Paris-Roubiax - Dans le Vide

George, Deciding Whether or Not to Pop the Kid Who's Taunting Him.

Paul & George & Me
I rode with George today (Paul and I call him Georgie, or sometimes Paul gets this big smirk on his face and calls him Big Georgie Hincapie. That takes a lot of mouth movement and words, so I just stick to Georgie), and Johan M, and Franko B, and Gilbert D-L. They weren't very talkative. These are tough races. The cobbles can eat you alive.

I was alongside Paul when he interviewed George and Frankie and the rest before the race. Frankie promised to do all he could to get George to the front. That meant he'd sacrifice his chances, but that was fine with Frankie. George, he said, was on form. (For years, because of his British accent, I thought Paul said "on foam," and it never made sense to me, but he's a well known announcer and he raced for years, so I figured it was just some of that inside the peleton kind of knowledge that the rest of us are not privy to.)

Anyway, always take your best man. Not sure if Frankie noticed me, but I waved. George also said he'd need a little bit of luck. He says that before every race. Stand alongside Paul as he interviews Georgie, and Georgie always says something about needing luck.

I've tried to be buddies with Paul, but he's very preoccupied trying to get all these interviews. He and Phil will needle and tease endlessly, but it's hard to get into that inner circle. I called him Paulie once, but judging by his iron look I didn't think it was a good idea to repeat that.

George Leads Everyone Through the Arenberg Forest. I'm Right Behind the Flag.

Bobke & Me
I felt each cubic cobble in the Arenberg Forest. It comes in the middle of the race and tears into every sinew of muscle just to propel forward and then I thought of Bobke when he told me about the dry day in the race when he ended up in the mud ten or so years earlier, grinding his way out to find that ridge of rumbled connection in the middle of the pave. It's a tough, brutal race. Just ask Bob sometime. He'll back me up. My bud Graham got a photo of him suffering through that mess.

I was riding no handed, but that pave is brutal no matter how you ride it. It kicks you all about. The only defense that I could find was to pedal harder. Paul and Phil do mention that from time to time, but it's like I'm a teenager listening (not listening) to my parents. It doesn't sink in for so long and then you're finally there and it's like so many things in life that come together under the duress of the moment. Okay, guys you were so right.

It was nice, too, because I rode with this softly laden soundtrack. I do like to have music calming me through these torturous rocks. It sooths my bounding nerves. Keep in mind that in the past month I rode three of these Paris-Roubaixes (or Parises-Roubaix?). By the third I was a bit worn down. No handed? Paris-Roubaix? C'mon, admit it, it's not for the feint of heart.

Apparition Passes Downed Rider. Not a Good Omen.

















And Here's the Result. Rider Gets Mugged by a Trio of Thugs. It Truly is a Brutal Race.















Flags Become You're Biggest Concern. Paul's in There. He's Holding One of the Flags with a Microphone Attached to the End of It. It's Hard To Do Interviews of Riders That Way, but He's a Professional.


Muddle
At this point, if you were to ask me about the race(s), you'd get a jumbled answer. Who can keep anything straight in the midst of a race, much less after? You ever been in a race when they screw up the finish and there's no chip timing and the video recorder they have goes out and there aren't enough staff members to stand there and make sure that at least the top two get noted by place? So you have to advocate for yourself about where you think you placed.

You just rode this long grueling race and you want to get credit for all the hard work you put in. And you were passing people at the sprint. But really, after the first one or two cross the line it's a free for all. It becomes fantasy race day. "Oh, yeah, I was up there. I think I finished second or third. Third for sure." There are eight people who will swear they finished third. And at least five of them really believe it. Any creative fantasy is possible in order to hit a step on that podium.

It's really just one big muddle. My solution? Give the winner his due and everyone else who whines and wheedles their way into the argument gets a podium position. If you're that driven and deluded, you should get podium points for it.

Arenberg Forest. Notice all the Cars. This is Basically a Park-&-Ride Every Other Day of the Year. Some Cars are Left There During the Race with Price Tags on the Windshield.

So imagine riding in the midst of the Paris-Roubaix like I did three times in a month. There's no way I'll keep everything straight. Museeuw flatted on sector 21 or was it sector 16? In which race? I'm exhausted just thinking about it, much less trying to make sense of it. I need to save my energy for those cobbles. Some days it's hard to tell if I'm in the right year.

SVEN.
Rabobank Colors and Design Have Always Been Major Eye Candy. With Sven Around, Every Day is Cyclocross Day.

Nys? Here?
It was interesting to find Sven Nys up there with us. I looked over my shoulder at one point and there's this face that I recognize from somewhere. You know how that happens? You're just living in your regular day existence and then someone shows up and you know you've seen them somewhere before, but you're now in a place where it's all out of context?

Not that Sven and bike races aren't part of the same world, but he's Mr. Cyclocross, or however they say it in Flemish (they just make it sound more Flemy, I think). You don't make that same Sven/Paris-Roubaix reference as easily.

I was a bit fatigued and not thinking straight at this point in the race. We'd already gone about 167 K. I'm thinking Rabobank, that face, hmmm? Then it hit me. Whoa, it's the man himself. Phenom. I saw him up until somewhere near the Arenberg Forest. Not sure if he flatted or what, but, as Phil and Paul said, it was a great race for a cyclocrosser, rough and muddy.

One of the Biggest Obstacles in the Race Were These Guys in the Moon Suits. They'd Pop Up Out of Nowhere. I Learned Later That They Are Placed Throughout the Course Purposely to Mess With Our Minds

Muddle + Mud
The plus of it all is that when it gets real mucky like it did in this one, I was able to wipe down with the blue towel I keep strewn across my handlebars. Plus, I've got the fan going, so there's always a stiff head wind to blow things clear.

And what happened with Georgie? I'm not sure, yet. I need to get back into the action to find out. I get great advice and commentary from Phil and Paul in my ear as I race. (Phil doesn't actually like these listening devices because he thinks it puts strategic decisions in the hands of the managers and not in the hands of the riders. I suppose we could debate this all night, but I feel like saying, "yeah, sure, okay dad, whatever." There's that teenager in me again. I'll probably see his side of things when I grow up a bit, but as for now, I enjoy hearing their take on things.)

