One phrase sums up the past weekend in Iowa, "hot and heavy." All three races, though vastly different in their many aspects, were as balls-to-the-wall as they could get. A 27-28mph average in Friday's road race, the killer climb of Snake Alley and it's accompanying monster descent, and Sunday's puke-your-guts-out-omg-wtf-this-shit-is-crazy-fast crit made the weekend epic.
I went into the weekend with a chip on my shoulder, ready to either kick ass or chew bubble gum.. and I was fresh out of bubble gum. Lining up at the start, at the back of 70+ fields, on the surface sucks. They do; however, give you killer motivation and tunnel vision on your goal. Not spending the whole race protecting your 10th position "baby" takes complacency and kicks it in the butt. From the line your mind's racing and your head's on fire. That's the way I'd like to be, a blazing comet.
The weekend started well enough with the win on Friday. To be honest the sweetest part was sharing it with my team. Seeing DanO take off the front selflessly leading me out and sitting down to dinner that night sharing their company, it gave the victory a soul. I'd never want to do this sport alone. From there on out, it was an effort to cement what I had started. Snake Alley sat on the radar as the most visible challenge. The cornered descent was already freaking me out, more so than than Snake Alley itself. Rain moved in and wetted the course for the 4's only to dry out in a few laps, but when it came down the our 3pm start-time, the rain started and didn't stop. The alley got wet, wild, and not so wonderful. Racers' wheels skidded out, sometimes resulting in a fall. Most advice pointed to sitting the saddle, in order to keep rear wheel traction, but due to my weight I could get away with standing. My tire did slide out, but after attempting the hill briefly in the saddle I quickly moved to a standing-only approach. Not using my 60 something starting position as a crutch I gunned the hill and slammed the descent in order to make up roughly 40 odd positions, to hover in 21st place. Each lap the Alley got harder and harder, after nine laps I was really feeling it. At the peak I sought to shift from small ring to big to start the descent. Being pretty cashed I got sloppy and didn't realize that I was still in my large cog. Big mistake. My chain is too short to fit the big ring/big cog combo. Unclipping my right foot I started the descent by frantically kicking my chain, trying to get it back into the small ring. It was no good. I DNF'd shortly thereafter with a technical. I was so mad I couldn't look anyone in the face.
Sunday was redemption day. I liked the course. The hill was moderately steep and quite long. I felt strong in my practice climbs and began feeling confident for the win. What I didn't factor into the equation was the other 70+ riders that would take the field with me. They were some of the craziest mother f***ers I've ever seen. For 18 laps fearless contenders launched attacks on both the downhill and uphill. The first left after the start/finish was also a hotbed of activity. Racers would fly up next to you leading into the turn and squeak between you and the curb. Only one option presented itself on Sunday, fight fire with fire. Sitting in the top 10% I kept the pace high, hung wheels, and took flyers. The whole thing was going to hell in a hand basket, but in a good way. I wanted to call home to mom and go hide, that's how I knew things were looking good. By the last lap things got epic. The familiar sense of the impending finish washed over me, as we entered lap 18. On the downhill I took off the front pushed well over 40mph. Making short work of the uphill my tank was empty. I recover quickly and decided to regroup, letting a few racers pass me. Big mistake. At least one rider went down shortly thereafter and took me with him, taking my current 5th place position, my chance at victory, and the whole race in general to hell. That's how it goes sometimes though. Instead of standing on the podium basking in glory and banking home another $250, I'm licking my wounds and dishing out another $105 for kit. I wouldn't have it any other way.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Wapello-Burlington Road Race
Sitting at the start line I began thinking over how the day's race should go. I sized up the field, it was strong. I looked at my position, at the back. Lastly I took into account the course, a virtaully flat run for 33 miles. Not good prospects. I knew it would be tough to simply gain access to the front of the group, but to win it? That'd be a whole other story. After a few minutes I came to a decision, I was going to win this race.
