The Spin Cycle

Back in the saddle....

...the blogging saddle, that is. 2006 was a busy year. Updates to come.

Strange Days

In the aftermath of a (to me) disappointing Master's Nationals, three days of vacation were about what the doctor ordered. I didn’t even want to look at a bike, let alone ride one. So, of course, the first weekend after coming home is our State Criterium Championships (for those of you who read this that are not cyclists, or don’t follow bike racing, a criterium is a multiple-lap race on a road course. The laps are usually short, and the course is usually flat, though lately promoters have got it in their head that there’s no such thing as a good bike race that doesn’t have at least one hill). So after three days of vacationing, the assignment from the coach was to do three-hour long rides Thursday and Friday, the Criterium on Saturday and another long ride on Sunday to get “back on track,” as it were.

So I packed up the truck on Friday night, and drove an hour and a half to the Great White North of Atlanta (Roswell) for the race. I arrived exactly one-half hour before the race started due to a mistake in the estimation of the travel time from East Alabama, where sometimes it seems I live. This left ten minutes for registration (which was still over and hour and a half better than the USCF can do it in their hometown), and 15 minutes for warm-up.

It is here that I’d like to put a special note to all race promoters, past, present, and future. Now that we have this globe-wide Inter-web thingie, it’d be awful darn convenient (and save time to boot) if you would pull your head out of your collective arses and put all required releases/waivers/forms up on the internet so that enterprising individuals like myself can fill them out ahead of time. It really is a simple thing, if you think about it. Or do you do this stuff to purposely frustrate us?

Luckily, my legs were still good from the night before, and 10 minutes on the trainer is all I need to feel ready to go. To make things even better, the first 3 laps of the Men’s 30-39 race (the promoters combined the fields of the 30-34 and 35-39. This is usually done to save time) are more of a parade than race, which just allows for even more warm-up. But soon, the racing, and the hilarity, ensued.

The first bit of hilarity was the fellow who thought I needed his brand-new 10-speed Dura-Ace derailleur. I assume this is what he wanted, because he tried to run it into the spokes of my front wheel. Twice. After I had put a warning hand on his hip to let him know I was there. Other memories from the race: The whoop-de-do manhole cover on the back side of the course (three times!), the guy who rode up the gutter and crashed (in front of me) because he ran out of road, and then being at the back of the pack shortly afterwards, because my heart couldn’t take anymore after coming to a complete stop to get around said crash. I almost gave up the ghost there, and I remember one teammate asking if I was all right. Since I was able to think of a snappy answer (though I didn’t have the air to say it really loud), I figured I was OK for the duration. So I rode in the back for the next 8 laps or so, waiting for the final four laps to start moving up.

When they announced 5 to go, I remember thinking that I didn’t feel all that bad, and that if I felt no worse with 2 to go, I’d try my chances in the sprint. So I started moving up, which is easy to do if your brain is oxygen deprived, because all sense of self-preservation goes right out the window when your body craves more O2 than you can possible inspire. By 2 to go, I’ve moved up to the top 15 or so, which is where I like to sit in a sprint: far enough forward to be out of most danger, far enough back to make excuses if you don’t do well in the sprint. It is at this point that I’ll note that it’s about 400 meters from the exit of the last corner to the finish line, most of it uphill - especially the last little bit before the line. So as soon as we come flying out of the corner, everyone stacks up on the right side of the road, looking around at each other to see who the first idiot to lead out the sprint would be. One person they weren’t looking at was me (I’m waaaaaay back, remember?). Never one to pass up a chance to demonstrate my stupidity, I go with everything I have from about 300 meters out. Up that dang hill. The only person able to respond is Tony Scott, and he catches me about 20 meters before the line. But I had opened up a large enough gap to assure 2nd place, and because Tony is 34 years young, that makes me 35-39 State Criterium Champion.

Strange days indeed.

Into Thin Air

The 7-11 velodrome in Colorado Springs, Colorado, is exactly 6125 feet above sea level, in the sprinter’s lane. This is some 5000 feet higher that Atlanta, presenting problems for any endurance athlete that wants to go race there.

Luckily, I am not an endurance athlete.