Blue Man Group Race Team. Not Sure if We'll See Them in the Tour.

I feel like all my internal parts have shaken loose at this point, but happy to be in the race and still mixing it up with the leaders. I'm not sure where Sven is. Georgie's still here. I'll let you know how he does. We really love these early season races.

Au revoir,
.........................oRo...

Cyclocross Magazine - Issue 5

I tend to be a web based writer these days, but I did get a poem published in Cyclocross Magazine. I'm quite proud of it. It's called "No Air" on page 41. And hey, I won a set of TRP EuroX brakes for it, so who says poets can't make a living with their poems. My new 'cross bike is now 1/25th of the way to getting built.

I really like the subheading comment about Cyclocross by Adam Myerson: "Road racing is a novel, and 'cross is poetry. Every word counts in poetry. 'Cross is like that."

Since this is a publication I really respect, I don't know why they chose my poem, but they did and they'll have to live with it for years now. Truly, the magazine is one of the best out there. The articles are interesting and intelligent and the topics are well conceived. Subscribe and support them if you can. It's no fluff, it's the real thing.

Go 'Cross!

.............................oRo...

Cyclocross and (Oxy)Morons

Pre-season Jolly Pumpkin Race at Leslie Park

For a few years now, Chris, my friend and neighbor down the street has been telling me about this friend of his. According to Chris, he's this amazing rider who mountain bikes mostly and he goes out to epic week long races like one in Vancouver and wails. I could never talk about biking with Chris without his bringing up this guy. They've been friends since childhood.




Jonathan Page - Who We Pretend to Be

Chris loves to mountain bike, but his job in recent years has him commuting in a car through the thick of Southeast Michigan hell over an hour or two each way, so whenever we talk bikes, which is every time we meet, he says, "my friend Andy..." and seldom talks about his own exploits. After a number of these conversations, Andy took on epic proportions.

Chris had tried to get me in to Local Loop MTB rides a couple of years ago that he did with a group that included this Andy guy. They rode from Chris's house at the bottom of the street on Tuesday evenings when a crew of about ten riders would assemble, ride, and head to the bar, in that order.

45+ at Springfield Oaks, Mark Wolowiec in Front, Duh!

The trouble was that those were the nights when I did the DirtHammer with the club. The DirtHammer has always been one of my dedicated training rides for cyclocross season, so I never did get out with Chris on the Local Loop. In fact, they were usually just heading out, often with lights, when I'd returned from ripping my legs apart with the club. I'd wave as I rode up the street, Chris would wave, they'd go for their ride, and that was that.

We Look So Relaxed and Like Such Pals at the Beginning, Don't We? (Scott Claes, Ken O'Day, somebody's arm, Mike Seaman, Rob)

So, during the first race at Vet's Park this year, I lined up with the pack. Since this is an Ann Arbor race, I noticed Chris in the crowd and thought how great it was he'd shown up to watch. We were our usual nervous, jokey, group, everyone wondering where Mark Wolowiec was, since he usually sets the standard for chase rabbit. Then this guy in a Biciclibre jersey next to me says, "are you Rob?" It's a question I struggle with at times, but realizing this is not a deeply philosophical moment, I answer in the affirmative. He reaches over and shakes my hand. "Andy," he says, "Chris's friend."

A week or two before, when I didn't know he was The Andy, we rode a few laps at the Lower Huron CX race together and Andy was off the front kind of dragging everyone around the course until he, Mark Wolowiec, Joe Brown, and Mike Seaman made it their own little race, leaving the rest of us behind. A couple of laps after that, Andy was walking with his bike over his shoulder in the opposite direction on the back half of the course. He'd broken his chain. At the time I'd wondered, who the heck was this Biciclibre guy? Now, at Vet's it all came together. The infamous Andy. He came in first that day at Vets.

The Pros Over the Barriers

I really love cyclocross. And to put the words love and cyclocross into the same sentence is truly an oxymoron. And the moron part really fits because cyclocross hurts so much that you have to have something deeply wrong inside to feel passion for something so brutal. The oxy- is about air, or the lack thereof (ie., deprivation), perhaps leading to the reason for the second part of the word in our case.

Worse, I don't win many races. The podium is hard to reach. I've had Wolowiec and Brown beat me so often that I feel like it's really an exercise in self flagellation. In previous years Riege was a dominating force, but this year he was less so. It must not have been a priority for him, because he's definitely someone to reckon with when he's on form.

Blood (Seldom the Accompanying Glory)

I wasn't racing CX last year because of my heart attack (see my 2007 blog article DirtHammer 911) at the beginning of the season, so I don't know who the main contenders were beyond stalwarts like Wolowiec and Brown. I know Mark Lovejoy and Ken O'Day are always in there battling it out. But this year we also had the rise of Mike Seaman, Andy Klumb, Mike Belanger, and Mike Green. They made me and my new tubular Zipp 404 carbon wheelset and old faithful Fuji cross bike dig in awfully hard. No matter what my placing, against these guys I knew that I'd been challenged by the best and that I'd done all I could do on a given day.

I remember watching my first CX race, before I decided to expose myself to the stupidity of it all. It was at Hudson Mills near Dexter. Everybody looked like they were going so darned slow. There's something about watching cyclocross bikes moving over the grass that makes you think, "I could do better than that! Why don't they just pedal harder?"

Barriers Won!

The next year I was on that same course for the first time. On the bike it's different. It's like a Kafka nightmare where you work so hard to go forward and the earth drags your wheels down toward hell so your legs just ache. Always. There's always something in a cyclocross race that pulls you down as much as you fight to drive the bike forward.

On a road bike, on pavement, your bike does move forward. It flies sometimes like there is no road, no earth to tie you down. Even mountain bikes can give you that feeling of a soaring raptor as you dip and glide through the trail. But cyclocross is all about earth and gravity and that simultaneous pull of opposing forces. Seldom do you feel that same sense of glide and lift. Even stretches of pavement often work against you. By the time you hit the tarmac all you think of is recovery. And since it's a fall sport there's usually a nice head or cross wind to extinguish any dream of reenergizing on these paved stretches.

