Cyclocross Stony Creek 2010

It took me a while. I'm a little slow. In all kinds of ways.

My riding life is great. I do all kinds of things: mountain bike, road ride, dirt road ride, race mtb's, and race cyclocross, race dirt roads, do leisurely rides. This year I didn't race road, though I trained a bit at Runway, the AAVC Tuesday evening leg tester. Road races just didn't fit into the schedule, though they will off and on in the future.

Todd and Andy
(I like both kits. The colors are so well done. Plus, the sponsors are ice cream and coffee. No wonder they're racing together.)

I've occasionally found that some road racers cast aspersions on mountain bikers (though they'll do something like race Iceman or Ore-to-Shore), some mountain bikers do the same to road racers, and cyclocross racers are such a mix and their brains are so oxygen depleted that they don't do much more than stare into space with goofy looks on their faces. I love all kinds of racing, though I'm sure lack of air to the brain cells is partially responsible for my take on things. There's no reason to rank one type of riding over or under another. They're all interesting and fun.

Rodger, flying...as usual.

In the past I raced hard all year. These days I'm mellowing out a bit. A race here, a race there and just a lot of riding in between. It feels good, I have a smile on my face as long as the rides happen, and I make sure that smile returns on a near daily basis.

I did find, however, that humility comes with a lifestyle that involves a lessened emphasis on intensity. I've been dropped at DirtHammer! rides that I once stormed over. I don't place in the top five in races anymore, or even top ten. I'm lucky sometimes to hit top twenty. Humility is a painful lesson, though intense training is painful as well, so I guess we just choose our pain.

In this post-podium driven lifestyle, however, I've found something else. I've found that riding as a mid-packer has its advantages. I've been able to race without those endless hours of worrying about my VO2 max, lactic buildup, or whether I should be hammering on a day (or many days) when I know that to be truly competitive I need to do just that. I can "train" in my own unorthodox way. I can have fun without guilt.

Lillian

This past Sunday at the Stony Creek CX race I found that fun in the B race. I've never raced as a B, a Killer B as they're known. I started CX after I turned 45 and always rode in the Masters category. With my yearlong training and racing schedule I did well. I rode like a maniac from April right into the fall and it paid off. I think the quality of the Masters racers has improved since I started, though some, like Joe and Keith and Ken, have always been there and always been good. Those who strive to be the best, who train with high achievement in mind, keep racing at a high level.

That means that these days I'm left behind after the first hundred yards and there's no way my less race-worthy legs will ever catch up. And the Masters category tends to have, on the whole, either fast guys or guys like me who get left riding the course in our own solo race, without much in between. And there aren't that many of us to begin with. With 8 or 12 racers total, it gets awfully quiet out there awfully fast.

This is the B race. Packing them in at the barriers.
(photo: Andrea Tucker)

I don't race to circle the course alone. It's the competition that keeps me driving harder, that puts the spark back into racing. It took me a while, but after looking at the times from previous races I realized that my times on a 45 minute course fit snugly in the upper middle of the B race standings. And the B's regularly have over 30 entries per race. It's a big, diverse group. Eureka! That meant that there would be people around me to race with.

I tested my theory at Stony Creek and had a blast! (Do people have blasts anymore? I guess I do. Pitiful.) I was somewhere in the upper third of the pack, not as fast as the speedy group, but still respectable. And there were all kinds of hard charging guys all around me, pushing my limits, challenging my accelerations. I was racing again. How cool.

These guys were all ages as well. One of the cheeks-of-tan Rhinos was in my gray haired state of mind and he responded to every one of my attacks. We went back and forth lap after lap. And he wasn't the only one. I was mixing it up with about five or six guys for most of the race. They were all racing their butts off. It was an honor to be out there with them, not letting things get stale, trading places, trading back.

Marney - Yes, there was a slight breeze. It wasn't balmy.

Can a CX race be nirvana? Is that a contradiction? If you look at a photo of me mid-race you'd wonder how that pained looking grimace could have any relationship to a joyful state of mind. Whatever. I like the way cyclocross hones my bike handling skills. I like its intensity. I don't have to win, place or show, but I certainly want to be out there, grimace and all.

I'm finding a path. It's between yellow ribboned guideposts.