I have, however, spent considrable time these last 6 months training specificly for the Kilometer Time Trial, and this event (Master’s Nationals) in particular. When you train for one specific race, though, the fickle finger of fate can flick you good, and I couldn’t duck it. The week before Nats, I came down with the shingles.

Normally, this in and of itself would not be a problem – the pain associated with the rash was (for me), not nearly as bad as, say, road rash, and I thought that I could handle it. Unfortunately, you have to agressively fight the virus if you do not want that pain to become a semi-permanent part of your life, and that mean anti-viral medications. Tuesday night, seven days before I was supposed to travel to Colorado, I found out that I was allergic to the anti-viral meds that I was on – and I found out the hard way. 103 degree fever, blood pressure 190/110, and a migraine headache for three straight days. I felt immediately better once I stopped taking the meds, but the training that I missed was a critical part of my “taper” for the event. My coach worked out a plan to get me somewhat back up to speed, but I was going nowhere near as fast as we were expecting me to. Needless to say I was somewhat disappointed.

Once in Colorado, the first order of business was to get to the track and get some riding in. I’ll tell you right now – you most certainly do notice the altitude. I was fried from a single flying 500. Hooked up with some other Georgia folks, including NARC’s own Bill Thomsen (thanks for supplying the tent, Bill!), who was at his very first Master’s Nats. I’ll let Bill tell his own story, but to me, it looked like he had a good time, except for one attack of a carbon-starved mag trainer. But that’s Bill’s tale to tell. What goes on at Nats stays at Nats, and all that.

The first day was the 200m TT (for sprint seeding) in the morning, and the main event, the Kilo, in the afternoon. Did I mention that the USOC managed to not only mess up registration (took me 1.5 hours to reg – and I was about 30th in line – this despite having pre-registered!), but they also forgot to buy the lights, so no night racing. This means no between-sessions naptime, and that makes me a NOT happy camper. Us old men need our naps.

The 200 goes OK, I do my PB, beating my old time from 1988 by 0.02 seconds, but I’m disappointed, because I wanted to do a sub-11. Colorado is definitely the place to do fast times, and I do a mediocre ride to score and 11.13. Off to lunch, the back to the ‘drome for the afternoon session. Warmup goes well, and I feel like Captain Fantastic – until the rain comes. 10 riders before I’m slated to go, the heavens open up for 2-1/2 hours of cold, wet, but exciting (nothing like sitting an open velodrome in the lightning!) rain delay. The sun eventually returns, but when I get back on the trainer to re-warm, my legs feel like lead, and my lungs are worse. Thouroughly demoralized, I go to the start line wondering if the gods are conspiring against me. Once the clock starts the countdown, though, the race face kicks in, and everything goes away except for the ride. I do a new PB of 1:09.6 (my first time ever under 1:10), but the feeing is bittersweet, because I keep thinking how I could have gone much faster had circumstances not conspired against me. Good enough to win? Probably not – Anton Quist rides a 1:04.8, setting a new world record for 35-39 year men. That’s fast, folks.

Once the afternoon session for Wednesday wraps up, I get to wait until Saturday for the sprints. The waiting, as Tom Petty sang, most definitely is the hardest part. Once again, I almost drive everyone around me insane over Thursday and Friday. Saturday finally comes, and I feel pretty good. First ride is a 3-up against Kenny Williams and the generic "some other dude.” Kenny is the guy that beat me in the finals last year (by kilo’ing me three times in a row), so I race the stupid race, marking Kenny the whole way. In the process of which, I totally forget that Mr. Generic is pretty fast too – and Mr. Generic shows just how fast he is by sending me to the repechage. In the reps I ride agains Kenny again, and this time I extract my revenge, beating him and sending him home for the day. In the rep final, I ride against Colorado native Steve Prokopiw (yes, I can pronounce that!), and the new two-lap format plays to my advantage, allowing me to advance back in to the semi-finals. Disaster rears it’s ugly head once more between sessions when, practicing for the Madison the next day, I crash as my partner and I were practicing handslings. The road rash wasn’t bad, but the slightly separated shoulder sure didn’t make the afternoon’s prospects any brighter. I was paired against Steve Alfred (top seed – fast as a motorcycle. A fast motorcycle. Two rides is all it takes for Steve (Alfred) to send Steve (me) to the 3rd-4th place ride. At least the shoulder didn’t hurt much. I win the 3-4 ride 2-0, against Mr. Generic Guy from the first round, so a bit of cold revenge is served up by YT.