You know it's going to be a rough race when there's a crash at mile zero during the neutral roll out. Britton and I joked before the start that the neutralized section would basely constitute an agressive jockeying for position. We were right, the peloton was antsy. With a 3/4 field close to approaching 80, everyone wanted at the front. As usual the officials informed us that the yellow-line rule was in effect, meaning our group would be crammed into a single lane of traffic. There was to be an exception however, they would be "lenient" for the roll out. As far as leniency goes, the rule was virtually waived. After watching a few racers head up the left side of the group I followed suit. Quickly advancing from next to last to mid-pack I settled in. As expected once the motorbike official came off the front and declared a go for racing, the peloton put the hammer down. We easily reached speeds of 31mph and averaged 27mph for the entire 33 miles. With the increased speed came a gradual upward mobility in the pack. Surges of momentum on either sides of the pack would give an advantage to racers in that stream for any given period of time. After a random period of time momentum would shift to another side of the bunch giving another group of racers the upper hand. Making progress to the front required a steady wheel and keen perception of the peloton's movements. It would simply not be possible to sit in one side of the peloton and expect to gain any sort of cumulative advancement.
As racers jostled for position, those disadvantaged by their movements raised voices and yelled any number of responses. Mostly it was "watch your line" or "on your right/left." Sometimes curses and arguing would pepper the pelotonian conversation. Mostly, I left the bitching and moaning to the old farts and concentrated on my objective.
It took at least half the race to move into the top 20% of the pack. Once there I had a very good view of what was going on up front. DanO made some great moves from the git-go and accompanied my ascent. Usually he was a few places ahead. I watched with nervous anticipation as he launched attacks off the front, each time sitting in and allowing myself to be pulled up to him. That's the game; your man goes off the front, you don't chase. I would expend no effort in catching him, but if the riders ahead of me pulled me up to him, so be it. As honorable as his intentions were; however, nothing was bound to stick. Attack after attack, breakaways would gain a few meters advantage before being devoured by the pursuing juggernaut. In the meantime, the game was to stay in the race with two wheels on the ground; easier said than done. To recount the number of times I had to hit the brakes, dodge an swerving rider, place my hand on an oncoming hip, and handlebar joust, is impossible. For one memorable moment though I did elbow fight with an old masters rider intent on taking my line.
In terms of course profile we were informed that there would be a couple of hills (easy rollers), 33 miles (an incredibly inaccurate sign at registration said ~40), then the road would open to two lanes, and then finally we would be granted the entire road to the finish. It was relief to find that after so many nerve racking miles we had finally come to added birth of two lanes. Ironically enough the pack did little to spread out as the lead 10 riders kicked up the pace to hover around 28mph. We knew the finish was coming soon. My goal now was the same as before; sit on a wheel near the front and save for the sprint. As the original leaders fell off from their pulls and new ones surged around the sides I jumped into a four-man line and continued on in the drops. Racers were frantically vying for lead spots now and hardly containing their urges to start a sprint on the spot. I tried to stay cool and maintain top 5. On my left DanO flew up in attack. We crested a ridge and the horizon opened up to a downhill leading into streets lined with spectators. My line jumped Dan's wheel and I follow suit. He was doing what we discussed, he was leading me out. Dan gave a tremendous pull and brought us barrelling down the descent into town. It was still at least 500m to the line, but it was my turn, I would go now. Leaping out from behind the wheel I held I opened up my sprint. Down in the drops I stood on the pedals bringing my shoulders over my handle bars. Like a gold miner sifting a sand, I rocked my handle bars back and forth to match my legs. Full out, full bore, I was in the lead, sprinting to the line. One rider came out of my draft and attempted to pass on my right. Basically he came out and met wind. Stopping dead in his tracks he got no further than his original move. We were closer, 200 meters. I could hear the crowd now, they were calling to me. The announcer excitedly chattered on the loud-speaker giving me energy. There was no feeling, only sight, only sound. When my legs gave out I was completely unexpecting. I fell from my sprint crouch to the saddle, shocked. The racer to my right had fallen back. I was still in the lead. From a seated TT position I gave what I had left and covered the final meters. To the roar of the crowd I crossed the line first.