Except for one shot by Andrea Tucker, the photos in this post are, by necessity, not of the B race. I don't take photos while racing. Silly, I know, but it's a rule of mine. These are shots of the Masters and Elite womens race that immediately followed the Killer B's.

Kensington Road Race '09

I don't think Scott Gifford has directed enough bike races. I stood at the top of the Maple Beach hill talking to Alex Keomany and Libby and Jacq Roberge, as Scott walked up all casual and relaxed. Maybe he'd just eaten too many of the overripe bananas lying around the registration area. Something was making him look liked he'd just drifted out of a pranayama meditation retreat. He was mellow. Maybe he hasn't had enough experience to realize just how hard race directing is. Let's hope he does a few more. He'll catch on.

I'm not a good spectator. I felt more keyed up than Scott as I stood there watching racers pedal wearily up and over the hill. Sure, there are social aspects of spectating that are nice, but given a choice I'd much rather be out there crackling a calf muscle or two. I get fidgety standing by the side of the road.

I've ridden Kensington a number of times. I'd like to say it suits me because I like hills, but there's this long stretch out to Martindale Beach that favors power riders, so the hills become more or less neutralized. But hey, it's southeast Michigan. This is about as good as it gets.

The Cat 1/2's had a fascinating moment as they reached Martindale Beach on their first lap. Someone forgot to lift the gate that leads into the turnaround. It brought them all to a standstill for a few minutes until that was sorted out. As a cyclocrosser, I happen to like obstacles, but many road racers expect the road to just lay out before them like a crossword puzzle with answers that are far too easy. They're a pampered lot. It must have something to do with sitting in someone else's draft too often.

If you ever want some peace and quiet during the race, go to the registration area once the racing is all underway. It was silent except for a couple of Wizard of Oz types behind some tent flaps at Command Central documenting the results as they were flown in by pigeon from the finish line. Things pick up again as the curious gather to see how everyone did.

But the most somber area of all was down at Maple Beach. It looked like a wake as a high school crew meet was scuttled by the cool, windy, rainy weather. Boy were they a downcast looking lot. Maybe they need to consider a new sport. Bike racing, perhaps? Better than sitting all morning with your butt on an overturned shell.

Contrast all that to the finish line. That's where Joe Lekovish was, microphone in hand. Joe doesn't allow for quiet. He keeps his eye out for safe passage and patters on to the racers about their lap count. He didn't act like he'd eaten too many bananas. No meditation retreat for him. But he's directed countless bike races. He knows how hard it is. Getting wound up is not a once in a while thing during a bike race. It is the bike race. "C'mon guys, harder, harder. One more lap! Pedal Harder! One more lap." If it were up to Joe, there's always one more lap.

More doctored up photos of the race can be found at: picasaweb.google.com/Pulcipher/KensingtonRoadRace09#

Lucas Wall's Cycling Skills Blog

I admit, sometimes there are interesting things in this world that I miss even though most of the rest of society is well aware of them. Well, even I stumble on to these interesting things now and then. And that's how I found Lucas Wall's blog, cyclingskills.blogspot.com.

It's been around since July of '08 from what I can tell. It would have been more helpful if it would have been around when I started racing on the road and riding in groups that like to crush legs. I needed this kind of helpful info. Instead, I worked hard at doing stupid things in order to give others someone to express their creative outrage toward.

Understand, unlike Things Bike, Cycling Skills is a sensible blog. You'll actually learn something there. It has one article after another that is well written. It clearly explains topics of interest to bike racers, particularly new bike racers getting into the scene: how to hand up a water bottle, the purpose of group rides (all this time I thought it was to hurt others while proving you dominate), how to perform a good lead out, where to place your race numbers, and so on. To many of us, these things are either learned after years of fumbling, or never learned at all, though we do pretend we know them ("Yeah, lead outs, man. Like, you know, you get out in front and like you lead...you know...like...out.")

Don't miss the very funny YouTube video of the guy who needed to learn bike handling skills before attempting the victory "V," (August 31, 2008).

Go there. There's a place for stupid, but a bike race isn't that place.

Cone Azalia '09

I had one of my easier years at Cone. Not sure what made it any better, but I felt real good, my seat was comfortable, and I didn't have any flats.