The last day I was teamed up with two friends for the team sprint. This event I Silvered in last year, riding with two friends for Atlanta. This year, there are no illusions – Steve Alfred and Anton quist had first place locked up tight. The race was for second, and we fell short by 0.2 seconds. Third place can really hurt sometimes.

And that was it for this year: 3rd in the sprints, 3rd in the team sprint, and 6th in the kilo. Not a banner year, but not bad considering I thought I was dying the week before. Next stop: Elite Nationals in Frisco, Texas!

Thanks for reading!

Days of Thunder

Texas Track Racing, and fun in (and out of) the sun.

Mike Barman and I traveled to Frisco, Texas for the last of this year’s three World Track Cup qualifiers, being held at the Superdrome. Super it is. Perhaps travailed would be a better word, as the four days were full of travails. The first day started with us at Nathan Rogut’s house putting together bikes, hustling to get to the track to get some riding in before race day. Some of you may remember Nathan, as he raced in the last Dick Lane Velodrome Grand Prix for the NARC / Trek / VW / FreeFlite team last September. Anyway, fast forward to the track, and come to find out, I left my shoes and shorts at the house, with no time to return. It’s not good when the week starts with rookie mistakes. All we needed was a crow saying “Nevermore.” Mike got a ride in to report that the new bike was totally stable, which made me feel a bit better. Mike also offered to loan me his shoes and shorts, so I could ride a bit, to which I responded “Ummm, we’re good friends, but not that good.” We’d just get up early and get a few extra laps in come morning.

Interlude thought: The post name comes from a movie by the same name, but also because, when racing on a wooden track, the group coming by sounds like thunder. It sounds like really loud thunder when the group crashes. More on this later.

Back to the track after a restless night’s sleep (I don’t travel well), and both the bike and the track prove to be as stable as Mike reported, so there were no pre-race jitters for the morning festivities. I was riding the kilo TT, and Mike was doing the 4k pursuit, proof that kilo riders are 4 times smarter than pursuit riders. Anyway, I rip off my new PB of 1:11.9, and Mike rides his PB in the 4k of 5:20. I finish tenth, and Mike finishes in Steve’s traditional time trial placing: Not Last. Good start. We hit out for lunch and a nap, then are back at the track for the “fun” event of the weekend – scratch racing. Mike is doing 2 scratch races, as the promoters have scheduled a Cat 3 scratch race in addition to the World Cup track race. I’m just doing the one. The hard one. Anyway, it’s about this time the weather starts getting pissy. Mike lines up at the rail to find out that it’s not a Cat 3 scratch race – they’re combining in the Cat 4 field as well. This immediately turns it from a Category 3/4 to a Crash-‘n-gory 3/4 race. And that cliché holds true: 15 laps in, two Frisco teammates decide to make cow eyes at each other, and get together for a little tussle. I’m sitting in the pits, making last minute adjustments to my new track bike with a file, when I here really loud thunder, and I turn to see people pointing at the place where the really loud thunder came from. And at first, because the weather was very rapidly going South, I thought that lightning had hit nearby, but no: The aforementioned Frisco riders meet and go down, and Mike, who’s riding below them, is submarined. Later, I also find out that after landing on one of the Frisco riders (and his handlebars, which pokes a nice hole in his hip), he gets torpedoed in the ribs by another riders front wheel. Mike would later look like his kids colored him with blue magic markers, but right then he was just pissed and wanting back in the race – Me? I just feel a nickname coming on. One of the race casualties, in addition to some of his skin, is his front wheel – now one cracked and dead Zipp 404. I look over at my dear, dear, Zipp 440, the one I have to ride sprints on the next day, and whimper “You want to ride my wheel, In a Crash-‘n-gory 3 / 4 race!?!?” He tells me he’ll “take good care of it.” Ten laps of racing left, and I can’t watch. To Mike’s credit, he goes to the front, and pretty much stays there for the rest of the race, getting third (and upgrade points, so that he’ll never have to ride anything but a Cat 2 race on the track ever again, right Mike?). 15 minutes later, the heavens open up, and racing is cancelled for the night as the big Texas T-Boomers roll through. This is great: the next day, I get to do the scratch race before I do my 200 for the sprints. I decide I’ll ride the scratch to warm up for the 200, meaning I won’t be able to finish it, as I have an early heat. I am not a happy camper.