You know it's going to be a rough race when there's a crash at mile zero during the neutral roll out. Britton and I joked before the start that the neutralized section would basely constitute an agressive jockeying for position. We were right, the peloton was antsy. With a 3/4 field close to approaching 80, everyone wanted at the front. As usual the officials informed us that the yellow-line rule was in effect, meaning our group would be crammed into a single lane of traffic. There was to be an exception however, they would be "lenient" for the roll out. As far as leniency goes, the rule was virtually waived. After watching a few racers head up the left side of the group I followed suit. Quickly advancing from next to last to mid-pack I settled in. As expected once the motorbike official came off the front and declared a go for racing, the peloton put the hammer down. We easily reached speeds of 31mph and averaged 27mph for the entire 33 miles. With the increased speed came a gradual upward mobility in the pack. Surges of momentum on either sides of the pack would give an advantage to racers in that stream for any given period of time. After a random period of time momentum would shift to another side of the bunch giving another group of racers the upper hand. Making progress to the front required a steady wheel and keen perception of the peloton's movements. It would simply not be possible to sit in one side of the peloton and expect to gain any sort of cumulative advancement.
As racers jostled for position, those disadvantaged by their movements raised voices and yelled any number of responses. Mostly it was "watch your line" or "on your right/left." Sometimes curses and arguing would pepper the pelotonian conversation. Mostly, I left the bitching and moaning to the old farts and concentrated on my objective.
It took at least half the race to move into the top 20% of the pack. Once there I had a very good view of what was going on up front. DanO made some great moves from the git-go and accompanied my ascent. Usually he was a few places ahead. I watched with nervous anticipation as he launched attacks off the front, each time sitting in and allowing myself to be pulled up to him. That's the game; your man goes off the front, you don't chase. I would expend no effort in catching him, but if the riders ahead of me pulled me up to him, so be it. As honorable as his intentions were; however, nothing was bound to stick. Attack after attack, breakaways would gain a few meters advantage before being devoured by the pursuing juggernaut. In the meantime, the game was to stay in the race with two wheels on the ground; easier said than done. To recount the number of times I had to hit the brakes, dodge an swerving rider, place my hand on an oncoming hip, and handlebar joust, is impossible. For one memorable moment though I did elbow fight with an old masters rider intent on taking my line.
In terms of course profile we were informed that there would be a couple of hills (easy rollers), 33 miles (an incredibly inaccurate sign at registration said ~40), then the road would open to two lanes, and then finally we would be granted the entire road to the finish. It was relief to find that after so many nerve racking miles we had finally come to added birth of two lanes. Ironically enough the pack did little to spread out as the lead 10 riders kicked up the pace to hover around 28mph. We knew the finish was coming soon. My goal now was the same as before; sit on a wheel near the front and save for the sprint. As the original leaders fell off from their pulls and new ones surged around the sides I jumped into a four-man line and continued on in the drops. Racers were frantically vying for lead spots now and hardly containing their urges to start a sprint on the spot. I tried to stay cool and maintain top 5. On my left DanO flew up in attack. We crested a ridge and the horizon opened up to a downhill leading into streets lined with spectators. My line jumped Dan's wheel and I follow suit. He was doing what we discussed, he was leading me out. Dan gave a tremendous pull and brought us barrelling down the descent into town. It was still at least 500m to the line, but it was my turn, I would go now. Leaping out from behind the wheel I held I opened up my sprint. Down in the drops I stood on the pedals bringing my shoulders over my handle bars. Like a gold miner sifting a sand, I rocked my handle bars back and forth to match my legs. Full out, full bore, I was in the lead, sprinting to the line. One rider came out of my draft and attempted to pass on my right. Basically he came out and met wind. Stopping dead in his tracks he got no further than his original move. We were closer, 200 meters. I could hear the crowd now, they were calling to me. The announcer excitedly chattered on the loud-speaker giving me energy. There was no feeling, only sight, only sound. When my legs gave out I was completely unexpecting. I fell from my sprint crouch to the saddle, shocked. The racer to my right had fallen back. I was still in the lead. From a seated TT position I gave what I had left and covered the final meters. To the roar of the crowd I crossed the line first.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Joe Martin Stage Race 5/9-10
Saturday May 9th, 2.5 mile uphill TT and 46 mile RR
Yesterday we carbo-loaded thanks to the pasta and chicken David cooked earlier in the day. The atmosphere was light as we ate, each of us in turn musing about today's time trial. A ball game played on the TV in the little breakfast lounge downstairs at the Super 8 Motel. As we ate Brad commented about how pro our pre-race meal was, David and I agreed with smiles and nods. I pushed my chair back and headed for seconds. Raucous laughter erupted as David and Brad turned my appetite into a joke. I laughed along too, Brad got up for seconds. That's what racing is all about, your mates.
