A couple of weeks ago while I was looking for bike racing on TV, I ran across a show produced by the Discovery Channel which picked two "average" cyclists to take to France to ride a mountain stage of the Tour de France. I missed the beginning of the show, but was compelled to watch the 50 or so minutes of the hour long broadcast.
Why did I feel compelled to watch? Because I have a sickness. You see, I became a cycling fan when there was no coverage of bike racing on television or media. You'll notice I didn't say "mainstream" media, because when I became a cycling fan, there was nothing that wasn't mainstream media. Basically we got our sports from Wide World of Sports or the newspaper. There was no internet and there were times when literally days or weeks would go by after the last stage of the Tour de France before I could find out who won. That seems unbelievable, doesn't it? But it was true. Let me tell you about the way we kept our food cold by putting ice in a box over the food, but if the river didn't freeze hard enough we would run out of ice late in the summer. But I digress.
So Discovery Channel picks these two guys, and in the weeks ahead of their Tour stage ride sends them to Trek for new Madones, sends them to Colorado for testing with Chris Carmichael, sends them to Spain to ride in the mountains with pseudo-pro Tom Danielson and his pro-rider wife, and then for dinner and a ride with Levi Leipheimer and George Hincapie, all in preparation for them to ride one of the very tough mountain stages.
Putting aside my jealously that two schlubs who don't know jack about cycling and took up the sport in the last few years are treated to this extravaganza, one thing stuck out as the most extraordinary thing in the whole program. One of these guys lived in Washington DC and commuted to work on his bike. The cameras followed him riding along a few sidewalks and trails on the way to work. He did not appear to ride on any "open" roads or places without stoplights, trail intersections and scads of pedestrians. Also, you should know that this guy was not small, as in, even I at my sizable girth would come in at a smaller waist size. He was also not an experienced cyclist, so I guess I should give him some slack, but then again, he did say one of the dumbest things I have ever heard on television about cycling - and keep in mind that I have heard cycling commentary from Al Trautwig, Craig Hummer and John Eustice hyperventilating so much he should pass out.
So, as he is describing his "training", which consists of him riding trails to work in Washington, DC, he said, and this is a very close quote, "I try to simulate race conditions whenever I can."
I would like for anyone who races to consider that for just a moment. In fact, I will repeat it and when you read it again, I would like for you to think about riding a loop on a sunny Saturday that consists of the Centennial Trail that starts at the Big Red Wagon and goes to the Rotary Fountain before looping back while you think about this, "I try to simulate race conditions whenever I can."
You know, when I am sitting in a parking lot with my car idling, I try to pretend that I am winning the frickin Firecracker 500, so I guess someone should give me a NASCAR race vehicle and a firesuit, eh? Can someone who has never raced a bicycle, and frankly appears to have NEVER RIDDEN IN A GROUP have any idea what "race conditions" are like? Seriously? I get that grade school kids pretend that buzzer is going off as they take a shot at the hoop, but does any adult who has never played in a basketball game go onto television standing at the free throw line at the neighborhood park and say, "I try to simulate the pressure of the playoffs"?! Could you have a little respect for what is involved in a local training race, much less at the Tour de frickin France where the best riders in the world work for years and years to just get to the start line and then pretend that you can simulate that on the greenbelt between stop lights and kids in strollers!
"We get no respect, I tell ya," quote from Rodney "Rider Three" Dangerfield.
Even professional bike racers will tell you that one of the reasons they race earlier in the season than their main objectives is that nothing duplicates the intensity or difficulty of racing, EXCEPT RACING.
Look, I know this guy was new to cycling, so his ignorance should be forgivable, but still, have a little respect. How about "I try to go hard", "I try to go as fast as I can," or even, "I try to ride with as much intensity as a racer," but not, "I try to simulate race conditions whenever I can" when you have no idea what a race condition is.
By the way, one guy made it over all of the mountains in the replicated Tour stage. One didn't. I guess he will have a little more understanding of the terrain at least, but I don't think you can understand what race conditions are like until you have done it at some level.
I think I need to take a few deep breaths before I start sounding like John Eustice.
Rider Three
Showing posts with label Racing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Racing. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
24 Hour Race
A few blog-worthy things have happened since my last post. I rode part of the 24 Hour Race, we had a Team Two Wheel Shop Ride and I rode the Mad Dash 8 Hour race. Two of these things also involved my new bike, a Gary Fisher Superfly. And despite all of this, I was not once accused of motorized doping. I guess I need to work on that.
So, without further ado (ado being a naturally occurring substance which I am too polite to discuss in this blog), here are some of these tales of these events in chronological order.
24 Hour Race
It was a cold and dark morning, with wind whipped clouds on the horizon . . . Not, actually, it wasn't. The 24 Hour Race, put on by the incomparable Wendy Bailey and Gino Liesicki (and lots of volunteers and helpers), is a mountain bike race held in Riverside State Park and which runs from noon Saturday until noon Sunday on Memorial Day weekend every year. This is the 11th year of the event, although I would have guessed it was 20 or more. This race can be done Solo, Single Speed Solo, or on teams of various sizes ranging from two to ten. This event has continued to grow and it attracts several hundred people who participate, volunteer and otherwise camp and hang out around the race course area starting on Friday before the race. All in all, it is a great event and any organizer who wants to understand how things should run should take the time to check out this event, from course set-up and marking (clear, obvious and safe), logistics and support (excellent) to food (all provided by Mark Starr and the David's Pizza Emergency Support Vehicle) This race is a lot of fun.
This is my second time participating, the first was in 2007. The same thing precipitated my involvement both times: Leadville 100. A subject for another time, but the point is that I am "training" for the Leadville 100 and it seemed in 2007 that riding/racing my mountain bike for many, many hours was a good idea. So, in 2007 I signed up for the solo division and rode from the start at noon until around 6 or 6.30 pm and then went home for the night and came back to ride two more laps in the morning prior to the Sunday noon cut-off. I had slightly more ambitious morning ride intentions, but it was my anniversary so breakfast with my wife of then 18 years seemed like a good idea.
So, this year when my Leadville 100 aspirations came up again, I thought a good long mountain bike race might be in order again. I recruited two stalwart souls to join me in our self-described "daylight division" and we once again set out with the pack at noon and rode until Wendy said we would have to have lights on in order to head back out. This year that meant stopping about 7.40 pm after 6 laps, or about 86 miles.
Lap 1 - This lap is the high-excitement-of-the-start lap, but also the lap with the g-damned Le Mans start, which means running "to" your bike the way car racers at Le Mans used to, except this involves an uphill out and back run. Now, I don't fault them for it, as it does a good job of separating the pack out so there isn't a crunch as people get out on the course, but damn it all, I ride a bike because I hate running, so starting out my bike race with my bike shoes and running 600 yards up and then down a hill is not my idea of entertainment. By the way, this is the only time I saw Stalwart Soul PK until after he had finished his 7th lap and we were all ready for a beer. The first lap is also the lap where everyone's adrenaline is pumping and the people on teams are laying tracks as fast as they can. It is hard when you are planning to do eight hours (and I can't imagine doing 24 hours) to just settle into your day-long pace and not get sucked into racing at their pace. This gets better as the day goes on because a couple of hours into the day I just didn't have what it would have taken to even try to keep up with some of the fast folks doing single laps at a time. Anyway, this lap went reasonably well and the results tell me that I was 2 min 45 sec behind PK and 1 min 20 sec behind PW, the other "Daylight Division" riders also training for Leadville. Since I lost this much time to them on the Le Mans start alone, this wasn't a bad beginning.
Lap 2 - This was the lap in which I had a flat. I have had a couple of pinch flats before and they tend to be quick deflation affairs. In this case, the air was slowly draining and I was able to make it back to the pit area before stopping. I did this because I had a spare tube and pump available and somehow it made sense to me. I lost more than 10 minutes on my comrades this lap, but not bad considering that I rode gingerly for the last part of the this lap and then changed my flat.
Lap 3 - The lap from hell. As I started up the hill that starts the 14.something mile course, I realized that I couldn't shift into the largest cog in the back (largest cog = smallest gear, does this make sense? Yes, but still). I attributed this to the banging through the prior lap's "rock garden" sections. By the way, I have had to switch to using the term "rock garden" exclusively as my wife objects to the term "baby heads" to describe the infant-noggin size rocks that inhabit portions of this trail. Anyway, new bike and cables that might still need adjusting, right, so I figured I would just drop down into the "granny gear" in the front (speaking of jargon, does anyone still use that term for the tiny chain-ring) and make due. While I rode this lap, however, I started feeling miserable. I was really dragging. I couldn't get up to speed on the flats, I was notably slower uphill and it all started to get to me mentally and physically. Also, my right knee started to get sore, which is not something that would normally bother me, even on a long, hard ride. About half way through the third lap I had mostly decided that I would just struggle through one more lap and call it day. I had started out with the goal of riding six laps (about 86 miles), but if four laps (57 miles) was all I could do, I needed to be realistic and re-think my fitness for Leadville.
