit of a gap straight away. After Manny pulled, I did my duty, when I pulled off the third guy didn't pull through. So it was Manny again. When it came back to me I had to say, "Sorry, I don't think I have it today." We slowed and the pack caught us.
Occasionally, I would hear someone in the crowd call out "30 seconds" or something like that, indicating the time between us and the breakaway. But the breakaway was nowhere to be seen.
On the back half of the 17th lap, I decided it was time to make my move. Coming from about 3 riders back, I made my jump. I looked under my arm after about 20 pedal revolutions and saw that I had a gap, but it was small. I put in about 20 more and a second look showed the gap widening. From here on out I was all in!
I passed my teammates having a little party at Brad and Michelle's house. Cheers from them gave me strength. A big turn and then the long sweeping Grandview Avenue. Passing the finish line to start the bell lap, I was greeted by my wife Holly and the kids cheering and ringing cowbells. It was a blur as my heart rate reached up to 192 (higher than I've ever seen it).
On the back half, there are a series of turns with a block in between each: left, left, right, right, left, left to get back to the final leg before the finish. I was feeling strong, giving it everything I had, and then, there he was! I saw the breakaway ahead of me. I was gaining quickly and before long I came up on his rear wheel and zipped around him - right in front of my cheering team. I was in first place. On the last left, I took a glance back and saw the pack. They were closing, but I still had a decent gap.
Every bit of effort I had went into that last leg. All of a sudden I see the registration tents (the finish line!) ahead of me. With 50 meters to go, I glanced back and saw that they couldn't catch me. A few more seconds and I raised my hands in victory! I was overjoyed. What an amazing feeling! I rode right towards Holly who was taking pictures of me...arms raised in celebration.
And then the pack caught up to me and I heard people talking about the successful break...only they weren't talking about me. The guy I had passed to move into "first place" was one of the four people in the breakaway who had been dropped. The other three had finished the race well ahead of me - I had never even seen them. I probably made one of the greatest celebrations ever for a fourth place finish!!!
And yet, in retrospect, I realize that that race was one of the best performances of my (short) career. I took off at the right time and I held off the peloton. And hey...fourth place ain't all that bad.
And then the pack caught up to me and I heard people talking about the successful break...only they weren't talking about me. The guy I had passed to move into "first place" was one of the four people in the breakaway who had been dropped. The other three had finished the race well ahead of me - I had never even seen them. I probably made one of the greatest celebrations ever for a fourth place finish!!!
And yet, in retrospect, I realize that that race was one of the best performances of my (short) career. I took off at the right time and I held off the peloton. And hey...fourth place ain't all that bad.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)