7:45am:
Fayetteville Arkansas is beautiful country. Rolling hills eclipse the horizon and valleys provide awe inspiring views. Passing through the man-made ravines cut out of the hillsides, we entered Devil's Den State Park, the site of our morning's time trial. A sign read "eight sets of switchbacks ahead." David and I debated whether that meant 8 switchbacks or 16. My reasoning was that two switchbacks would point you back in the same direction, therefore constituting a "set." After the first one I forgot to count; they were steep, they were scary, and we were taking them fast. There could have been eight, but it sure felt like sixteen.
8:00am:
Ariving at the staging area we received our race bibles, number (two to pin on the jersey, one for the seatpost), and our TT departure time. I recieved the number 432 and was set to leave at 10:40:00. Looking at the start sheet, Brad had 10:52:30 and David was departing at 10:57:00. I would be the first. Brad joked that I should report back via team radio regarding the course and its difficulty. We laughed, we had no radio.
10:00am:
I felt like I should have been more nervous than I actually was. 44 minutes from my start time and not a single real, serious butterfly. I felt that I should be concerned for a multitude of reasons. This would be my first time-trial. I hadn't had any experience pacing myself for a given distance in a race situation prior to this. This truth played into the second factor, that of which the time trial would travel up an average grade of 6.8% and pitching up to 10%. I used to be pitiful at hills, when I first started riding. My move from Manhattan to Lawrence quickly mended any novitiate climbing failings, but even still, I am no climber. Minnesota's collegiate conference championship road race made sure to remind me of that.
10:44am:
I'm inside the starting house. I ask the official if I should clip both feet in. "Yes," he replies. I comment that I've never done this before, I hope I don't fall. "Don't worry," he says, "10 seconds." A growl spreads my face. I never do that before a race. I'm nervous. I'm off.
10:45am:
According to the course profile a flat section precedes the ascent. Leaving the starting house I averaged 30mph to reach the climb. I shift into my small ring as I hit the hill. I look at my computer, 20, 19, 18, 17, 16, 15mph. I hold steady at 15 and give it a kick back to 16. Prior to the TT we talked about the average pace of last year's competitors. I was told that the winning cat 4 time averaged 15mph. That's my goal, but I'm no climber. Quickly I fall into a rythm, sitting while spinning a fast cadence. I'm gaining on some riders that started before me. I pass one, and then another. A racer is in front of me now, he must be the one who started before me. He passes a rider , seconds later I pass him too. I think to myself what the riders that I'm passing think of me. My breathing is heavy, measured, and rhythmic. My breathing makes me think I'm going too hard. I don't hear the passed riders' breath. A bit of doubt. I'm gaining slightly on the racer ahead of me. A pitch to 10% and the gap between him and I grows slightly. I stand. Everything is rhythmic.
10:52am:
I still have the racer in my sights. He has gained more on me. I wonder if he's a contender for this stage. Could the riders we passed be non-threats? I pass another. That makes four. At least 2 minutes has been made up on the riders that started before me. Somehow this indication doesn't sink in. I feel like I could be doing more, but I don't want to burn out. This TT was all horror stories before the start, so I'm still expecting the worst. I hurt, my legs burn, but somehow I feel like I could be doing more.