The last section of this course has a fast downhill section and then flats, so I shifted into the smallest cog in back to take advantage of the speed and instead was greated with the chain dropping between the cog and the frame. Not good. Very kindly, Tom, the mechanic from Two Wheel Transit who had prep'd the bike for the race, told me that he would be racing that weekend and if I needed anything he told me where to look for him. Tom and his crew had cheered me on prior laps so I decided to stop by and was hoping that we was not out doing one of his incredibly fast laps and instead could help me get the bike shifting correctly.
Thankfully, Tom was sitting course-side and graciously offered to take a quick look at the bike. And, indeed, all it took was a quick look as he immediately noted that when I put the rear wheel back on after changing the flat, that I had done so without putting the part of the rear hub that fits into the drop-out on one side, so that it was sitting on the skewer on that side. This meant that it wouldn't shift correctly since the whole thing was pushed sideways. A few of you will have immediately tripped to the other issue. Yes, the rotor for the brake was also pushed sideways, so that it was firmly and solidly against the brake pad. Do you think this might have contributed to the feelings I was having on that lap? Yes, you are right. You are very perceptive. In fact, riding a 14+ mile lap with your brakes "on" is really a bad idea and it makes me ponder my relationship with reality. How could I have not noticed? How could I not have spun the wheel after it was back in the frame? I don't know the answer to either of these things, but I did a quick change on the tire and it was apparently at least 15 seconds too fast since I didn't check that.
I was really glad, however, that Tom was there and had offered to help. Don't know when I would have noticed otherwise. Maybe when the brake ignited something?
Lap 4 & 5 - At this point in the race, things are less distinct in my memory. The good news is that nothing traumatic happened and the bad news is that also probably indicates that I needed to eat and/or drink more to keep the brain sugar levels up. My legs were definitely feeling the impact of my idiotic brake-pad fiasco from lap 3 and it really took these two laps to work them out so they felt good again. My right knee stopped aching and just went back to feeling normally tired above and below it. Interestingly, my 5th lap of the day was 15 seconds faster than my 2nd lap of the day. I had to slow down and baby the corners on my 2nd lap as the tire was getting low, but still that indicates that I was doing all right even five laps and more than 70 miles into the race.
Lap 6 - I came into the pit area after Lap 5 and saw PW. I was feeling pretty good for being 6 1/2 hours into a mountain bike ride and I finally felt like the crampy/stressed feeling from Lap 3 was finally gone, so I was planning to get in a 6th lap and call it day just as lights were required to be mounted on your bike to continue on the course. PW was getting a piece of pizza so I grabbed some sandwich I had brought and we agreed to ride the last lap "together". You would think that this word has an agreed-upon usage in the English language, but that would indicate that you don't know PW. "Together" in this instance meant that I should ride slowly when he wanted to go slow and that at the end of the lap when he felt sparky and got around a couple of riders, I should just hope to see him after the finish line. Oh well, you wouldn't have friendships that lasted 25 years if you didn't overlook this type of behavior, right? Maybe it's good there weren't blogs 25 years ago.
Post Lap 6 - I felt remarkably good after riding around Riverside State Park for nearly 8 hours. I knew I would be sore the next day, and I was, but I wasn't in the shot/knackered/wasted category. I was just in the good old-fashioned tired category. I was also very, very fortunate that my pal Mark was right next to my pit area and he had some cold beer, Papa's Pale Ale from the Coeur d'Alene Brewing Company (brewed in honor of the Centennial of Father's Day which was founded in Spokane (Proof of this claim and places to get Papa's Pale Ale on tap - just click). It is hard to remember a time when a beer tasted so good and it felt so good to sit down. So, I sat a bit, had another beer and then PK (who had snuck in a 7th lap - putting him at an amazing 90 miles in 8 1/2 hours)(also, did you know the correct term is "sneaked" and that "snuck" is not actually a word?), PW and I headed to the Steam Plant Grill to meet my family, PW's daughter and to have a burger, another beer and an end to a great day.
Last thoughts - Solo - When you get your race number for your bike in the solo category, you also get a small tag to hang on your seat that says "Solo". This is so team racers give you some respect as they bomb past you on their fresher legs. Since I was only ever intending to ride 7-8 hours and almost every other Solo was there for 24 hours, I felt bad every time someone passed me or I went through the tent and got kudos for being a solo. People who stick it out 24 Hours do deserve recognition, so I felt guilty taking any of it from them. I will ask Gino and Wendy for a "Daylight Division" sticker to go on my Solo badge next time.
Women - Any male who thinks they are superior to women by dint of their equipment, should come out to a race like this. I saw women flying around all parts of this course, uphill/downhill/technical/flat/volunteering, who outclassed me at every point. There were solo women, team women and women on co-ed teams all dishing it out better than a lot of men, so guys, let's put aside the junior high attitude that all men are somehow better athletes or more hard-asses than all women, cause it just ain't true.
Finish - It was a great day and it is a fun race. I saw a lot of friends and was reminded of why I like Spokane so much. Tom gets a shout-out for being the mechanic who saved my day and Mark Starr at the David's Pizza truck deserves special mention for his food and logistical support.
It made me tired just to type this up. That's why it took so long.
Rider 3
So, without further ado (ado being a naturally occurring substance which I am too polite to discuss in this blog), here are some of these tales of these events in chronological order.
24 Hour Race
It was a cold and dark morning, with wind whipped clouds on the horizon . . . Not, actually, it wasn't. The 24 Hour Race, put on by the incomparable Wendy Bailey and Gino Liesicki (and lots of volunteers and helpers), is a mountain bike race held in Riverside State Park and which runs from noon Saturday until noon Sunday on Memorial Day weekend every year. This is the 11th year of the event, although I would have guessed it was 20 or more. This race can be done Solo, Single Speed Solo, or on teams of various sizes ranging from two to ten. This event has continued to grow and it attracts several hundred people who participate, volunteer and otherwise camp and hang out around the race course area starting on Friday before the race. All in all, it is a great event and any organizer who wants to understand how things should run should take the time to check out this event, from course set-up and marking (clear, obvious and safe), logistics and support (excellent) to food (all provided by Mark Starr and the David's Pizza Emergency Support Vehicle) This race is a lot of fun.
This is my second time participating, the first was in 2007. The same thing precipitated my involvement both times: Leadville 100. A subject for another time, but the point is that I am "training" for the Leadville 100 and it seemed in 2007 that riding/racing my mountain bike for many, many hours was a good idea. So, in 2007 I signed up for the solo division and rode from the start at noon until around 6 or 6.30 pm and then went home for the night and came back to ride two more laps in the morning prior to the Sunday noon cut-off. I had slightly more ambitious morning ride intentions, but it was my anniversary so breakfast with my wife of then 18 years seemed like a good idea.
So, this year when my Leadville 100 aspirations came up again, I thought a good long mountain bike race might be in order again. I recruited two stalwart souls to join me in our self-described "daylight division" and we once again set out with the pack at noon and rode until Wendy said we would have to have lights on in order to head back out. This year that meant stopping about 7.40 pm after 6 laps, or about 86 miles.
Lap 1 - This lap is the high-excitement-of-the-start lap, but also the lap with the g-damned Le Mans start, which means running "to" your bike the way car racers at Le Mans used to, except this involves an uphill out and back run. Now, I don't fault them for it, as it does a good job of separating the pack out so there isn't a crunch as people get out on the course, but damn it all, I ride a bike because I hate running, so starting out my bike race with my bike shoes and running 600 yards up and then down a hill is not my idea of entertainment. By the way, this is the only time I saw Stalwart Soul PK until after he had finished his 7th lap and we were all ready for a beer. The first lap is also the lap where everyone's adrenaline is pumping and the people on teams are laying tracks as fast as they can. It is hard when you are planning to do eight hours (and I can't imagine doing 24 hours) to just settle into your day-long pace and not get sucked into racing at their pace. This gets better as the day goes on because a couple of hours into the day I just didn't have what it would have taken to even try to keep up with some of the fast folks doing single laps at a time. Anyway, this lap went reasonably well and the results tell me that I was 2 min 45 sec behind PK and 1 min 20 sec behind PW, the other "Daylight Division" riders also training for Leadville. Since I lost this much time to them on the Le Mans start alone, this wasn't a bad beginning.
Lap 2 - This was the lap in which I had a flat. I have had a couple of pinch flats before and they tend to be quick deflation affairs. In this case, the air was slowly draining and I was able to make it back to the pit area before stopping. I did this because I had a spare tube and pump available and somehow it made sense to me. I lost more than 10 minutes on my comrades this lap, but not bad considering that I rode gingerly for the last part of the this lap and then changed my flat.