Joe Brown

On my last race in late November at Munson in Monroe (out for the rest of the season after that race due to a pinched nerve and a bout of the flu), snow was falling, the course was slick, and the temperature was below freezing with bitter wind chills. Joe Brown, as ever, had designed a challenging, cranky, flowing course to ride. Munson Park has one big hump of a hill and a lot of flat, damp grass. He'd made the one hill into three brilliant, wicked little climbs.

Rob & Joe at Vets

Joe and I battled that race out together from beginning to end. There was one moment when we were topping one of the steepest of those pitches, our legs barely able to turn the cranks over, and he just moaned, "man these hills are hard." In the middle of all that suffering for both of us I thought it was so funny. Here I was with one of my toughest competitors all these years and we were absolutely miserable, having pushed each other to the limit lap after lap, trying to find weakness, trying to pull away, neither of us giving in. I literally had spit and snot all over my face from the cold and the endless exertion. And Joe just wouldn't let up. In all those years, he never has. And I said to him, "you designed this, Joe. You did it to yourself." "I know," he said, "I know." It said everything about cyclocross in that one brutal, honest, comical moment. We do it to ourselves. And then we do it again and again.

Paul Alman

The guy has a stern and crusty demeanor. He's a bit intimidating right off. There's a gravelly grumble in his voice sometimes that hovers low, like small crumpled scraps of paper with a note tossed aside that you don't want to miss. And he doesn't hold back when he wants you to pay attention at the start line. The grumble becomes a shout. Bike racing is serious business, LISTEN UP!

My first road bike race ever (not including the Spring Training Series) was at Allen Park. I was racing Cat 5, nervous as could be, my legs unshaven, and apparently my number oriented in the newbie version of wrong side up--hey, it was probably upside down and inside out for all I knew. I pulled up to the line early with a few other guys and there stood Paul, officious looking, larger than life, and pacing back and forth. Then someone said something rude to him and a big smile came across his face and he had an instant comeback that reduced my tension immeasurably and totally trashed the other guy. It was a great moment. The whole group laughed.

Paul then zeroed in on my number and with only a quick comment that it was on wrong he was up along side me, removing the pins and reorienting it the proper way. He didn't even stick me as a reminder never to do this again. He just kept redirecting offhand comments that flew his way, a beam of a smile and a glint of wickedness never leaving his face. He likes this world of racers and action and bikes and life in general. It was all clear in just those few moments and I knew from then on that I liked Paul.

A year or two later I witnessed Paul's tenacity. It was the last race in the April calendar of his Spring Training Series out at Runway. You'd think the last race in April would be the warm one, leading into the heart of the transitional spring. You never know quite what you're going to get in April, but in a just world, anything close to May should be at least in the upper 50s to lower 60s. As we know, Michigan weather has nothing to do with justice. This race day began cold, bitterly cold, more like the 20s somewhere, and windy. The C race had a good turnout and they kicked off the morning with a good spirited crit. It was freezing, but the pavement was dry and if I remember right, it was partly sunny. (I just found some pictures, it was cloudy and the pavement was wet. I like my imagined version better.)

I did the B race. It started with deep dark billowy snow clouds moving in from the northwest. The wind picked up and it was the kind of wind that eats through lycra like a cougar goes for the bare neck. From the beginning a few snow flakes fluttered down from above. Our pack whizzed around the 1k park and up the gradual climb to the start finish line as the snow became thicker and thicker. The pavement was wet but rideable, but the snow was definitely coming down (I probably made this all up, too).

Joe Christy & Paul at Runway
It's at least 20 below in this shot.

And there stood Paul--and Joe Christy--through it all, making sure the racers were riding safely and fairly and that the podium racers got their due. It was bitter just to race and keep moving, much less stand there in that blast of icy air and let the cold run deep into your bones. But that was Paul.

Paul is passionate about biking. That's like saying Colnago makes decent frames, or Eddie Mercx was a pretty good bike rider. There just aren't enough ways to describe the level of his enthusiasm. He is bike racing as far as Michigan is concerned. He's spent the past twenty years or so as a--often the--driving force behind the road racing events here in southeast Michigan and throughout the state.

I don't think he can help himself. Roads talk to him in ways different than your average traveler. Where most people see ways to get from here to there with a big hunk of enclosed metal, Paul sees opportunities for great bike racing and a tarmac from which to get others as passionate as he is about the humming gears of pelotons, the glory of breakaways, and the sheer explosion of pack sprints.

David Myers, Mark Lovejoy & Paul Alman

I know that Paul talked last year about the challenges of his carrying the Spring Training Series at Runway. He didn't say he wouldn't do it, but he hinted that it's time for someone else to step forth. He's totally young at heart, but there's a time to move over and let others take charge of the reins that keep racing alive in Michigan. Great leaders need great successors or the the whole thing wanes.

I'm not sure who the successor of the Spring Training Series will be, yet. From what I hear, Paul's putting on one last year at the helm. These have always been the most fun road races of the year in my opinion. They're serious, yet still full of joy and light hearted banter. The only tension comes from wondering if you're in shape enough to stay in the pack for another year and/or how much more training you need to get there.

But in terms of the larger Michigan scheme of things, it will come as no surprise that one of the major successors of Paul's reign will be Joe Lekovish. Joe is just as passionate as Paul. He lives, sleeps and breathes bike racing and he's taken over at the helm of the Michigan Bicycle Racing Association. Joe is spirit and he's already doing a wonderful job.

I'm sure Paul won't be drifting very far from the scene. He's an in and among the action kind of guy. And he's probably the most intimidating (don't you believe it), caring, fun loving guy I know.

Thanks, Paul. You're great.