10:54:25am:
I crossed the finish, it was a welcome sight. It came sooner than I expected. In the saddle I gave a final kick to cross the line. No indication of how I did yet and I forgot to reset my computer. I ride 500 feet down the road from the finish. My throat is sore and my left ear feels stuffed up. Good. If I feel like I'm coming down with a cold after a race I know I've pushed myself. Rolling back near the finish I sit on the side of the road waiting for Brad to come next. Four riders sit in a line to my right, all on the same team. No one says anything about my time. Figures that it wasn't any good, my expectations were pretty low coming into this TT.
11:03:41am:
Brad comes up the hill having just passed a racer. I yell to him to push it. He stands and gives it a few good kicks and coasts across the line. He looks done. With 11:11:41 Brad sits in 12th.
11:17:60am:
David is in sight now. I begin cheering him on. He digs deep and spends the rest of his energy crossing the line. 11:20:60, a good time. David is 9 seconds and nine places behind Brad. After David makes it back to the finish line we all descend the course together. It seems to take longer going down than up. Reaching the car we stop to chat with a few fellow racers. "Decent," they say about their performances. Their expectations were low. I listen jealously as Brad and David talk about their times and placings. Maybe I could go back to the start house and ask what my time was? No, they already packed up and left. We ready ourselves to make for the road race start.
12:00pm:
David decides to stay with the bikes as Brad and I go inside Wal-Mart to get food bars and gatorade. I must look like a crazy person standing in the middle of Wal-Mart shouting. In the TT I had gotten 5th place.
2:45pm:
It's unreal to be this close to the pros. We marvel as Rock Racing, Colavita, Ouch, Bissell come rolling into the parking lot. There aren't any barriers between us and them, we could walk right up to them. The pro team Rio Grande's van pulls into a stall beside David's car. Professional cyclists are literally getting ready for their race right beside us! Riding towards the staging area we pass the Colavita team car with JJ Haedo perched on his bike next to it. I think he's speaking Italian. I'm star struck. These guys are in the same parking lot as us, getting ready to ride the same course, but there's something different about them; well, besides being pro. They have a demeanor and an air that radiates their confidence. On the bike they look as comfortable as if they were sitting in a recliner. Somewhere over by the port-a-potties, Floyd Landis is taking a piss behind a van.
4:00pm:
Our start time is late by 10 minutes. The cat 4's are the last group to go. We're heading out 11.5 miles south-west of the start, taking a left turn onto a 23 mile loop, and then heading back north-east 11.5 miles to the finish. The race lady official makes some dumb jokes. A few more minutes and we're off.
4:15pm:
Finishing 5th in the TT put me in a position that I can honestly say I wasn't ready for. I didn't expect to be our team's GC contender. I looked at my prospects, I sat 37 seconds behind the race leader. From here on out the goal is to place as high in the GC as possible, but 1st would be ideal. There are a max of 25 seconds worth of time bonuses left, 15 today for the stage win and 10 tomorrow. If no breaks go and I sit easy, winning the sprint finish in both I'll still be 12 seconds off the lead; considering that he doesn't gain any bonuses. With all things considered there's really only one option in my mind, and that's to break away.
Up ahead is the first climb of the day. I'm stuck mid-pack on the right side of the road. Moving onto the sholder I cut through some gravel and make my way towards the front. As we hit the climb I advance a few more places and eventually find myself in the lead. Sticking to my previous plan (testing the pack on the first hill and later breaking away on a climb), I set a comfortable tempo and glance back near the top. There's a huge gap. Looking over my left shoulder I see the one rider who hung my pace to the top. The kid, no more than 16, was a junior racer. Considering that fact didn't make him a good prospect for being a strong-man in the break. The real tough athletes are older and lack fear. With no other option besides falling back to the pack I looked him square in the face and shouted, "kid, let's do this!" I stepped on the gas and began quickly accelerating over the crest of the climb. Taking one last glance back I saw him fading away with a terrified look on his face. He lived up to my expectations and he let his fear get the best of him.