Lap 3 - The lap from hell. As I started up the hill that starts the 14.something mile course, I realized that I couldn't shift into the largest cog in the back (largest cog = smallest gear, does this make sense? Yes, but still). I attributed this to the banging through the prior lap's "rock garden" sections. By the way, I have had to switch to using the term "rock garden" exclusively as my wife objects to the term "baby heads" to describe the infant-noggin size rocks that inhabit portions of this trail. Anyway, new bike and cables that might still need adjusting, right, so I figured I would just drop down into the "granny gear" in the front (speaking of jargon, does anyone still use that term for the tiny chain-ring) and make due. While I rode this lap, however, I started feeling miserable. I was really dragging. I couldn't get up to speed on the flats, I was notably slower uphill and it all started to get to me mentally and physically. Also, my right knee started to get sore, which is not something that would normally bother me, even on a long, hard ride. About half way through the third lap I had mostly decided that I would just struggle through one more lap and call it day. I had started out with the goal of riding six laps (about 86 miles), but if four laps (57 miles) was all I could do, I needed to be realistic and re-think my fitness for Leadville.
The last section of this course has a fast downhill section and then flats, so I shifted into the smallest cog in back to take advantage of the speed and instead was greated with the chain dropping between the cog and the frame. Not good. Very kindly, Tom, the mechanic from Two Wheel Transit who had prep'd the bike for the race, told me that he would be racing that weekend and if I needed anything he told me where to look for him. Tom and his crew had cheered me on prior laps so I decided to stop by and was hoping that we was not out doing one of his incredibly fast laps and instead could help me get the bike shifting correctly.
Thankfully, Tom was sitting course-side and graciously offered to take a quick look at the bike. And, indeed, all it took was a quick look as he immediately noted that when I put the rear wheel back on after changing the flat, that I had done so without putting the part of the rear hub that fits into the drop-out on one side, so that it was sitting on the skewer on that side. This meant that it wouldn't shift correctly since the whole thing was pushed sideways. A few of you will have immediately tripped to the other issue. Yes, the rotor for the brake was also pushed sideways, so that it was firmly and solidly against the brake pad. Do you think this might have contributed to the feelings I was having on that lap? Yes, you are right. You are very perceptive. In fact, riding a 14+ mile lap with your brakes "on" is really a bad idea and it makes me ponder my relationship with reality. How could I have not noticed? How could I not have spun the wheel after it was back in the frame? I don't know the answer to either of these things, but I did a quick change on the tire and it was apparently at least 15 seconds too fast since I didn't check that.
I was really glad, however, that Tom was there and had offered to help. Don't know when I would have noticed otherwise. Maybe when the brake ignited something?
Lap 4 & 5 - At this point in the race, things are less distinct in my memory. The good news is that nothing traumatic happened and the bad news is that also probably indicates that I needed to eat and/or drink more to keep the brain sugar levels up. My legs were definitely feeling the impact of my idiotic brake-pad fiasco from lap 3 and it really took these two laps to work them out so they felt good again. My right knee stopped aching and just went back to feeling normally tired above and below it. Interestingly, my 5th lap of the day was 15 seconds faster than my 2nd lap of the day. I had to slow down and baby the corners on my 2nd lap as the tire was getting low, but still that indicates that I was doing all right even five laps and more than 70 miles into the race.
Lap 6 - I came into the pit area after Lap 5 and saw PW. I was feeling pretty good for being 6 1/2 hours into a mountain bike ride and I finally felt like the crampy/stressed feeling from Lap 3 was finally gone, so I was planning to get in a 6th lap and call it day just as lights were required to be mounted on your bike to continue on the course. PW was getting a piece of pizza so I grabbed some sandwich I had brought and we agreed to ride the last lap "together". You would think that this word has an agreed-upon usage in the English language, but that would indicate that you don't know PW. "Together" in this instance meant that I should ride slowly when he wanted to go slow and that at the end of the lap when he felt sparky and got around a couple of riders, I should just hope to see him after the finish line. Oh well, you wouldn't have friendships that lasted 25 years if you didn't overlook this type of behavior, right? Maybe it's good there weren't blogs 25 years ago.
Post Lap 6 - I felt remarkably good after riding around Riverside State Park for nearly 8 hours. I knew I would be sore the next day, and I was, but I wasn't in the shot/knackered/wasted category. I was just in the good old-fashioned tired category. I was also very, very fortunate that my pal Mark was right next to my pit area and he had some cold beer, Papa's Pale Ale from the Coeur d'Alene Brewing Company (brewed in honor of the Centennial of Father's Day which was founded in Spokane (Proof of this claim and places to get Papa's Pale Ale on tap - just click). It is hard to remember a time when a beer tasted so good and it felt so good to sit down. So, I sat a bit, had another beer and then PK (who had snuck in a 7th lap - putting him at an amazing 90 miles in 8 1/2 hours)(also, did you know the correct term is "sneaked" and that "snuck" is not actually a word?), PW and I headed to the Steam Plant Grill to meet my family, PW's daughter and to have a burger, another beer and an end to a great day.
Last thoughts - Solo - When you get your race number for your bike in the solo category, you also get a small tag to hang on your seat that says "Solo". This is so team racers give you some respect as they bomb past you on their fresher legs. Since I was only ever intending to ride 7-8 hours and almost every other Solo was there for 24 hours, I felt bad every time someone passed me or I went through the tent and got kudos for being a solo. People who stick it out 24 Hours do deserve recognition, so I felt guilty taking any of it from them. I will ask Gino and Wendy for a "Daylight Division" sticker to go on my Solo badge next time.
Women - Any male who thinks they are superior to women by dint of their equipment, should come out to a race like this. I saw women flying around all parts of this course, uphill/downhill/technical/flat/volunteering, who outclassed me at every point. There were solo women, team women and women on co-ed teams all dishing it out better than a lot of men, so guys, let's put aside the junior high attitude that all men are somehow better athletes or more hard-asses than all women, cause it just ain't true.
Finish - It was a great day and it is a fun race. I saw a lot of friends and was reminded of why I like Spokane so much. Tom gets a shout-out for being the mechanic who saved my day and Mark Starr at the David's Pizza truck deserves special mention for his food and logistical support.
It made me tired just to type this up. That's why it took so long.
Rider 3
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Huh? Mechanized Doping
There was a story a few days ago on CyclingNews.com about mechanized doping. It referred to a motor that could be hidden inside a bikes tubing and the claim was that it had been used in a professional bike race. I just shook my head and thought that this was the feverish imagination of someone disappointed that the biological passport seems to be cleaning up the sport - probably some soccer fan or F1 fanatic. Anyway, I still don't believe it, but here is proof that such a motor exists along with the accusation leveled directly at Fabian Cancellara that his spring classic wins were the result of nefarious means. Everyone always says that he has a big motor; I guess the question now is, does he also have a small motor?
Thursday, May 13, 2010
One Perfect Race
My race win on Tuesday and my Joy of Racing thoughts have made me consider racing recently. I also had a long conversation with a rowing buddy from my years on the UW crew team yesterday. It made me think about racing and what the experience is like.
Road racing is highly variable with each race. Lining up for most races, you don't really know whether everyone will want to go fast, go slow or go wildly from one to the other. You don't konw how strong the riders will be. Some courses are more or less likely to go a certain way, but the group and the weather and the wind and lots of stuff can make the same course very different on different days. The length of road racing certainly plays into that. Probably most, but not all, track racing is much more predictable. Rowing was more like that. The distance of races, except "Head of the _____" races, is 2,000 meters or 2 k. That is a distance that takes "about" 5 1/2 to 6 minutes to cover in an 8-man rowing shell. The wind and therefore water condition can have an impact, but all of the training is geared towards going as fast as possible for that distance.
Rowing is made up of both strength and technique. Like a lot of things, the basics are easy to see or even do. The fine points, however, take literally tens of thousands of repetitions. Putting eight people in a boat and getting forward momentum is not that hard. Eight first-timers can move a boat with very slow and deliberate motion. Making an eight-person boat go fast, however, is a whole different story.
Without going into too much detail, the Peloponnesians developed the first modern rowing stroke (see how that was funny - I said not much detail and then mentioned something from nearly 2,500 years ago). The point, however, is that they slid back and forth to row. The average row boat has a fixed seat, a board usually, that you simply bend at the waist and move your arms. In a racing shell, the seats slide so that you can reach forward with arms at full extension and put the oar in the water as far back as reasonable and then fully extend your body backwards, using your legs, back and arms to move the oar as far through the water as possible. You then lift the oar out of the water with your legs straight, your trunk leaning back and your arms at your chest. You then balance the oar over the water as you move back up the slide to start all over.
I don't know if the description helps, but you can see that there are lots of moving body parts here. The trick is not just doing it right yourself, it is getting all eight people to do it in unison so that the overall movement is as smooth as possible. If you don't do this movement together, the boat will pitch back and forth, which further throws things off. And even if you do it smoothly together, if you come to the point of the stroke where you put the oar into the water going to fast or too abrupt, you "check" the boat, which means that your body weight will stop or slow the forward momentum of the boat.
On the other hand, if your team does all of these things with extraordinary symmetry and grace, the boat feels solid from side to side, even though racing shells are only about 20" wide and your oar is about 12' long, and the stroke will smoothly accelerate the boat and then keep it up at a very high speed and not "check" the speed of the boat.