Iceman 2008 - Flat Out Haul

Lost and Found
Andy approaches these races with one thing in mind. Explore new lands yet uncharted. I think he and Rich should always stick together. Rich will get him to the end, but then again, there won't be those spontaneous discoveries that make life so interesting. He went off on some adventure along the Iceman trail this year with the same group of guys he was with at Ironcross. Ironic that they found each other again in two separate races so far from one another, but it does happen.

In the Ironcross, he wandered away with these guys into far off trails that were yet undiscovered in a world where we think everything's been found and there's no new path to explore. But Andy has proven that wrong twice--no, three times now-- within a month. He also wandered into the final Jolly Pumpkin race after we were under way because he'd decided on the way to take the short cut through Black Woods Pond and got all twisted around on their trails leading to nowhere.

There are places in America that Amerigo Vespucci and Lewis & Clark left off the map and Andy has now ventured deep into the underbrush to ferret them out. But these places aren't where you'd expect they'd be. They're here, right here, in the second wave pioneer areas of our great land where those very same pioneers padded through on their way to grow corn in Iowa, make dust in Kansas, and push on to Yuma where they'd identify key areas for terrific movie backdrops of silhouetted cowpokes perched among panoramic vistas of red rock mesas later to be zapped by dune buggies leaping them for those cool photo shots of VW undercarriages flying toward the sun. But they passed through too quickly and left small passages of unexplored trails and gravel back roads untouched by human bike tires and it's been Andy's mission to delve into the belly of these virgin territories.

Miraculously, in the isolated terrain between Kalkaska and Traverse City, he found one again. A lost trail amidst carefully charted quiet areas and roads carved out by oil derricked four-door pickup trucks. Areas where even the X's weren't placed to indicate his strayed direction. And in his frustration amidst his small cadre of wandering pedallers, he'd jump off the bike to stab at his tire with a multi-tool, forgetting that he still needed that tire to get him home once he did find the path with the red arrows. His fellow riders told me about this. Andy doesn't remember. He'll talk about changing the tire, but not about stabbing it. If you mention the stabbing, he'll change the subject to archeology. Worse, after all his wandering he still pulled in an excellent time of 1:48:00. I want to get lost and do that well.

Humility Wasted
And there's Wendy Caldwell of Bendy and Wen fame, who spends all year riding to and from anywhere all the time day and night ice rain sleet snow sun and sweat, who decides that this year she's going to turn on the turbo on a 27 mile cold morning and take third in her Expert category. I saw her at the beginning cheering me on as we all tried to stay warm before our heats ripped into the course. I had to pry the result out of her at the Resort the night of the awards. Doesn't anyone understand the joy of gloating when you hit the podium? It's validation that all of the year's effort amounted to something. You brag, you jump up and down, you let the finger point in your direction for the right reason for a change.

At the end of the first day of cyclocross at Vets Park, she said okay, that's enough of that and decided to spend the next day on the Poto on her MTB instead of putting herself through the hell once more that is Vets. Very smart move and I wish I would have joined her, because my legs were toast after--no, during--that race and I'm not sure they ever recovered for another blast of intensity that came a week later at Iceman.

Funny Looking Bikes
And I haven't seen Ben much at all since the early part of the Jolly Pumpkin CX series. I've been racing my tail off and I don't know what he's been doing, but then he showed up at Iceman with a cyclocross bike. We warmed up together the night before the race on the last five miles of the course and he was all spunk and energy. I thought he was half nuts for taking a CX bike out in this race, but later that evening, Mike Belanger showed up with two weapons of mass destruction, his MTB and his CX bike, and he, too, decided on the CX. That's him in the photo.

Both Ben and Mike proved (along with the fact that they are both nuts) what a wise decision that was, especially with all the moisture we'd had recently and then the rain overnight before the race. It made the sand a near non-issue. In a race that's about hauling all out, they hauled and then some, putting in some serious times at the 1:47:00 mark. There must have been a few hairy moments on some of the rough, sandy descents, but there were so few of those areas that whatever they lost in time on those spots they more than made up for on the hardpack roads.

Revenge of the Hairless Arctic Dog
And then there's Riggs. Nothing is more annoying in the world than making Dave suffer all through the fall like a hairless Arctic dog on the Tuesday DirtHammer rides and then he comes in to the Iceman, grumbling about how he's still out of shape, laying down a time that is nearly identical to my own. It's wrong. It means that the world is out of sync. But you know, Dave's done it before, did it this time, and my guess is he'll do it again.

Mighty Good Moment
One nice thing though, was coming across Dave Meyers on the trail and he had an urn on his back filled with Big Chain Blend Mighty Good Coffee. I'm sure it wasn't easy racing with that hunk of metal strapped to his upper lumbar, but man was it good and rejuvenating to grab a cup he handed over, take a big swig and feel the energy explode through the body. I don't think I would have broken 2 hours without it.


Trout and Stream
Once I plopped my timing chip into one of the official's hands and was happily greeted by Mike, we wandered into Jim James who looked like he'd already showered and was ready for a day out to celebrate. He'd won his division at about 1:40 or so, and since his heat started five minutes ahead of mine that meant he'd been hanging around for about twenty minutes before I'd arrived, so he'd had all kinds of time to recuperate, clean up, have a brew, write the second violin part for a quartet composition, and smile that Jim James smile. How can he race that fast? I am so glad that they split up the 45+ from the 50+ because I can't race that fast and he sets the bar way too high.

And to add a few more known usual suspects to the list, there's Jason Lummis, who blasted through the afternoon pro race at around 1:31:00 (which, if I can point out the less than obvious, many of us could have done because these guys don't have to deal with slower riders from heats that were in front of you. I mean, really, my time would have been cut by at least 25 minutes if I didn't have some of those pokey guys on the singletrack. At least 25.) And Marne Smiley who pulled in a 12th spot in the pro-women's race. Vince Roberge at 1:34:00, who also raced a CX bike, in the pro race. Raffy Kronenberg pulled in a 9th place in his youthful category.