4:19pm:
It's inside of five miles into the race and I'm alone off the front. This kind of nonsense is for Stijn Devolder, not a first year cat 4. Although I think I have a real chance of staying away, I realize it's a small one. Basically I'm banking on the pack being disorganized and unwilling to tire themselves in an early chase. Cruising down the road at 29mph all I can think is one thing, "get out of sight." When not turning into the forested curves I can see the tiny figures at the front of the peloton. I know in order to destroy any cohesion in the chase I have to make myself at least appear to be a larger challenge to catch. By staying ahead of them in the curves and behind tree cover they won't know if I'm a kilometer or 10k away. The longer I'm out of sight the worse it'll seem. I step on it.
4:32pm:
I'm falling apart. By now I've tried cramming a Larabar into my mouth and choking it down with water. Flipping my computer up and down so that I could get the most aero grip on the inside of my handlebar I accidentally pulled it out of its mount. I considered stopping and going back for it, but then I would surely be caught by the chase. In my mind I still had a chance at the break. I no longer looked back to see if the pack was closing, long ago they ceased to come into sight. Now I focused my sights on the police escort driving ahead of me, using him as somewhat of a pacecar. It wasn't working. My legs quit burning, now they only felt increasingly useless. In increments, my speed was falling, one mile-per-hour at a time.
Up ahead loomed a massive climb. A glance back. No one was behind me. By now I wasn't sure if I could stay away. Little inclines along my break did their work in wearing me down. This massive climb only served to strike a tremendous blow to my endurance. Suddenly there were people on the sides of the road up ahead. A large portion of them wore the jerseys of pro-teams. They cheered me on. A premonition and a glance back. The pack was within sight, making their way up the hill. "Goddammit!" With gritted teeth I pushed ahead. Maybe there was still a chance? A lone rider left the front of the pack, making a bridging move. I kept up the effort, each pedal stroke excruciating. Finding motivation in spotting their quarry and the threat of a rider bridging to the break the pack began a furious chase. Quickly they swallowed up the attacking rider, and momentarily they relented. For the few hundred meters they lumbered closer, as only inevitablility could. When they were within the few remaining meters I sat up and ended my break. Shit.
Yesterday we carbo-loaded thanks to the pasta and chicken David cooked earlier in the day. The atmosphere was light as we ate, each of us in turn musing about today's time trial. A ball game played on the TV in the little breakfast lounge downstairs at the Super 8 Motel. As we ate Brad commented about how pro our pre-race meal was, David and I agreed with smiles and nods. I pushed my chair back and headed for seconds. Raucous laughter erupted as David and Brad turned my appetite into a joke. I laughed along too, Brad got up for seconds. That's what racing is all about, your mates.
7:45am:
Fayetteville Arkansas is beautiful country. Rolling hills eclipse the horizon and valleys provide awe inspiring views. Passing through the man-made ravines cut out of the hillsides, we entered Devil's Den State Park, the site of our morning's time trial. A sign read "eight sets of switchbacks ahead." David and I debated whether that meant 8 switchbacks or 16. My reasoning was that two switchbacks would point you back in the same direction, therefore constituting a "set." After the first one I forgot to count; they were steep, they were scary, and we were taking them fast. There could have been eight, but it sure felt like sixteen.
8:00am:
Ariving at the staging area we received our race bibles, number (two to pin on the jersey, one for the seatpost), and our TT departure time. I recieved the number 432 and was set to leave at 10:40:00. Looking at the start sheet, Brad had 10:52:30 and David was departing at 10:57:00. I would be the first. Brad joked that I should report back via team radio regarding the course and its difficulty. We laughed, we had no radio.
10:00am:
I felt like I should have been more nervous than I actually was. 44 minutes from my start time and not a single real, serious butterfly. I felt that I should be concerned for a multitude of reasons. This would be my first time-trial. I hadn't had any experience pacing myself for a given distance in a race situation prior to this. This truth played into the second factor, that of which the time trial would travel up an average grade of 6.8% and pitching up to 10%. I used to be pitiful at hills, when I first started riding. My move from Manhattan to Lawrence quickly mended any novitiate climbing failings, but even still, I am no climber. Minnesota's collegiate conference championship road race made sure to remind me of that.