This may seem like a lot of detail, despite the promise to avoid that, but most readers here will have limited rowing knowledge so I wanted to convey the basics. And here is why. I rowed for the University of Washington for four years. I rowed in full racing seasons each of those years, most regattas or races involving multiple heats, and with lots of pre-season inter-team racing. I basically rowed for six days of the week for about 40 weeks of the year for four years. UW crews were known for being brute force rowers, rather than finesse rowers (as Harvard was considered in my day), but we worked at being smooth nonetheless. In all of this rowing and all of this racing, I had one single solitary "perfect" race, in which the boat moved up to speed rapidly and maintained that speed with no check and no wobble.
Even all these years later, it is hard to imagine that in all of those races, all of those hours in the boat, there was only one time when every single thing came together just exactly and perfectly in the textbook way that it was supposed to.
The race was in my sophomore year. I was in the 3rd boat in the program at that time. The top two boats were at another competition and the 3rd and 4th boats in the program were representing UW at the regional championships. The coaches put a group of seniors in the 4th boat and they were the lead boat in the "Varsity" race. Our 3rd boat was the lead boat in the "JV" race, with the idea that we would be "sure" to win that race, but we were also supposed to be our second entry in the Varsity race later that day. As we were supposed to, we did win the JV regional championship and, as was the tradition, we literally were handed the shirts off the backs of the other teams. A while later, despite having raced a heat and the final in the JV race, we lined up for a heat and then, since we placed high enough, for the final in the Varsity race. My perfect race was that Varsity final. We were tired from all the prior rowing, having already finished three races to everyone else's one race in that final. I think that maybe our tiredness eased up our power just enough so that our finesse was allowed to shine, but whatever the reason, that race was the best and most magical that I experienced in all four years.
We were also handed all the jerseys from the teams we beat in that final and I think that as the eight of us received our spoils, we were all excited by the feeling in the boat and that we had a lot more races like that in our future. We didn't know that day that it was to be a singularly perfect experience.
I actually went on to row all of my Junior and Senior years in the top two boats in the program, and most of them in the top boat. We won a lot of races including against every single Pac-10 school, lots of other rowing power-house schools and some international crews, but not one of those races was as perfect. Because of I was in the top two boats I never went back to those regional races, since we had a bigger race scheduled that same weekend, and I was rowing with guys who were considered the strongest and best rowers in the program. We did make the boats move down the course faster for sure, but I never again experienced that mystical, magical feeling of my one perfect race.
Road racing is highly variable with each race. Lining up for most races, you don't really know whether everyone will want to go fast, go slow or go wildly from one to the other. You don't konw how strong the riders will be. Some courses are more or less likely to go a certain way, but the group and the weather and the wind and lots of stuff can make the same course very different on different days. The length of road racing certainly plays into that. Probably most, but not all, track racing is much more predictable. Rowing was more like that. The distance of races, except "Head of the _____" races, is 2,000 meters or 2 k. That is a distance that takes "about" 5 1/2 to 6 minutes to cover in an 8-man rowing shell. The wind and therefore water condition can have an impact, but all of the training is geared towards going as fast as possible for that distance.
Rowing is made up of both strength and technique. Like a lot of things, the basics are easy to see or even do. The fine points, however, take literally tens of thousands of repetitions. Putting eight people in a boat and getting forward momentum is not that hard. Eight first-timers can move a boat with very slow and deliberate motion. Making an eight-person boat go fast, however, is a whole different story.
Without going into too much detail, the Peloponnesians developed the first modern rowing stroke (see how that was funny - I said not much detail and then mentioned something from nearly 2,500 years ago). The point, however, is that they slid back and forth to row. The average row boat has a fixed seat, a board usually, that you simply bend at the waist and move your arms. In a racing shell, the seats slide so that you can reach forward with arms at full extension and put the oar in the water as far back as reasonable and then fully extend your body backwards, using your legs, back and arms to move the oar as far through the water as possible. You then lift the oar out of the water with your legs straight, your trunk leaning back and your arms at your chest. You then balance the oar over the water as you move back up the slide to start all over.
I don't know if the description helps, but you can see that there are lots of moving body parts here. The trick is not just doing it right yourself, it is getting all eight people to do it in unison so that the overall movement is as smooth as possible. If you don't do this movement together, the boat will pitch back and forth, which further throws things off. And even if you do it smoothly together, if you come to the point of the stroke where you put the oar into the water going to fast or too abrupt, you "check" the boat, which means that your body weight will stop or slow the forward momentum of the boat.
On the other hand, if your team does all of these things with extraordinary symmetry and grace, the boat feels solid from side to side, even though racing shells are only about 20" wide and your oar is about 12' long, and the stroke will smoothly accelerate the boat and then keep it up at a very high speed and not "check" the speed of the boat.
This may seem like a lot of detail, despite the promise to avoid that, but most readers here will have limited rowing knowledge so I wanted to convey the basics. And here is why. I rowed for the University of Washington for four years. I rowed in full racing seasons each of those years, most regattas or races involving multiple heats, and with lots of pre-season inter-team racing. I basically rowed for six days of the week for about 40 weeks of the year for four years. UW crews were known for being brute force rowers, rather than finesse rowers (as Harvard was considered in my day), but we worked at being smooth nonetheless. In all of this rowing and all of this racing, I had one single solitary "perfect" race, in which the boat moved up to speed rapidly and maintained that speed with no check and no wobble.
Even all these years later, it is hard to imagine that in all of those races, all of those hours in the boat, there was only one time when every single thing came together just exactly and perfectly in the textbook way that it was supposed to.
The race was in my sophomore year. I was in the 3rd boat in the program at that time. The top two boats were at another competition and the 3rd and 4th boats in the program were representing UW at the regional championships. The coaches put a group of seniors in the 4th boat and they were the lead boat in the "Varsity" race. Our 3rd boat was the lead boat in the "JV" race, with the idea that we would be "sure" to win that race, but we were also supposed to be our second entry in the Varsity race later that day. As we were supposed to, we did win the JV regional championship and, as was the tradition, we literally were handed the shirts off the backs of the other teams. A while later, despite having raced a heat and the final in the JV race, we lined up for a heat and then, since we placed high enough, for the final in the Varsity race. My perfect race was that Varsity final. We were tired from all the prior rowing, having already finished three races to everyone else's one race in that final. I think that maybe our tiredness eased up our power just enough so that our finesse was allowed to shine, but whatever the reason, that race was the best and most magical that I experienced in all four years.
We were also handed all the jerseys from the teams we beat in that final and I think that as the eight of us received our spoils, we were all excited by the feeling in the boat and that we had a lot more races like that in our future. We didn't know that day that it was to be a singularly perfect experience.
I actually went on to row all of my Junior and Senior years in the top two boats in the program, and most of them in the top boat. We won a lot of races including against every single Pac-10 school, lots of other rowing power-house schools and some international crews, but not one of those races was as perfect. Because of I was in the top two boats I never went back to those regional races, since we had a bigger race scheduled that same weekend, and I was rowing with guys who were considered the strongest and best rowers in the program. We did make the boats move down the course faster for sure, but I never again experienced that mystical, magical feeling of my one perfect race.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Say What? Version 2
It's been a long time since I could legitimately say or write these words: I won a bike race. I'm not talking about an imaginary Alpe d'Huez or a city limit sprint. No, I am referring to a real, live, honest-to-goodness race with more than three people.
Yes, it's hard for me to believe too. I texted Rider One with the news since I had to leave the race venue before his race was over and his voice mail response was, "Are you kidding?" I called back and left a message for him with some details and when he returned my call his first words were, "Are you kidding?" So, that would indicate that a) I am a kidder, I kid; and b) I am an unlikely winner of a bike race (at least in Rider One's eyes). And, to give him his due, it is hard for me to believe also.
I'm going to share a secret with you, though. I wasn't the fittest or strongest rider out there last night. No, this win was not a Fabian Cancellara/Tom Boonen show of strength. It was more of a Salvatore Commesso style bit of wily riding combined with some experience. That was particularly true when I won the night's prime. Oh, I forgot to mention that, didn't I? Yes, I am pleased to report that I also won that (accidentally).
Would you like a moment-by-moment, corner-by-corner recap of the race?
Oh. You would prefer I keep it short. Okay, if you insist.
The race in question was the Baddlands Tuesday Night training race, this week held at the Spokane Raceway Park, and my win came in the "C" Pack. With all due respect to my fellow riders, my buddy PW ("Half Man-Mostly Weasel") says that winning a C Pack race is like winning an award for being the Tallest Midget in the Circus. Now that I think about it, though, my buddy PW is kind-of a pain in the arse, so let's ignore that perspective and focus on the nobility of the competition and effort, shall we?
The race was on the 2.5 mile road course that incorporates the drag strip. We raced clockwise, which means that the finish is a LONG slightly uphill drag into a head wind, while the back side of the course, which has an S-curve and a little elevation change, was mostly with a tail wind. The race was largely "negative", which means that no one really wants to work the race, work that was done was to shut down efforts rather than make them, and at times everyone was content to sit in no matter how slow the pack wound down.