Putting a Spin on Things
And then there was Charles Reynolds, who thought that he might just blow off Iceman after a fall of struggling to get his legs to find their place in the sun. Good sense brought him back into the fold of the cold north woods and he and his spinnie legs wound that singlespeed into an exact time of 2 hours dead on to get 11th in his category, proving that he's one of the most balanced athletes I've ever met. He actually works out in ways that balance his whole body, unlike so many of us bikers who have lower bodies way out of proportion to our upper.

The Haul
So that was the Iceman for another year. It was extreeeeeemly fast this time. The energy is like no other race because for many it's the last race of the year and it's hard enough and long enough and fast enough and cold enough and rolly enough to take the legs to a level of pain that will send you off into the fall and winter knowing that you did something good for your soul. There are a lot of people in this race and the energy remains at a high level of buzz all the way through the finish and on into the afternoon semi-pro race. You'd have to scrape real deep to find anything resembling a bad vibe within five miles of this place.

And the lottery's a thing of the past. Hallelujah!

Andy Redux
We just have to keep Andy somewhere in sight so he doesn't end up missing the next season all together. He might just wander off like our old yellow lab used to do, and end up in some pick-up fetch game in a park five miles away and forget about us. If you do find him (Andy that is) out there, keep him fed, keep him distracted, and call Alicia. She's probably wondering where he got off to.

Photos
Except for one or two shots, they have little or nothing to do with Iceman or biking. I do know that. I had my camera with me, but while I was racing I took not one shot. Before the race I'm too wound up to shoot photos. After the race I held a beer in my hands rather than a camera. On the drive up, however, I did take some photos. I took a couple of Mike and our cabin after the race. I took a few the day after as I left town. The tank is in the metropolis of South Boardman, not too far from Kalkaska. The barren landscapes, old house and oil derricks are between US-127 and a town named Sharon that only exists on a map. The old car is in Buckley. By the way, snow came down pretty heavily the morning after our race.


A FEW SELECTED RESULTS
Pro/Semi Pro Men
1 Jeremiah Bishop 35 Harrisonburg VA Trek/volkswagen 1:28:31 2 Brian Matter 61 Sheboygan WI Gear Grinder 1:28:38 3 Mike Anderson 32 Alpena MI Bell's Beer 1:28:44 4 Colin Cares 42 Colorado Sprin CO Kenda 1:28:50 5 Andy Schultz 78 Durango CO Kenda - Titus - Haye 1:28:53 6 Marko Lalonde 58 Madison WI Gary Fisher 29er Cre 1:29:01 7 Michael Simonson 80 Oxford MI Trek/volkswagen 1:29:26 8 John Doyle 45 Mattawan MI Priority Health 1:30:58 9 Jason Lummis 60 Pinckney MI Bells Brewery/ Quiri 1:31:05 10 Chris Peariso 67 Amherst WI Adventure 212 /titus 1:31:06 22 Vince Roberge 73 Redford MI South Lyon Cycle 1:34:01 27 Zach McBride 62 Comstock MI Priority Health 1:36:09

Expert Men 15-18 9 Rafael Kronenberg Ann Arbor MI Mmba 2:00:12

Expert Men 30-34 7 Andrew Weir Ann Arbor MI Priority Health 1:48:00

Expert Men 35-39 38 Bill Mayer Ann Arbor MI Mmba 1:54:47 43 Dave Riggs Ann Arbor MI City Bike Shop 1:55:28 44 Joshua Neider Ann Arbor MI Trails Edge 1:55:52

Expert Men 40-44 10 Ben Caldwell Whitmore Lake MI Kenda 1:47:05

Expert Men 45-49 1 Jim James Ann Arbor MI 1:40:08 9 Michael Belanger St. Clair Shor MI 1:47:24 13 Keith Riege Lake Orion MI Paint Creek Bicycles 1:50:33 20 Mark Caswell New Hudson MI South Lyon Cycle 1:53:17 28 Clark Kent Lapeer MI 1:59:57 Even Superman has days that are less than stellar. (Sorry, Clark, you must have to put up with this kind of crap all the time.)

Expert Men 50-54 9 Rob Pulcipher Ann Arbor MI Priority Health 1:55:15

Sport/Expert Clydesdales 6 Ray Dybowski Waterford MI Wolverine Sports Clu 1:50:54

Singlespeed Men 40+
11 Charles Reynolds Ann Arbor MI 2:00:00 15 Tim Storm Warren MI MacOmb Bike & Fitnes 2:01:42 18 Jason Aric Jones Dexter MI Bell's Brewery/quiri 2:02:02

Sport Men 44-46 10 Eric Michielssen Ann Arbor MI 2:06:08

Pro/Semi Pro Women 1 Amanda Carey Victor ID Kenda 1:45:45 2 Susan Stephens Harrow ON Brodie Bikes 1:47:45 3 Heather Irmiger Boulder CO Gary Fisher - Subaru 1:47:46 4 Lulibelle Webb Dimondale MI Hagerty 1:50:51 5 Erin Vicary White Lake MI Bell's Beer / Quirin 1:51:41 6 Susan Schubel Saginaw MI 1:51:54 7 Amanda Sproat Columbus OH Gary Fisher 29er Cre 1:52:35 8 Nicole Borem Warsaw IN Drt Racing 1:52:42 9 Danielle Musto Grand Rapids MI Kenda 1:52:43 10 Karey Collins Oxford MI Team Giant - Michiga 1:55:17 11 Shari Versluis Grand Rapids MI Founders Racing 1:56:55 12 Marne Smiley Ann Arbor MI Scott Bikes 1:58:09

Expert Women 35-44 3 Wendy Caldwell Whitmore Lake MI Kenda 2:14:44

IronCross VI 2008

IronCross VI 2008
63 miles, over 6000 feet of climbing
(Over a mile of climbing in one brutal session--it just doesn't happen here in Michigan unless you're willing to ride continuously for a few weeks.)

Be Sure to Stop
Just before Station 3, a guy reminded me that this race is modeled on the Three Peaks Cyclo-Cross (www.3peakscyclocross.org.uk) that wanders over the Yorkshire Dales in England in September of each year. It's mentioned on the IronCross web site (www.yellowbreechesracing.org/ironcross), but the reality doesn't hit you hard until the first "run" up and eventually, when you're ready to pack it in for the day, it really sinks in on this third grueling climb. If I were to name either race I'd put a curse word in between Iron and Cross and Three and Peaks. It would at least give you more of a clue about what you're getting yourself into.