To shorten this report, I won’t tell you about the trip in the early dawn hours to the track, only to find out that it takes the UCI commissars well over two hours to figure out that modern man has devices like radar, and The Weather Channel, to help with determining when it is possible to resume racing. The rain finishes at 10:30, and we’re racing by noon. Unfortunately, it’s as cold as Ft. Lauderdale in February. It’s not normally cold in Ft. Lauderdale in February, only at World Track Cup Qualification events, so tradition is holding, as it’s not usually cold in Texas in May. From now on, I’m only going to these things if they’re in San Diego. Anyway, the scratch race is fast, and Mike’s not going to well (not that I was either), so we’re both out after about 15 laps. I had done some good work, so I’m nice and warm for the 200, which is my only positive thought of the day so far. I do a slow 200, and barely qualify for the sprint finals (only top 12 ride the sprints). In the first round, I ride against Robert Lindstrom, a national and world champion BMX racer. He’s big fast, and wearing the loudest skinsuit that any of us have ever seen ever. Jame Carney immediately nicknames him “Goldfinger.” There was much hilarity in the infield. You‘ll note that in the picture of Goldfinger and I lining up, that I continue in my tradition of celebrity holders for sprints and keirins – this time I have Jame Carney, several time Olympian, holding me and giving me advice. “He’s faster than you, so you’ll have to jump him.” The part about “he’s faster than you,” would get to be a common refrain from Jame. The next picture shows Goldfinger and I coming through getting the bell – and I’m about to jump him. I got a good gap, but not enough, because he’s faster than me – lots faster (he would go on to get 2nd place after an epic three-ride battle with Gideon Massie), getting me by a wheel at the line, so it’s on to the reps for me.

In the reps, I ride against Adam Duvendek (National Team Guy), and Generic Local Guy (GLG). Jame holds me at the line again, and tells me (of course) “He’s faster than you, but he’ll make a mistake, and you have to take advantage of that.” With a lap and a quarter to go, Duvendek makes the promised mistake , riding over GLG turn three. GLG looks up at and turns into Duvendek, and when they are completely even, I jump as hard as I can. 325 meters is a long, long way to sprint. Duvendek beats me at the line by a tire, or maybe a tire-and-a-half. The only consolation I get is that I got to watch Andrzej Bek, the national team coach, yell at him for a while. A little later I twist the knife by telling Andrzej he needs to invite some of us old sneaky guys to sprint camp, so we can screw with their heads a little more. Andrzej is not amused.

In the meantime, Mike sits in the infield with his knee swelling. Mike is not a happy camper.

Later that evening, after a very short lunch break, we return for the finals: I have to race the 9-12th place final, and Mike has another Crash-‘n-gory 3/4 race. I ride a good race an win the sprint, getting 9th place, meaning I’m the fastest loser at the track. Mike survives his race (an admirable effort, considering his right knee looks like someone implanted half a softball), which has a strangely depleted field from the night before (I hear Frisco Police found two men in torn lycra with trying to kill each other the previous night), and we call it a night. The next day is the team events, which neither one of us are doing. We laze around in the morning, and go out in time to catch the Madison, after which we do a good hard 2 hour training session, and then go home to pack bikes. Then, out to dinner with our hosts. The last dinner of the trip is quite fun, thanks to Nathan and his lovely wife Erin, who are very engaging. Monday morning, and Delta gets us there, there being here in Atlanta, ending our little whirlwind trip.

All in all, not a weekend.

Off to Frisco..