This is all relevant to set up my prime win and race win. As the pack comes out of the last corner at the bottom of the course there is a very long way to the finish line. People who haven't raced out there or who can't control their race emotions ALWAYS start the rush for the line too early. With the prime, I had no intention of going for it, but after sitting on a few wheels that were all starting to sprint 400-500 meters too soon, a Vertical Earth racer came by (sorry, don't know his name) and got a gap. I jumped (or more like, crawled) up to his wheel with about 300 meters to go. He had already been sprinting into the headwind for at least 100, maybe 150 meters. Predictably, he slowed down. I sat on his wheel and looked around and realized that we had a gap. As he slowed more, I sat on his wheel. Then, I moved over and with 50 or so meters to go, while the guy who pulled me up there was spent, I accelerated (mildly) and easily won the prime.
I would feel worse for the guy I did this to, but I have also done exactly the same thing and led others to their victory, so my guess is that he will notice what happened and be much less likely to do the same thing again. Particularly since he did the same thing to help me win the race.
The finish a few laps later was similar. Someone "went" for it on the backside, the group started pulling him back, as we headed up the start of the drag strip to the finish line a number of riders sprinted way too early. I waited, jumped on wheels and stayed out of the wind. Finally, to my surprise, the same Vertical Earth guy got the gap and was hell-bent-for-leather for the finish. Unfortunately for him, he started too early again. I was on his wheel and Dave Simmons was on mine. A similar scenario played out where the VE dude went for it, started to fade, Dave went on my right and I went to the left. The VE dude moved around a bit, which caused a moment of worry, but we stayed apart and it became a drag race between the three of us with Dave and me having the advantage having stayed out of the wind. Dave got the early jump, but thankfully the finish line wasn't 10-20 meters sooner since I managed, somehow, to keep accelerating just enough to get a couple of wheels ahead of Dave. I think the VE guy hung on for third, but I'm not absolutely sure about that.
So, for the first time in a number of years, like maybe five, I won a bike race. Just like that.
It feels awesome.
A couple of race notes for anyone interested in racing better. First, figure out how far you can really sprint, which is usually in the 200-250 meter range, but could be more, but definitely can't be 400-500 meters. Second, a race with a lot of headwind takes more patience than one without (usually). Third, it is possible on a windy day for 3+ riders to get off the front, but unless your only goal is to keep the pack together, you might think about working your ass off if you get into a group of 3-5 with a gap of even a few seconds; 90 seconds of effort could put you into a smaller group where you are no longer competing for the top 20 spots, but instead the top 3-5 spots. And lastly, think about and maybe talk with your teammates about whether you want to chase down your own teammates when they try to get away. For some, a team jersey is just a jersey, and while no one in the A, B or C pack is on the way to the PRO's, we could try to think about and use team tactics a bit more to help our team and the quality of racing.
In conclusion, thanks to Baddlands for putting on the race and yes, I may only be the Tallest Midget at the Circus, but I am smiling from ear to ear about it.
Yes, it's hard for me to believe too. I texted Rider One with the news since I had to leave the race venue before his race was over and his voice mail response was, "Are you kidding?" I called back and left a message for him with some details and when he returned my call his first words were, "Are you kidding?" So, that would indicate that a) I am a kidder, I kid; and b) I am an unlikely winner of a bike race (at least in Rider One's eyes). And, to give him his due, it is hard for me to believe also.
I'm going to share a secret with you, though. I wasn't the fittest or strongest rider out there last night. No, this win was not a Fabian Cancellara/Tom Boonen show of strength. It was more of a Salvatore Commesso style bit of wily riding combined with some experience. That was particularly true when I won the night's prime. Oh, I forgot to mention that, didn't I? Yes, I am pleased to report that I also won that (accidentally).
Would you like a moment-by-moment, corner-by-corner recap of the race?
Oh. You would prefer I keep it short. Okay, if you insist.
The race in question was the Baddlands Tuesday Night training race, this week held at the Spokane Raceway Park, and my win came in the "C" Pack. With all due respect to my fellow riders, my buddy PW ("Half Man-Mostly Weasel") says that winning a C Pack race is like winning an award for being the Tallest Midget in the Circus. Now that I think about it, though, my buddy PW is kind-of a pain in the arse, so let's ignore that perspective and focus on the nobility of the competition and effort, shall we?
The race was on the 2.5 mile road course that incorporates the drag strip. We raced clockwise, which means that the finish is a LONG slightly uphill drag into a head wind, while the back side of the course, which has an S-curve and a little elevation change, was mostly with a tail wind. The race was largely "negative", which means that no one really wants to work the race, work that was done was to shut down efforts rather than make them, and at times everyone was content to sit in no matter how slow the pack wound down.
This is all relevant to set up my prime win and race win. As the pack comes out of the last corner at the bottom of the course there is a very long way to the finish line. People who haven't raced out there or who can't control their race emotions ALWAYS start the rush for the line too early. With the prime, I had no intention of going for it, but after sitting on a few wheels that were all starting to sprint 400-500 meters too soon, a Vertical Earth racer came by (sorry, don't know his name) and got a gap. I jumped (or more like, crawled) up to his wheel with about 300 meters to go. He had already been sprinting into the headwind for at least 100, maybe 150 meters. Predictably, he slowed down. I sat on his wheel and looked around and realized that we had a gap. As he slowed more, I sat on his wheel. Then, I moved over and with 50 or so meters to go, while the guy who pulled me up there was spent, I accelerated (mildly) and easily won the prime.
I would feel worse for the guy I did this to, but I have also done exactly the same thing and led others to their victory, so my guess is that he will notice what happened and be much less likely to do the same thing again. Particularly since he did the same thing to help me win the race.
The finish a few laps later was similar. Someone "went" for it on the backside, the group started pulling him back, as we headed up the start of the drag strip to the finish line a number of riders sprinted way too early. I waited, jumped on wheels and stayed out of the wind. Finally, to my surprise, the same Vertical Earth guy got the gap and was hell-bent-for-leather for the finish. Unfortunately for him, he started too early again. I was on his wheel and Dave Simmons was on mine. A similar scenario played out where the VE dude went for it, started to fade, Dave went on my right and I went to the left. The VE dude moved around a bit, which caused a moment of worry, but we stayed apart and it became a drag race between the three of us with Dave and me having the advantage having stayed out of the wind. Dave got the early jump, but thankfully the finish line wasn't 10-20 meters sooner since I managed, somehow, to keep accelerating just enough to get a couple of wheels ahead of Dave. I think the VE guy hung on for third, but I'm not absolutely sure about that.
So, for the first time in a number of years, like maybe five, I won a bike race. Just like that.
It feels awesome.
A couple of race notes for anyone interested in racing better. First, figure out how far you can really sprint, which is usually in the 200-250 meter range, but could be more, but definitely can't be 400-500 meters. Second, a race with a lot of headwind takes more patience than one without (usually). Third, it is possible on a windy day for 3+ riders to get off the front, but unless your only goal is to keep the pack together, you might think about working your ass off if you get into a group of 3-5 with a gap of even a few seconds; 90 seconds of effort could put you into a smaller group where you are no longer competing for the top 20 spots, but instead the top 3-5 spots. And lastly, think about and maybe talk with your teammates about whether you want to chase down your own teammates when they try to get away. For some, a team jersey is just a jersey, and while no one in the A, B or C pack is on the way to the PRO's, we could try to think about and use team tactics a bit more to help our team and the quality of racing.
In conclusion, thanks to Baddlands for putting on the race and yes, I may only be the Tallest Midget at the Circus, but I am smiling from ear to ear about it.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Joy of Racing
There are lots of tomes on the "Joy of . . ." Best known, or at least first, there was the Joy of Cooking, and later the follow-up book, the Joy of Sex. Like "____ for Dummies", you can find this title repeated on lots of topics. If you include the Joy of Cycling with those other two you actually have a lot of important life issues covered, but I wanted to share a thought or two on the Joy of Racing.
For some reason I have recently discussed my riding proclivities with a few civilians. In other words, rather than just gabbing with other riders about riding topics, I have been drawn into conversations with non-riders who have asked questions about specific cycling issues or rides. At some point this leads to either a stated or unstated question from these non-riders, "Why does your "fun" involved so much suffering?"
It's a reasonable question and not one that is easy to answer. I definitely didn't come by it naturally. My mother's most repeated quote on all subjects involving sports or exercise is "Sweat kills." Very pithy, eh? My father isn't as emphatic, but it is safe to say that sports have not been an important part of his life (If, by the way, that is not a safe thing to say, I will hear about it, right Dad?).
But somewhere along the line I picked up a love of some sports. The last football game I sat through all the way was the Seahawks in the Super Bowl, so spectating is not on the top of my list, but I like participating. I like the hard work and the sense of joy mixed with exhaustion that comes from a long bike ride. Last Sunday was one of those days where it was just the right mix of hard work and satisfaction, but without the misery that comes from going too far or too fast. But that is bike "riding" or even "training", and those are very different feeling than racing.