I did have to learn a few things that were different from last year. The two-way radio for instance. I was handed one like I knew what to do with it. It had buttons all over the place. Ben Caldwell and I worked it out to a degree, but there were still two small buttons that remained a mystery to me the whole day. I also had a choice of band 1 or band 2. I chose 1, though a whole world might have been chatting away on band 2. Who knows. I do know that sometimes people would hear my reports and sometimes not.

At the beginning someone was talking to Robert. My name is Robert. "Everything okay, Robert." "Yup," I said, "okay." "We're going to send a couple of contacts through, Robert, are you ready?" I was sitting out on the road in my chair. I had no clue what they were talking about. "Could you repeat that?" They did. "I don't know what that means," I said, feeling foolish, like I should know these things. Long pause. "Robert Linden, do you hear me?" Oh. My first name is Robert, but my last name is not Linden. I cleared that up and settled back into my chair. I still don't know who that person was who was talking.

Oh! I think I know why it was better for me this year. I got to sit by the side of the road as a course marshal, rather than pedal through gravel and grit for a couple of hours. I'll bet that's it.

I'd call down to someone--Paul Alman I think because he answered now and then--and let them know who was passing by a kilometer before the finish. It's quite a nice job. It had long moments of quiet when I could look out over the fields on each side of me and enjoy the serene beauty of the place. The blue sky was fantastic. And I didn't have to pay for anything.

A woman, whose name I never found out, was half way between myself and the finish line doing the same thing I was, because I'd call out things like "Cat. 6 just passed, Cat. 6 whole pack." I'd invent new categories and less than a minute later she'd uninvent them. But hey, the Cat. 4 were the 500 numbers and the Cat. 5 were the 600s. Easy screw up, especially with a brain like mine.

In those quiet moments, I sat there in my folding chair and thought about the breeze, which was easy to do and something hard to screw up. I knew that when the racers started, around 10AM or so, the breeze was light and coming from the south. By 11:20 it was light and coming from the southwest. By noon it was picking up a bit and it had shifted to the west. By 12:02 the wind quieted considerably. By 12:04 it stiffened up again. I know because I was standing up and my chair fell over. By 12:15 it was calm again. It was all very soothing. I'm not sure if the racers could say the same.

I also had time to take photos. I'd taken a bunch in an experiment before the race as the riders warmed up. I squatted in a ditch and shot tons of shots. I did so without automatic focus. Good idea in theory, but many of my photos were fuzzy. Sorry. Some of those that did work are shown.

But while the race was on and no one was passing by I took field photos and tree photos and cloud photos. It was such a beautiful setting. It may have been tough to grasp as a racer. There are other things to concern yourselves with.

I enjoyed listening to the groups as they passed. For the most part they were pretty civil. That is, until the 45+ group passed. My group, usually. They were really going at it. Some guy wasn't pulling through correctly or something. It was a big snit going on. They were pretty heated up out there. I do hope that was the only time in the race they had that kind of altercation. Kind of takes the fun out of things.

It was also interesting watching the disintegration of the groups on each lap. The first group in which I really noticed a change was the 45 plussers. It took only a lap or two and four guys were off the front and past the Cat 3's. Exciting stuff.

In the 1/2 race, the whole thing split into three groups pretty quickly, with about seven or eight riders in the first pack, a few more in the second, and about double that in the third. The Women's Cat 1/2/3 race was a real struggle of wills as well. Four were off and away somewhere during the second lap. They came by me cranking their hearts out. Not sure what the story was there, but it made for a good race. For the most part, Mens Cat 3 and Cat 4 stayed together, except for the strays dropped off the back. Cat 5 was a major free-for-all, as usual.

The stray riders were interesting. Some were kind of dejected looking, some shrugged, some covered their numbers like they were caught coming out of a joint they weren't proud of being seen in. It's a long lonely race if you flat or get dropped.

I hear Tony Bruley was off on a flyer in front of the 35+ group and got stopped by the train. Bummer. I also hear that the group tried to soft pedal and let Tony get away again after they caught him and the train passed, but someone else latched on to him and they weren't about to let two of them ride away. Tough luck twice, Tony. Cone is a cruel race. Very Paris-Roubaixish in that way. I'm also told that Tony took it all pretty well.