10:44am:
I'm inside the starting house. I ask the official if I should clip both feet in. "Yes," he replies. I comment that I've never done this before, I hope I don't fall. "Don't worry," he says, "10 seconds." A growl spreads my face. I never do that before a race. I'm nervous. I'm off.
10:45am:
According to the course profile a flat section precedes the ascent. Leaving the starting house I averaged 30mph to reach the climb. I shift into my small ring as I hit the hill. I look at my computer, 20, 19, 18, 17, 16, 15mph. I hold steady at 15 and give it a kick back to 16. Prior to the TT we talked about the average pace of last year's competitors. I was told that the winning cat 4 time averaged 15mph. That's my goal, but I'm no climber. Quickly I fall into a rythm, sitting while spinning a fast cadence. I'm gaining on some riders that started before me. I pass one, and then another. A racer is in front of me now, he must be the one who started before me. He passes a rider , seconds later I pass him too. I think to myself what the riders that I'm passing think of me. My breathing is heavy, measured, and rhythmic. My breathing makes me think I'm going too hard. I don't hear the passed riders' breath. A bit of doubt. I'm gaining slightly on the racer ahead of me. A pitch to 10% and the gap between him and I grows slightly. I stand. Everything is rhythmic.
10:52am:
I still have the racer in my sights. He has gained more on me. I wonder if he's a contender for this stage. Could the riders we passed be non-threats? I pass another. That makes four. At least 2 minutes has been made up on the riders that started before me. Somehow this indication doesn't sink in. I feel like I could be doing more, but I don't want to burn out. This TT was all horror stories before the start, so I'm still expecting the worst. I hurt, my legs burn, but somehow I feel like I could be doing more.
10:54:25am:
I crossed the finish, it was a welcome sight. It came sooner than I expected. In the saddle I gave a final kick to cross the line. No indication of how I did yet and I forgot to reset my computer. I ride 500 feet down the road from the finish. My throat is sore and my left ear feels stuffed up. Good. If I feel like I'm coming down with a cold after a race I know I've pushed myself. Rolling back near the finish I sit on the side of the road waiting for Brad to come next. Four riders sit in a line to my right, all on the same team. No one says anything about my time. Figures that it wasn't any good, my expectations were pretty low coming into this TT.
11:03:41am:
Brad comes up the hill having just passed a racer. I yell to him to push it. He stands and gives it a few good kicks and coasts across the line. He looks done. With 11:11:41 Brad sits in 12th.
11:17:60am:
David is in sight now. I begin cheering him on. He digs deep and spends the rest of his energy crossing the line. 11:20:60, a good time. David is 9 seconds and nine places behind Brad. After David makes it back to the finish line we all descend the course together. It seems to take longer going down than up. Reaching the car we stop to chat with a few fellow racers. "Decent," they say about their performances. Their expectations were low. I listen jealously as Brad and David talk about their times and placings. Maybe I could go back to the start house and ask what my time was? No, they already packed up and left. We ready ourselves to make for the road race start.
12:00pm:
David decides to stay with the bikes as Brad and I go inside Wal-Mart to get food bars and gatorade. I must look like a crazy person standing in the middle of Wal-Mart shouting. In the TT I had gotten 5th place.
2:45pm:
It's unreal to be this close to the pros. We marvel as Rock Racing, Colavita, Ouch, Bissell come rolling into the parking lot. There aren't any barriers between us and them, we could walk right up to them. The pro team Rio Grande's van pulls into a stall beside David's car. Professional cyclists are literally getting ready for their race right beside us! Riding towards the staging area we pass the Colavita team car with JJ Haedo perched on his bike next to it. I think he's speaking Italian. I'm star struck. These guys are in the same parking lot as us, getting ready to ride the same course, but there's something different about them; well, besides being pro. They have a demeanor and an air that radiates their confidence. On the bike they look as comfortable as if they were sitting in a recliner. Somewhere over by the port-a-potties, Floyd Landis is taking a piss behind a van.