I haven't raced as much as Rider One or Rider Two, so I would be interested in their view on it, but here are my thoughts on the joy of bike racing. One, I look for chances to race as long as I can be "competitive". For me, that does not mean winning. It just means that sometimes I think I can "race my way to fitness" and that is one of the most self-delusional things I have ever thought. If, however, I have some fitness and can keep up with the group, then I look for opportunities to race. Two, there is only one part of the race that I enjoy: finishing. I like crossing the finish line and that is true whether I am first (and, yes, I have had that joy, although winning in the C pack has been described to me as the same honor as being the tallest midget at the circus) or whether I am pack-fodder or even behind the pack when that choice has been mine rather than forced on me.
For example, at the Frozen Flatlands Sunday road race, I was with the group for 22 or so of the 24 miles, but as we came up to the last two big rollers back into Cheney I realized that I didn't have the legs for a sprint that was likely to put me in the top ten (or twenty probably), so I made the conscious decision to let the group go and just ride the last couple of k's in by myself. I was completely contented when I crossed the finish line as I had raced reasonably smart, had the power to stay with the pack and made the decision to drop off rather than getting dropped (as I had the day before). (An aside. I realize that riding on my own is harder than just staying with the pack up until the finish, but I have a high degree need to finish with "the rubber side down", aka, not "crash" in a field sprint. 18th or 38th doesn't make much difference in my life or my bragging, so eliminating that 1-in-15 pile-up is well worth it.)
I also enjoy the time after the finish line. The feeling of satisfaction from racing and being done is really significant. Really. It is a nice feeling to have sweated out the pre-race tension, the during race tension and hard work and then crossing the finish line. I can't think of another thing that feels the same way as finishing a race, particularly one that went well. It is uniquely and deeply gratifying and the harder the race, the better the feeling. I am sure that the riders who finish the Grand Tours all end up with a smug feeling of satisfaction that lasts for many, many years.
I also enjoy the time before a race. I like training; I like having my equipment cleaned up and tuned up ready for a race (no, it doesn't always happen, but it is nice when it does); and I like the sign-up and bullshitting that goes on at the race ahead of time. There is a sweet and bitter tension that you have before a race. I know that some people get so nervous they don't like to race, but I think I get about the right amount of nervous - the kind where it makes you alert and tense, but in a good way.
So know I have covered the pre-race and post-race, but how about the Joy of actually racing, the during-the-race part of the race? Here is my take on that - There is none. At least for me.
Racing is hard. It is physically hard and it is mentally hard. In order to race well you have to be paying attention to at least a couple dozen things at the same time. The other riders, the road, the road to come, the weather, the wind, your exertions, your hydration/nutrition - in other words, everything that is happening or might happen. And, you have to do it will riding your bike fast. Sean Yates said that the Tour de France is a three-week long, 1,500 mile ride that you do 2 miles an hour faster than you want to ride. That really is the essence of most racing. It all takes place at least 2 miles an hour faster than is comfortable. That may not seem like much, but if aren't a racer, try going out to do a hard 30 minutes at the fastest pace you can sustain, whether that is 14 mph or 19 mph (and I'm not saying the fastest that is comfortable; I am saying the fastest you can sustain). Now, go 2 miles per hour faster. You can probably do it if you dig in and really try, but it is hard. It is physically taxing and mentally taxing just to sustain that pace. Now, picture that effort in the middle of 20-50 other riders doing the same thing and you start to get the sense of what it's like to be in a pack.
So, if it is not fun, why do it? Well, the answer isn't that simple. The time during the race is taxing and there isn't a way to call it "fun", but it is fully engaging in a way that real life doesn't offer very often. It is also satisfying to be in a straightforward competition, where there are clear rules about how the race goes, which is unlike real life where there are so many permutations of the written and unwritten rules that it is nice to be in a black-and-white arena. And there is a level of satisfaction that comes from doing any job well, or completing any hard task, that is amplified when you add the element of physical exhaustion. So, while this blog post is running a bit long, it is because the answer is not straight-forward. Is there joy in racing - yes. It is like the joy of riding hard, but on steroids (oops, not a good cycling analogy, but you get the idea). It is not "fun" per se while you are actually racing, but it is fun, kind of. There is joy, it's just hard to explain. If you have raced, and keep racing, then you know exactly what I am trying to express. And if you haven't raced, or tried it and don't like it, well then, you can always turn to the Joy of Cooking or the Joy of Sex. Your choice.
Rider Three
For some reason I have recently discussed my riding proclivities with a few civilians. In other words, rather than just gabbing with other riders about riding topics, I have been drawn into conversations with non-riders who have asked questions about specific cycling issues or rides. At some point this leads to either a stated or unstated question from these non-riders, "Why does your "fun" involved so much suffering?"
It's a reasonable question and not one that is easy to answer. I definitely didn't come by it naturally. My mother's most repeated quote on all subjects involving sports or exercise is "Sweat kills." Very pithy, eh? My father isn't as emphatic, but it is safe to say that sports have not been an important part of his life (If, by the way, that is not a safe thing to say, I will hear about it, right Dad?).
But somewhere along the line I picked up a love of some sports. The last football game I sat through all the way was the Seahawks in the Super Bowl, so spectating is not on the top of my list, but I like participating. I like the hard work and the sense of joy mixed with exhaustion that comes from a long bike ride. Last Sunday was one of those days where it was just the right mix of hard work and satisfaction, but without the misery that comes from going too far or too fast. But that is bike "riding" or even "training", and those are very different feeling than racing.
I haven't raced as much as Rider One or Rider Two, so I would be interested in their view on it, but here are my thoughts on the joy of bike racing. One, I look for chances to race as long as I can be "competitive". For me, that does not mean winning. It just means that sometimes I think I can "race my way to fitness" and that is one of the most self-delusional things I have ever thought. If, however, I have some fitness and can keep up with the group, then I look for opportunities to race. Two, there is only one part of the race that I enjoy: finishing. I like crossing the finish line and that is true whether I am first (and, yes, I have had that joy, although winning in the C pack has been described to me as the same honor as being the tallest midget at the circus) or whether I am pack-fodder or even behind the pack when that choice has been mine rather than forced on me.
For example, at the Frozen Flatlands Sunday road race, I was with the group for 22 or so of the 24 miles, but as we came up to the last two big rollers back into Cheney I realized that I didn't have the legs for a sprint that was likely to put me in the top ten (or twenty probably), so I made the conscious decision to let the group go and just ride the last couple of k's in by myself. I was completely contented when I crossed the finish line as I had raced reasonably smart, had the power to stay with the pack and made the decision to drop off rather than getting dropped (as I had the day before). (An aside. I realize that riding on my own is harder than just staying with the pack up until the finish, but I have a high degree need to finish with "the rubber side down", aka, not "crash" in a field sprint. 18th or 38th doesn't make much difference in my life or my bragging, so eliminating that 1-in-15 pile-up is well worth it.)
I also enjoy the time after the finish line. The feeling of satisfaction from racing and being done is really significant. Really. It is a nice feeling to have sweated out the pre-race tension, the during race tension and hard work and then crossing the finish line. I can't think of another thing that feels the same way as finishing a race, particularly one that went well. It is uniquely and deeply gratifying and the harder the race, the better the feeling. I am sure that the riders who finish the Grand Tours all end up with a smug feeling of satisfaction that lasts for many, many years.
I also enjoy the time before a race. I like training; I like having my equipment cleaned up and tuned up ready for a race (no, it doesn't always happen, but it is nice when it does); and I like the sign-up and bullshitting that goes on at the race ahead of time. There is a sweet and bitter tension that you have before a race. I know that some people get so nervous they don't like to race, but I think I get about the right amount of nervous - the kind where it makes you alert and tense, but in a good way.
So know I have covered the pre-race and post-race, but how about the Joy of actually racing, the during-the-race part of the race? Here is my take on that - There is none. At least for me.
Racing is hard. It is physically hard and it is mentally hard. In order to race well you have to be paying attention to at least a couple dozen things at the same time. The other riders, the road, the road to come, the weather, the wind, your exertions, your hydration/nutrition - in other words, everything that is happening or might happen. And, you have to do it will riding your bike fast. Sean Yates said that the Tour de France is a three-week long, 1,500 mile ride that you do 2 miles an hour faster than you want to ride. That really is the essence of most racing. It all takes place at least 2 miles an hour faster than is comfortable. That may not seem like much, but if aren't a racer, try going out to do a hard 30 minutes at the fastest pace you can sustain, whether that is 14 mph or 19 mph (and I'm not saying the fastest that is comfortable; I am saying the fastest you can sustain). Now, go 2 miles per hour faster. You can probably do it if you dig in and really try, but it is hard. It is physically taxing and mentally taxing just to sustain that pace. Now, picture that effort in the middle of 20-50 other riders doing the same thing and you start to get the sense of what it's like to be in a pack.