At one point Paul called down to ask me to keep him informed about the riders coming in. I'd been shoving in the talk button and telling them all kinds of things, but apparently they weren't hearing a word. That concerned me. I did wonder here and there if my walkie-talkie (#6) was transmitting. Other times they seemed to get things just fine. As the first of the Cat 1/2's passed me on the last lap headed toward the finish I was yelling into my set, "Cat 1/2s, about seven of them coming at you, Cat 1/2s!" Silence. "Anybody read me?" Silence. I repeated my news with new news, "more coming in!" I never did find out if they got my call. Hope they figured things out.

Lukas Wall, Jon Royal, Paul Alman, Robert Linden, and everyone else (volunteers) who put their effort into making this race work did a great job. If you're ever curious what it takes to pull one of these races together, check out Lucas's list of volunteers at www.aavc.org/cone/index.php?itemid=31#more. It's like looking at the credits after a Star Wars epic. It takes a lot of people's efforts for a lot of other people to enjoy ripping their legs apart in a pedaling frenzy.

It was a very fun race to be involved with. And you racer people did an okay job yourselves. Without you, we're just standing by the road with blank looks on our faces. Okay, some of us even do that with you there, but that's all right. Somehow a race took place and it was a good one.

Spring Training Series - 25th Year

The Awakening
Tires are crawling out of their holes, metal is stretching out of its long layover of fatigue, carbon is...I'd like to say carbonating, but I have to say it's...expensive. And what does this all mean? It's time to tighten the cleats on those Sidis, replace that seedy looking chain laden with winter rust, and prepare for the first test of the legs this year for most of us. The Spring Training Series is a short way off. The teasing hell known as March--though so far it's been pretty nice--will lift its damp and dirty cloak, issuing in the warm and fickle winds of April.

The Beginning
STS crept out of the dawn of time with its first few one day attempts at racing on stone wheels with carefully carved ash frames. The races traversed the newly developed cobblemac (now known as tarmac) roadways around the land of "Runway," or thereabouts, because everywhere at that time was either a runway or a walkway (and we didn't mingle with the walkway crowd--far too slow).

The Evolution
That was a mere 25 ages ago, and Paul Alman has been fine tuning it from that first day until now. This is probably his final year at the helm of this great series of four Sunday races in April. It, along with its cousin the Spring Fling Waterford series running on alternate days, is one of the best opportunities for new racers to get into the mix and feel the exhilaration of riding with the pack and picking up the rudimentary skills of road racing. It's also a great venue for experienced racers to refresh their skills and get ready for the long leg crunching summer of racing ahead.

The Exterminator
I'm not saying Ray D is in here, but I'm not saying he's not either.
Though it's hard to believe that he jumped into this whole thing from the beginning, Ray Dybowski has ridden in every one of the 25 "ages" that the races have been held. And I thought I was old. I once got in a two man breakaway with "Big" Ray at Allen Park. I didn't know who the heck he was at the time, I just did a flyer and he came with me. For three laps he dabbled with me, kind of like cats do with a mouse they've managed to get under their claws. He won a preem in the process, while I ended up back in the pack, thankful for my release and the reunited comfort of a pack of maniacs with attitude.

The Pro
That's his wheel as he leaves us all behind.
At the Spring Training Series you also might get the chance to meet and even race with Frankie Andreu, a Dearborn native and nine time Tour de France racer. Frankie is a great guy and a savvy bike racer who shows up now and then. I rode with him in some of the A races in past years. On one occasion, I traded drafts with him near the front for a few laps until I was feeling the effort (read, shattered spent force). At the two lap to go mark he bolted past my wheel with all the energy I wished I had. I had to watch him and probably Blair Dudley and Ray Dybowski leave the group like an explosion of atoms in a superconductor. You can use me and abuse me any time Frankie. Did I say he was a nice guy?

The Info
So join us. It is a great experience and the thrill of the pack is leg cranking bad and that is so good. Go to MBRA.org for info on racing in Michigan. Then, click on the adjoining PDF file associated with the race you're interested in. In this case, the AAVC Spring Training Series. It will let you know the different race classes and the times for each. First race, March 29.

The Man!
P. Alman as a young lad. Entrepreneur that he is, he started his own team at the time.

Most of all, congratulate Paul for all the great times he's brought us through his administration and supervision of this series these past 25 years.

Word is that he'll be spending more time in Europe, further developing his team.

Many of the dynamic photos in this essay were taken by my friend and teammate, Brian Hayden, aka, T-Bone. These last couple were borrowed from P. Alman's personal collection.