Time for another World Cup Qualifier, this time at the Superdrome in Frisco, Texas. The Superdrome is a short track - 250m, though that had become the de-facto world standard. I personally prefer the old 333.333(33333)m standard, but what can you do? The UCI now requires that all World and Olympic championship events be held at an indoor track, and it's easier (read: cheaper) to cram 250m of track into a building. If it results in more tracks being built (indoor OR outdoor), I'm all for it. At least it's not the Vandedrome.

More updates as racing progresses.

Perry Tales

The Georgia Cup is a seven race series in its inaugural year. I traveled to the second race in the series for some training before the final World Cup Qualifier at the Superdrome in Frisco, Texas. What follows is my race report for the team website:

There’s and old cliché about youthful exuberance being overcome by old age and sneakiness. Or experience. Here’s how it works in a real life situation:

The Master’s Rider (MR) shows up at the race (The Georgia Cup, Round 2: Perry-Roubaix) with his young, quite good-looking massage therapist (MT) in tow. Said Master’s rider has been harping on and on to the aforementioned MT about how there were many pairs of tired legs at these events known as bicycle races (which is what the MR trains for, hence needing the services of the MT) that would be in much need of the MT's services.

Said MT can then sets up office at the race and makes money. More money than the MR could ever hope to win on the day, given the fact that the MR is a Track Sprinter (TS), not a Road Racer (RR). She’s also then on hand, and quite happy (refer back to the money part) to keep the TS (and pretend RR) MR in some form of shape to finish the Cat 3 Crit (C3C?), after DNF’ing the Masters 35+ crit.

Here’s how the day went:

All Thumbs

Sports Massage

When I started into my heavy training cycle for my Kilo-specific training, my endurance coach started mentally counting the days until I was turned into a burnt out cinder of a bike racer. Fortunately, the human body, when well taken care of, can take incredible amount of abuse. A good massage therapist helps increase the amount of training my 38 year-old body can take by working out all of the kinks and binds that tired muscles can develop. Increased blood flow, and more pliable and supple muscle tissue can result from extended sessions.

In case you're wondering, I highly recommend finding a competent massage therapist, and seeing them regularly, if you are doing any kind of serious training.

Leaving, On a Jet Plane

Time for me to head to Ft. Lauderdale, Florida for the AVC World Cup Qualifier. Three days of track racing in the warm - gotta love it! I'll try to post (if I can get to a computer), but if I can't, I'll have a full report, plus pictures, when I return. Wish me luck!

Time for Trials (and other Pursuits)

The Boneshaker's Cycling Team held their 2nd annual Tundra Time Trial yesterday, and what a fantastic event it was. Held on the Silver Comet Trail outside of Atlanta, Georgia, the event offers a 10 mile long out-and-back course with slight (1-3%) grades that are typical of old railbeds that have been converted to multi-use trails. 155 riders showed up to brave the frigid 38°-60°F temperatures. Actually, your's truly was the first rider off, and it was a bit nippy, and hard on the lungs. I was hacking all day - my lungs definitely do not like temperatures below 65°F.

Because the local velodrome is closed for repairs (and in dire straights, actually), it was an opportunity for me to dust off all my track equipment and spend some time on a fixed gear. All the aero equipment still works, and I turned a time of 23:49 (Beating my old 10 mile time from 15 years ago by over 5 minutes). My minute man caught me, and I was amazed to see him go by with less than 2k left. Not amazed that he passed me, but that he was, except for his kit, in full USPS time trial bike regalia, down to the Trek Team Time Trail frame, aero bars, Bontrager disc and front wheels. Technology has come a long way when a Catagory III rider can own the same equipment that Lance rides - well, until Saturday anyway. Lance's new position and equipment (as well as his donut-powered ITT from the Algarve) will be the subject of a post later. The sheer number of disc wheels, time trial bikes and other aero equimpent was simply amazing.

Boneshaker's did a bang-up job running the event. We had a start platform, ramp, and computerized results posted within minutes of finishing, and they deserve a hearty "Well done!" for handling over 155 riders at their second running of this event. I guess riders will have to go off every 30 seconds next year. Good job, guys!

UPDATE: The results from the Boneshaker's Tundra Time Trial are up.