So, if it is not fun, why do it? Well, the answer isn't that simple. The time during the race is taxing and there isn't a way to call it "fun", but it is fully engaging in a way that real life doesn't offer very often. It is also satisfying to be in a straightforward competition, where there are clear rules about how the race goes, which is unlike real life where there are so many permutations of the written and unwritten rules that it is nice to be in a black-and-white arena. And there is a level of satisfaction that comes from doing any job well, or completing any hard task, that is amplified when you add the element of physical exhaustion. So, while this blog post is running a bit long, it is because the answer is not straight-forward. Is there joy in racing - yes. It is like the joy of riding hard, but on steroids (oops, not a good cycling analogy, but you get the idea). It is not "fun" per se while you are actually racing, but it is fun, kind of. There is joy, it's just hard to explain. If you have raced, and keep racing, then you know exactly what I am trying to express. And if you haven't raced, or tried it and don't like it, well then, you can always turn to the Joy of Cooking or the Joy of Sex. Your choice.
Rider Three
Friday, April 9, 2010
A Strange Weekend of Racing
Rider 3 has already provided a couple of typically entertaining recaps of his weekend of racing, so I thought I'd get in the action too. After all, we took part in different races, although with similar outcomes, at least part of the time.
You probably have picked up on this by now, but our mighty Team Two Wheel has a fair amount of bike racing experience. Rider 2 and I perhaps have a bit more, but all of us have been around the proverbial block.
So given this, the past weekend was somewhat bizarre. Rider 2 probably put it best when he said something to the effect that we all should have paid attention to the omens when they first started showing up.
To wit:
- Just prior to the start of his time trial, Rider 2 clipped his foot out of his pedal while rolling to a stop, placing it on the sidewalk. In doing so he tripped the race's chief official, who yard-saled, crashing to the pavement. She evidently wasn't terribly pleased with him.
- Feeling crappy during his time trial, Rider 2 realized at the finish that his rear brake had rubbed on the rim his entire ride. Seriously rookie error. From a guy with 25 years of racing under his chamois? And he still finished in 4th place.
- Rider 3 meanwhile realized the night before his race that his tubular tires were threadbare. The night before the race he realized this?
- But if you think that's bad, check this out. Somehow, even though I spent the morning scrambling to get ready for an afternoon road race, I FORGOT TO EAT LUNCH. Also forgot to bring any food with me to the race. Seriously? How old am I?
- And then there was this bonehead move: I was sick for 3 weeks in March, during which I rode a total of two times. Then the week before Frozen Flatlands I went on a family vacation where exercise was limited to walking from one restaurant to another. So I went into a hard race with at best one match to burn. And what did I do early in the road race? Yep, I followed a series of ill-timed attacks, and once our break was caught I blew up and got dropped. So much for using my head, which is typically the one and only thing that gets me through hard races.
- Then on Sunday, 20 minutes before the start I realized I had left my jersey at home in the dryer. I seem to remember fining riders for stuff like this back in the day. Another rookie mistake.
OK, so it was a weird weekend. Now that those excuses are out of the way, here's a brief report on the weekend's racing.
As you know by now, Frozen Flatlands is the kickoff to eastern Washington's race season. The kids might say that the flatlands part of the race's name is a bit ironic. For once they'd be right. (By the way, I blame Alanis Morisette for the public's apparent total ignorance of the definition of irony. "It's like rain on your wedding day," isn't ironic. It's unfortunate. Anyway...) There's not a lot flat about the race. OK, it's not mountainous, but constantly up and down. And this weekend was hellawindy.
Like 30 mph windy.
With hail.
And cold.
And more wind.
Nope, not a terribly flat course profile.
Nasty. In fact it's the kind of weather all of us (well, at least Rider 2 and I) love to ride and race in. As long as we're feeling strong. The thing is, racing in hail and nastiness is
miserable when you're 100 meters behind the caravan for mile after mile.
FF starts with a 20K time trial. It's followed a couple of hours later by a 50ish mile road race. Tough first day, no? Sunday features a somewhat less hilly, but definitely not flat, 25 mile road stage.
I opted to skip the TT for a number of reasons. First, I was still less than healthy, so starting a TT in sub-freezing weather with 35 mph wind didn't sound like a great idea. I've also been scrambling to get our house on the market. Finally, my wife was hankering for a morning yoga class. So I did my family duty and nodded out of the TT.
Saturday's road race:
Going into the road race I didn't really know what to expect of myself. I certainly wasn't anticipating a win, but thought I'd at least finish with the front group. Like I already mentioned though, this didn't happen. I followed a couple of moves in the first big crosswind sections, but our little group was reeled in just before we made a right turn into a brutal headwind. Then I got dropped.
The one silver lining was that I was gapped with two very nice guys, Ted and Alex. They're also two typically strong guys, but my guess is after finishing second and fourth in the TT were blown.
My conversation with Ted, in fact, was limited to something to the effect of his comment of "bad legs." Short and sweet, and enough said.
We actually worked well together, and for four or five miles kept the main group close. One of the more frustrating things in cycling is getting dropped, only to put yourself on the rivet while riding 50 meters (or whatever) behind the main group. Totally unsustainable in a nasty headwind and we worked a hell of a lot harder than the riders in the main group.
In the end, Alex and I ended up riding in together. There was so much collateral damage in the main group that somehow I scored a handful of points at the finish, but I was tired, disappointed and demoralized. And I own Alex an energy bar. My stomach started growling about an hour from the finish, and thankfully he helped me out.
Rider 2 did us proud though, finishing third in the Master A category and among the top riders overall in the combined Cat 3/Master A field. In fact Masters riders were first and second overall in Saturday's road race.
Sunday:
The energy was light ahead of Sunday's short, 25-mile road race. Most comments I overheard involved the word "tired" somewhere in the sentence, but that said, I wasn't sure how the race would go. Balls to the wall? Sit and sprint? Early break rolling off the front and staying there? My plan was to not be stupid. This is hard for me though.
In the end, it was one of the most negative races I've ever done. If you're not familiar with this expression here's how things go down in a negative race. The group rolls along at 20 mph. Someone attacks. The group then goes 30 mph until the attacker is caught. Then the group goes 18 mph until someone attacks.
Hat's off though to Eric Schuman from the Lenovo team. He attacked alone, over and again until the group got bored of chasing him. In the end he was joined with another rider. Eric ended up in second for the day, so kudos to him. Thanks for not being a pansy like the rest of us, and being willing to actually attack the race.
To tell you the truth, I didn't expect the break to make it. Even at 3K to go the main peloton was fresh, and maybe 10 seconds down on the attackers. It's a fast finish and I expected someone to get aggressive. But like I wrote earlier, it was one of those super-negative days.
This race has a tricky final kilometer. The road is narrow--three abreast at best--and we weren't exactly moving quickly, so position was everything. I was a few rows back from the front, where I could see Rider 2, who I wanted to try and help in the finish. But there was no moving around. My bad.
In the end Rider 2 went on a flyer with about 800 meters to go, immediately opening a big gap. But there was a headwind and eventually the group decided to finally start racing. Somehow I popped through a hole, and for some strange reason the boys sat up for a second with 200 meters to go, just as we caught Rider 2. Even though it was early (the finish is uphill), I started my sprint then, almost closing the gap to one final rider.
So second in the field sprint, second in my official racing category and fourth overall among all riders. Ordinarily maybe a result to be disappointed about, but after my "performance" the day before I was more than OK with it.
And thanks to Chad for loaning me a jersey!
OK, tomorrow is another day for battle: Ronde van Palouse. I'm wildly underprepared for a day of hell. Wish me luck.
Rider 1
Rider 1
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Rookie Mistakes
I am currently reading Johan Bruyneel's book "We Might As Well Win". Well, I'm not "literally" currently reading the book since I am obviously speaking words into your brain right now, but you know what I mean.
I will save the book review for later, but one of the chapters I just read was about the sayings in cycling that seem so simple and yet are so important, like "eat before you are hungry, drink before you are thirsty"; "stay out of the wind", "only ask a witness for the prosecution a question when you already know his answer", stuff like that. Johan's point is that these things seem simple, but it is hard to remember them in the crush and rush of a bike race.
I should have read that chapter before my weekend at Frozen Flatlands, then I wouldn't have had to make a bunch of rookie mistakes, or as someone said this weekend, "What a Cat 5 boner that was!" Again, not literally.
Here is my list of stupid things I should not have done to get more benefit out of my racing experience at Frozen Flatlands.
Spend time with any equipment you are going to race. As previously blogged, I was traveling for most of the week ahead racing. I put tires on my race wheels, a cogset on the rear wheel and wiped down the time trial bike after dinner on Friday. I got on the bike for the first time in over two years on Saturday morning in the 60 minutes before the event. I then remembered what I was going to do to the bike after the last time trial - replace the handlebars that put me in an excruciating position and that have a tendency for the arm supports to unexpectedly give way and rotate on the center post. This was stupid.