When you do ride this race, be sure to stop at Station 3. It's not about Pennsylvanian hospitality, though I will tell you that the volunteers at these are an extremely helpful and efficient bunch. Another guy warned me to do this. "You'll really regret it if you don't," he said. He was right. You have to take a minute here to resupply. I probably should have taken longer, but at least I got more water. If I were really smart I would have begged someone to give me a rear cassette with a 30 tooth. I think mine was about a 26 or so, with 38/48 at the front. The 48 would get no use on the hill, but half way up I was thinking something really, really big in back would help.

Rob (77)

Up
Here's what the third peak was like (remember, over two hours of grueling hills, singletrack, and a vertical endless "run-up" have already eaten your legs apart): Climb. Keep climbing. Climb some more. Some people are walking their bikes. Stand on those pedals. Keep climbing. You're at the top. No you're not. Keep climbing. Another short downhill teaser. Keep climbing. Steeper. Keep climbing. If you're doing 4mph in some of these places you're doing good. Somewhere, eventually, you do reach the top. The brain is so wiped out at this point that it doesn't make any difference any more.

Now, go down. Down, down, down. Unfortunately, by now you've caught on. Out here, going down so much and so far means only one thing. Up will follow. It will. You know it and it hurts just to think about it. But, again, going down takes a lot of concentration. It's so fast that you can easily miss the little black arrows on the yellow background that tell you a turn is imminent. Or a curve is far sharper than you'd prepared for and the gravel road goes to gravel shoulder goes to brush and trees nipping at the handlebars.

The same guy who reminded me about the "three" word had done this race in 2007. "And you returned?" I responded in wonder. He shook his head. "I forgot about the run-ups," he said. "I just forgot." It's like getting a reprieve from Hell, then going back of your own free will because you forgot about the fire.

After the endless journey up after leaving Station 3, with a downhill break and fatigue in every muscle, you'll pass Station 4. Dive on to singletrack with more logs, a patch of deep water and relentless ruts until you come to another climb too steep for a bike even if you had legs left to try and climb it. Put the bike on your shoulder and slog.

Remember that you should have stopped at Station 4 to eat a banana or power bar or suck down a bottle of electrolytes. The last five miles you're almost there, yet feel like you're farther away than ever. The challenges just don't let up. I'm not exaggerating. Really, this is a warning. See the sign at the beginning of this article. It says "Caution." That word sits heavy once you're in this race. Every time you think you've made it through the hardest part, you haven't. There's more hardest ahead.

What's Left Isn't Pretty
Part of it is that your body is wasted by this point. At least, mine was. I remember looking at my mileage and thinking hey, I've gone two miles farther than Ore-to-Shore and I'm still alive and I'm feeling okay and I'm going to make it. A few miles farther, after leg ripping single track with some spiky climbs and rough trail and a truly vertical--not kidding, I'm telling you vertical--descent through rocks along a deer park I realized that I wasn't anywhere near the confidence of a couple of miles previous. This is a race that doesn't let up until you cross the finish line. Either the second half of the course is harder, or it just feels harder, but by the time I reached the next big walk up (notice I didn't use the word run this time), I was wondering if my legs would keep moving, pedals or no pedals. I stopped half way up and either ate something or drank something. I don't remember.

Rich (92)
As usual, Rich outshined the lot of our humble crew. He and his orange gloves kept gathering steam for mile after mile and he was in a great position to finish in the overall top twenty until his 45 wide front tire went flat on the paved road two miles from the finish. He tried to pump it up and ride it without changing at first, but it deflated instantly, so he yanked the thing off and changed the tube as racer after racer passed him to drop his place from around 15 to 22.

What's always funny about Rich is that he usually has a story to tell about stopping here and there along the way to help someone out, like passing a tube to Simonson (who was going through tubes like a persnickety sushi chef rejecting bad cuts of ahi), or checking out the specific species of fish in some lake that we passed (I didn't even see the lake). There are photos of Rich stopped along the way to receive water from some spectator. It's a whole series of shots, so the photographer had plenty of time to zero in on his subject and shoot away.

And just an aside about Simonson. After four flats tires and a broken chain, he'd probably call this the IronCurse.

Andy (204)
Andy on the other hand was doing well until somewhere after Station 2, where he decided to get lost and wander off course so he could sight see rather than partake in the race proper. Sure the area is beautiful and the weather was fantastic, but really Andy I think there are other times to do the tourist thing.

I was probably about three hours behind him before he decided to flee the punishment that is IronCross, but due to his errant ways, I passed him on a blazing downhill at about 35mph as he was fixing a flat about 500 yards from Station 4. He caught up to me shortly thereafter and I wasn't to see him again until the end, when he came in...after...me.

It's always weird to finish a race thinking you know where others are, only to find that you're either way behind or way ahead of someone else. He and Rodger went well ahead of me on the singletrack shortly after Station 4. My legs had blown at that point and all I was thinking about was making it to the finish. There was not an ounce of spark left. I nearly crashed in a section of rutted grass and shortly thereafter was swarmed by a pack of riders right before a major water hole that they all blasted through. So I blasted through it as well. I probably wouldn't have, but they made it look so cool that I couldn't pass it up. It was more than cool, it was icy cold, but at this point in the race it felt great.

It was followed by a rough area of log strewn single track where a major branch kicked up and locked between my brakes and the rim grinding my bike to a halt. I stopped and pulled it out, hopped on and took off.

Apparently, Andy watched the whole thing. Only he was wondering why his teammate hadn't stopped to help him in a time of need. He'd gotten another flat and was standing off the trail without a pump or tube. I, meanwhile, had both a hand pump and a couple of CO2's as well as a couple of tubes. On my measly little 32 tires I was one of the rare racers who still hadn't flatted.