4:00pm:
Our start time is late by 10 minutes. The cat 4's are the last group to go. We're heading out 11.5 miles south-west of the start, taking a left turn onto a 23 mile loop, and then heading back north-east 11.5 miles to the finish. The race lady official makes some dumb jokes. A few more minutes and we're off.
4:15pm:
Finishing 5th in the TT put me in a position that I can honestly say I wasn't ready for. I didn't expect to be our team's GC contender. I looked at my prospects, I sat 37 seconds behind the race leader. From here on out the goal is to place as high in the GC as possible, but 1st would be ideal. There are a max of 25 seconds worth of time bonuses left, 15 today for the stage win and 10 tomorrow. If no breaks go and I sit easy, winning the sprint finish in both I'll still be 12 seconds off the lead; considering that he doesn't gain any bonuses. With all things considered there's really only one option in my mind, and that's to break away.
Up ahead is the first climb of the day. I'm stuck mid-pack on the right side of the road. Moving onto the sholder I cut through some gravel and make my way towards the front. As we hit the climb I advance a few more places and eventually find myself in the lead. Sticking to my previous plan (testing the pack on the first hill and later breaking away on a climb), I set a comfortable tempo and glance back near the top. There's a huge gap. Looking over my left shoulder I see the one rider who hung my pace to the top. The kid, no more than 16, was a junior racer. Considering that fact didn't make him a good prospect for being a strong-man in the break. The real tough athletes are older and lack fear. With no other option besides falling back to the pack I looked him square in the face and shouted, "kid, let's do this!" I stepped on the gas and began quickly accelerating over the crest of the climb. Taking one last glance back I saw him fading away with a terrified look on his face. He lived up to my expectations and he let his fear get the best of him.
4:19pm:
It's inside of five miles into the race and I'm alone off the front. This kind of nonsense is for Stijn Devolder, not a first year cat 4. Although I think I have a real chance of staying away, I realize it's a small one. Basically I'm banking on the pack being disorganized and unwilling to tire themselves in an early chase. Cruising down the road at 29mph all I can think is one thing, "get out of sight." When not turning into the forested curves I can see the tiny figures at the front of the peloton. I know in order to destroy any cohesion in the chase I have to make myself at least appear to be a larger challenge to catch. By staying ahead of them in the curves and behind tree cover they won't know if I'm a kilometer or 10k away. The longer I'm out of sight the worse it'll seem. I step on it.
4:32pm:
I'm falling apart. By now I've tried cramming a Larabar into my mouth and choking it down with water. Flipping my computer up and down so that I could get the most aero grip on the inside of my handlebar I accidentally pulled it out of its mount. I considered stopping and going back for it, but then I would surely be caught by the chase. In my mind I still had a chance at the break. I no longer looked back to see if the pack was closing, long ago they ceased to come into sight. Now I focused my sights on the police escort driving ahead of me, using him as somewhat of a pacecar. It wasn't working. My legs quit burning, now they only felt increasingly useless. In increments, my speed was falling, one mile-per-hour at a time.
Up ahead loomed a massive climb. A glance back. No one was behind me. By now I wasn't sure if I could stay away. Little inclines along my break did their work in wearing me down. This massive climb only served to strike a tremendous blow to my endurance. Suddenly there were people on the sides of the road up ahead. A large portion of them wore the jerseys of pro-teams. They cheered me on. A premonition and a glance back. The pack was within sight, making their way up the hill. "Goddammit!" With gritted teeth I pushed ahead. Maybe there was still a chance? A lone rider left the front of the pack, making a bridging move. I kept up the effort, each pedal stroke excruciating. Finding motivation in spotting their quarry and the threat of a rider bridging to the break the pack began a furious chase. Quickly they swallowed up the attacking rider, and momentarily they relented. For the few hundred meters they lumbered closer, as only inevitablility could. When they were within the few remaining meters I sat up and ended my break. Shit.
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