I'm still not clear about why he didn't call out to me, but maybe he was just too surprised to think that I'd blown by him without a nod. Then again, I probably would have tossed him the tube in my jersey pocket, which was, of all things a Schrader. I'd carried a useless tube the whole race.

Oblivious
What people have to understand is that at some point in a race (usually about a hundred yards after the start) I'm oblivious to my surroundings except for the obstacles set out before me and my own little world of thought. I'm just pedaling, often hurting, and there isn't much more that can be asked of me. I've grown ultra paranoid about getting lost, because I know that I get into the race trance and forget at times that the bike doesn't have some innate ability to find its way home. I have to pay attention, and paying attention is not what I do best. So if you're by the side of the road or trail, sometimes I realize that you're there, but usually it's after I've gone by you. And it would help even more if you had a directional arrow attached to your jersey. That way I'd be seeking you out. But that doesn't mean that I'd still recognize you. I'd only see the arrow.

Otherwise, most of the time, I don't know you're there unless you scream some profanity at me. So please, you're job from now on is to look for me if you need my help. I'll stop if I know you need me. I'll be glad to pass you my Schrader. I've learned that I'm not Rich. I don't know how the guy even finishes races, much less places well. I mean, he stops for everyone in need. He probably even stops to help turtles get off the course and little old rabbits on crutches that get in the way of a swarming careless horde of racers. My guess is that he would have spent time along that lake (that I swear didn't exist) inspecting speckles on the fishies if the mood would have struck him--and he still would have beat me by twenty minutes. It's really infuriating.

Anyway, Andy wandered aimlessly for a while until some other rider with a heart tossed him a tube and someone else helped to pump air into the thing.

Rodger (117)
I did see Rodger alongside the dirt road after the KOM fixing his tire. I was flying at the time, but I slowed down and asked if he needed help. I think he said, "Goblue bla bla seeba," or something like that. I didn't, obviously, understand a word, but he wasn't screaming for help so I figured he was ok. He caught me a short while later with a good slap on the back, which propelled me forward for too short a period of time.

I was, at that point with the two leading women riders in the race, as well as a guy named Bill Nagel who was about my age and riding hard even though he hadn't raced much this year. I mention Bill because he passed me at about the five mile to go mark like he'd just started the race a few minutes before. (He's the guy in the picture with me above.) He looked all fresh and sparky and it was an amazing contrast to my feelings at that moment.

I have to mention something else about Bill. He likes to talk and race at the same time. It was like he was channeling Randy out there. How do you guys do that? I'm basically at a primal level of survival with drool rolling down my chin, and you guys are chatting away like we're just sitting at the breakfast table having our second cup of coffee. I mean, he seemed like a great guy, very personable, but polite chat on an endless 7% gravel road rise with 20 miles down and another 43 to go just isn't in my makeup. It's hard enough just to pedal, much less form coherent sentences. Then he disappears for an hour or so after the first run up, then reappears and passes me with five miles to go, cheery and chatty as ever. What basic gene did I miss receiving?

Meanwhile, I remember seeing Rodger not too far ahead of me on the first hellish run-up, but at the top he was long gone and I figured that would be the last I'd see of him in the race. Rodger and I do this tortoise/hare thing. I am definitely the tortoise. And sure enough, at Station 4 he showed up again, standing at the table getting refreshments. I'd just seen Andy, so it was proving to be an interesting team thing as the race drew to a close.

Rodger and Andy passed me shortly thereafter and Rodger patted me on the back again, but this time it was on a singletrack and since there was only room for one bike, the pat kind of had elements of a shove as he wrestled his bike in front of mine. I stayed up and he and Andy were gone.

Greg (111)
Greg, like the other three, was well ahead of me for the early part of the race. I went into this race with low expectations, just planning to survive, while the others really were in it to do something. They were just barreling away early on. But apparently I passed Greg on the first run-up. Until the end I thought he was well ahead of me. He was wearing a jersey from his new team in Arkansas and not our Priority Health kit. Sitting here now I couldn't tell you what it looked like. Out on the course he might as well have been in camouflage.

What I remember most about that "run-up" was the tire on the shoulder of the guy in front of me bashing me in the helmet over and over as I tried to find places where my feet would get traction on that vertical ascent through loose rocks and fallen logs. It was just one long line of weary humanity, a modern Pilgrim's Progress, trudging up that endless hill.

The only thing that I thought would be worse was to push the bike up, which I saw Betsy Shogren, the first place woman, do the whole way. Amazing. Then at the top she rode right away from me.

I guess Greg just found his pace from then on and plugged away. If he wouldn't have moved to Arkansas he'd still have us to help make his life miserable training for races like this. Then again, this past spring, in his early race season collegiate fitness, he was putting the rest of us in agony on club rides as we were trying to awaken our legs from the winter's hibernation.

Anne Grofvert (246)
Anne has done this thing four times. I mean, that deserves a medal above and beyond the call if you ask me. She came in the 9th woman this year. And along the way she managed to spear one of her calves with a sharp shrub in a crash on the first single track. Her leg wasn't a pretty sight at the end of the race.

Wow, You Read This Far...
You Really Do Like Punishment
Those who set this race up and called it "Cyclocross" have a sense of humor. They're sick, sadistic people, but a few hours after the race you do chuckle a bit. Somewhere between Station 4 and the finish chuckling is not an expression that comes to mind unless you've gone over the edge. Cursing is. But after it's over, with that amazing ability we have of minimizing our memories of pain and suffering, we can chuckle and even feel a bit proud of what we just did. Worse, our team even talked about what we'd do next year to improve our placings. Sick. It's even more deranged if you come from an area without hills anywhere near this big or this long. There is just nowhere in Michigan to train for this kind of thing.


Greg, Rodger, Rich, & Andy
These guys don't look so tough without their helmets on.

In lieu of mountains, Andy had the best training suggestion. Go out for a five hour ride with your brakes locked on. That's the Michigan way.

In the end, it's a fantastic race (and I say this after swearing that I was giving up biking forever while suffering between Station 4 and the finish), very well run and organized, and the schwag is some of the best you'll find (nice beer glass, great socks). One thing I'll give them extra credit for is the food. Many organizers feed you the night before, and they did, but after the race you're often on your own, miles from nowhere with nothing open, much less edible. After this race, they fed us well with excellent burritos from Moe's Southwest Grill. After a race like this, you need a lot of calories and you need them fast.

Sonority
I gave the team a special treat on the ride back to Michigan. Somewhere along the Ohio Turnpike the weary effects of race day finally set in and I fell asleep. I know too well what this means and now so do they. My daughter, Lauren, has described it in detail from myriad car trips together. My head falls back, my jaw drops open and I snore loudly. I've even done it in her violin lessons as I waited on a very comfortable couch while she serenades me only a few feet away. I gave up having any shame about this. When fatigue strikes, I'm out. The guys mentioned my sonorous sleep. Rodger was playing some great music on the stereo. I think I was just resonating with that.

Do IronCross at least once. You'll have some great naps the following days. I promise.

Photo Credits
The photos of us on our bikes above were taken by a woman named Judy, who was kind enough to post them shortly after the race. Thank you Judy.
I took the rest.

Fanslow

Laws of the Jungle
I was trying to figure out what ole Fanslow was up to. He was on the front nearly every minute. We rode in his wake for a good part of the race. He was dragging everyone around so much that I was getting worried for the poor guy. I mentioned it to him in one of those rare moments when I went past his wheel. "Yeah," he said. That was it. It wasn't like we could have a good heart-to-heart out there.

Dave has kind of a deadpan delivery most of the time. It has a nasal quality, somewhat like Bugs Bunny’s “Yeah” before “What’s up doc?” He’s not anywhere near as glib or cocky as Bugs, and he has a much more low key corner of the mouth, corner of the eye slyness, with a smile that hints at his abilities to leave you far back in the pack if necessary. Nothing malicious, just the laws of the jungle in effect.

The Power Shake
He comes out to train with the club each year, usually around May, and struggles like hell for a month. Then, as the heat of July picks up, so does Dave's strength. His sprints are almost always good. His quads are built for tractor pulls. But in July his endurance and overall power join in for a lively power shake that's hard to hold on to.

Keep in mind that this is a guy who in real life is a research marine biologist who often sits in a small boat for weeks at at time in the middle of Lake Michigan counting cladocera or whatever marine biologists do. There are times when he can't ride and about the only exercise is circling the small deck or, as a result of misbehavior, walking the plank. For those of us whose legs are hurting from rides with Dave, I recommend we contact his boss and see if we can get him assigned to these Great Lakes adventures as often as possible.

Blank Stares
I did an 80 mile club ride with him last year at the end of July. It was one of the hottest days of the year, full of steamy air and relentless sun. I'd been on vacation for three weeks hiking in France, not once on a bike. It was not using good judgment to ride with Dave immediately after my return. Many others on the ride didn’t know Dave like I did, though a few of the smarter ones did turn back at the twenty mile mark. The rest should have done the same. I wanted a long ride, and I had a foolish sense of what I was in for, so I stayed.

Dave has a straightforward philosophy: if you’re on a Velo Club ride, you’re there to ride hard. I often agree, unless my legs are sore or someone puts me into the red zone too much. It’s a very self-serving belief on my part that as long as I’m the one putting others into trouble I have every right, but if others do the same to me I grumble. (Rodger's had me grumbling since March and there's no let up in sight.) Dave is equal opportunity. If you can make him hurt, that's fine with him. It will just make him stronger. Eventually, he’ll get to the point where you’re the one hoping he’d ease off just a little.

So, for most of the 80 mile ride it was hold on to Dave's wheel or ride back alone. It was one long steady pull at a speed quite a few notches above comfortable. We made it, but there wasn’t much talking along the way and there were a lot of vacant stares as we went our separate ways in Ann Arbor.

A week or so later he powered along at the hundred mile Black Bear race in Grayling, again yanking away out front and keeping the pace high. He finished top ten.

The Full Breakfast Combo
This year was different for Dave and that meant different for the rest of us. From the first ride in May he had both power and endurance and the sprint was explosive. It was very reassuring to me after sucking air behind Rodger and Peter’s wheels all spring to know that now I had Dave. He's an active cross-country ski racer in the winter, so there was a foundation of sorts, but that's no different than any other year. Whatever it was, Dave had the full breakfast combo all set early season.

La Puissance de la Fan
So, we’re going round and round the Kensington hills in this race called the Trophee de Grimpeurs put on by the inimitable Joe Lekovish and his sadistic friends. This race, as Joe pointed out, wasn’t really a climber’s race. It was a race for all-arounders, and in our race it was a race for sprinters and powerhouse riders.

Nobody was willing to go off the front, except one or two riders, who were pulled back after relentless efforts to get away. Dave was in more than one of those attempts. Often, when you hang out there for a while, you deplete the resources and become pack fodder. In defensive packs, like this one, the good riders are often worn down by the steady thrum thrum of the group to reel everyone in. Not enough people are willing to work to get away, so it comes down to just a few stalwart riders or vain solo efforts doomed to failure unless they have the legs and lungs of Jens Voigt.

At the end was the pack sprint. Ours started early, thanks to Larry Bohnsack, who flew to the front on the final uphill, 600 meters from the finish. The trouble was, nearly everyone was still in reasonable shape because the race was so slow to that point. The pack exploded forward using Larry as the rabbit.

It was one of the hardest finishes of my life, both because it began so far out and because it was all uphill. And it got steeper at the 200 meter mark. My legs were lactic loaded at about 400 meters and from then on it was total abandon, like trying to climb a rope by your teeth after the arms have gone out.

When I passed the line, I looked ahead and there was Dave. I rolled up to him as we cruised down the other side and asked how he did. “Second,” he said, with that sly smile sneaking across his face.

Second. A week later he pulled the pack around the Master's race at the Priority Health Ann Arbor Cycling Classic. I think he got sixth place. It was his last race of the year. He's going to focus on the ski season now. Good, my legs need a break. Maybe we can get Rodger to do the ski thing, too.