Dose your efforts. On the long road race, I was, sadly for me, dropped by the front of the pack on an uphill surge. I knew this might happen, but I was hoping it wouldn't until the Williams Lake hill and I figured it was training no matter what. After getting dropped, I managed to claw my way into the wind and catch up to another rider. The two of us worked together to catch up to a third and then the three of us did the same to catch two more. At that point, we had two groups of three that we could see ahead of us with the remaining lead pack ahead of them. I thought that if we could put together a pack of 11 we might not see the lead group again, but we would get around the course in decent fashion and pick up the second dozen spots in the race. Not great, but nothing to cry about. So what did I do? I took a monster pull to get my group up to the next three on the road just as we turned a corner into the teeth of the wind and a short climb. Instead of moving to the back of the group and latching on . . . I opened a 5' gap, that instantly turned into 10', 20' and then a few seconds . . . and then I was screwed. Instead, I could have taken shorter turns, paid attention to the hills coming up and dosed my efforts. That was stupid.
Dose your efforts. On the long road race, I was, sadly for me, dropped by the front of the pack on an uphill surge. I knew this might happen, but I was hoping it wouldn't until the Williams Lake hill and I figured it was training no matter what. After getting dropped, I managed to claw my way into the wind and catch up to another rider. The two of us worked together to catch up to a third and then the three of us did the same to catch two more. At that point, we had two groups of three that we could see ahead of us with the remaining lead pack ahead of them. I thought that if we could put together a pack of 11 we might not see the lead group again, but we would get around the course in decent fashion and pick up the second dozen spots in the race. Not great, but nothing to cry about. So what did I do? I took a monster pull to get my group up to the next three on the road just as we turned a corner into the teeth of the wind and a short climb. Instead of moving to the back of the group and latching on . . . I opened a 5' gap, that instantly turned into 10', 20' and then a few seconds . . . and then I was screwed. Instead, I could have taken shorter turns, paid attention to the hills coming up and dosed my efforts. That was stupid.
Show up with a racing jersey. Oh, wait. That wasn't me. That was an unnamed teammate.
So, the Frozen Flatlands wrap-up? First, thanks to the officials and the men and women of the Baddlands Cycling Team. They put on a great event (although could we talk about a later date on the calendar?) and they single-handedly pulled road bike racing through the doldrums so that there is a growing group of people putting on more and more events each year. Second, they say there is no whining in bike racing, so I won't whine. I accept the blame for my own fitness and my own rookie mistakes. Will I look to change a few things next year? Yes. Will I hope for better weather? Yes. Will I try to avoid any stray dogs on the course? Yes. And will I try to avoid making rooking mistakes? Yes, I will try.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Jens Voigt
Jens Voigt is a hard man. I don't know what else to say about the guy. He embodies so much of what is great and tough about racing bikes. So, if you are reading this, it means either you understand that or you aspire to that or both. So how do you become a bit more like Jens in your own cycling life. There isn't a 12 Step program; there isn't a list of 10 things; there is just one thing. Luckily for you, I was able to find two videos that embody this one thing.
Behold, learn, enjoy.
Can Jens condense this 40 seconds into 5 seconds? Yes, Jens can do any damn thing he wants.
Behold, learn, enjoy.
Can Jens condense this 40 seconds into 5 seconds? Yes, Jens can do any damn thing he wants.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Ready to Race
The race season has started for the Pros. You have to throw out the Tour Down Under simply because it is in January and their water goes down the drain the wrong way. We have to have standards, right? And you have to discount those oil-sponsored desert races. They make office park crits look picturesque. We have to have standards, right?
Well this weekend we got the first of the "real" races with Het Volk (please, I am not going to call it by its new name until is has been 25-50 years) and Kuurne-Brussels-Kuurne. These are real races run in the face of rain, snow, hellish winds and misery.
Just around the corner here in Spokane our race season is about to begin also. The season kicks off with the Frozen Flatlands race. It is too long, too cold and has a miserable wall-style climb that separates me from the pack, but I will be there proudly supporting Team Two Wheel in my slightly slow but spirited manner. The omnium this year involves a 12-mile time trial, a 47-mile road race/misery-fest on the same day (what?) and in a change from the circuit race of prior years a 24.5 mile road race using the "old" finish line after a series of rollers. Should be interesting and painful.
So, how do you know if you are ready to race? I suppose that is in an individual question. I know I am ready when I can follow Quicksilver for an hour or two without wanting to throw up or curse him for failing to ever, ever notice he has a small chainring. Alternatively, I know I am ready to race when I can converse with Rider 1 on a ride and the conversation doesn't center on "my legs are shot", "my tank is empty", "I am sick", "I am hungover" or finally, "please, please make it stop".
Lance "Killing Machine" Armstrong has a different way of knowing he is ready to ride. Here is a picture from a new Lance Armstrong book, the caption for which is, "You can see here I wasn't yet serious about cycling: I still have hairy legs."
Here is another picture from about eight months later. The caption reads, "It was a day or two before the start [of the Tour] . . . Clearly those legs were ready to race."
Um, yeah. He looks ready to ride. And no, Tom, we didn't mix up a picture of your calves with Lance's.
Well this weekend we got the first of the "real" races with Het Volk (please, I am not going to call it by its new name until is has been 25-50 years) and Kuurne-Brussels-Kuurne. These are real races run in the face of rain, snow, hellish winds and misery.
Just around the corner here in Spokane our race season is about to begin also. The season kicks off with the Frozen Flatlands race. It is too long, too cold and has a miserable wall-style climb that separates me from the pack, but I will be there proudly supporting Team Two Wheel in my slightly slow but spirited manner. The omnium this year involves a 12-mile time trial, a 47-mile road race/misery-fest on the same day (what?) and in a change from the circuit race of prior years a 24.5 mile road race using the "old" finish line after a series of rollers. Should be interesting and painful.
So, how do you know if you are ready to race? I suppose that is in an individual question. I know I am ready when I can follow Quicksilver for an hour or two without wanting to throw up or curse him for failing to ever, ever notice he has a small chainring. Alternatively, I know I am ready to race when I can converse with Rider 1 on a ride and the conversation doesn't center on "my legs are shot", "my tank is empty", "I am sick", "I am hungover" or finally, "please, please make it stop".
Lance "Killing Machine" Armstrong has a different way of knowing he is ready to ride. Here is a picture from a new Lance Armstrong book, the caption for which is, "You can see here I wasn't yet serious about cycling: I still have hairy legs."
 |
| From Misc Bike Pics |
Here is another picture from about eight months later. The caption reads, "It was a day or two before the start [of the Tour] . . . Clearly those legs were ready to race."
 |
| From Misc Bike Pics |
Um, yeah. He looks ready to ride. And no, Tom, we didn't mix up a picture of your calves with Lance's.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Tour de France
To read this blog, you might think that we Team Two Wheeler's were oblivious to the Tour de France. And, blog-wise, you are right. We haven't done any TdF posts for this year, up until now. Here is your complete and total Tour de France re-cap right here. Everything you need to remember about the 2009 Tour de France when it is time to whip ourselves into a frenzy for next year's edition featuring Team Radio Shack and a resurgent Lance!
Tour Organization/Route - I give the ASO a solid B, but that is because I am a softy. They deserve credit for trying, even if they didn't get everything right. No radios for riders - dumb idea; we can't pretend that the world keeps moving ahead even if the French have a national passion for doing so. No time bonuses - I liked this, so that we didn't have stupid games the first week with sprinters "buying" their way into the Yellow jersey; it probably took something away from some mountain stages because it mattered less if you were 2nd or 6th in a group that got the same time, but overall this was reasonable. Team Time Trial - loved having it back even though I usually skip watching it; if you want to win the Tour, you have to show up with a team that can perform and this enforces that idea. I also liked that they just let the time stand, rather than artificially limiting the time between teams the way they did a few years ago. Route overall - hey, they tried. The idea was to leave the race unknown until the last week and potentially the last day. Mt. Ventoux was a bit anticlimactic, because the standings didn't change much, but that is because every one of the top ten did his job and held his place. It could have been much different if someone had a bad day; which would have been more likely with a few more mountains before Mt. Ventoux, but again - I give credit for trying. The downside was that some of the mid-first week until the end of the second week was completely miss-able, but frankly, even though I am slavishly devoted to the coverage, that is true almost every year. So, overall, enough time trialing, enough mountain top finishes to create gaps, and mountain base finishes to keep riders working, and a decent mix that wasn't afraid to try some next roads and mix up the direction. Lastly, loved the Monte Carlo start.
Versus Coverage - Wow, long-time readers expect me to launch into Craig Hummer, but honestly, I think you have to give the guy credit. He has improved. During the Tour of California I thought he was failing to hide a meth problem the way his mouth motored on and on and on and on, right past having anything to say or motoring over his elders with much more insight and experience. Now, I almost exclusively watched the morning coverage that had the Phil and Paul commentary, but what I saw of re-broadcasts made me think that Craig Hummer deserves credit for learning and growing. He still doesn't bring to the booth the obvious charisma of Kirsten Gum, but I may have to give up on that particular fading fantasy.
As for Bob, they seem to have gotten his medication almost perfect. He was able to spin some of those analogies and metaphors, but keep his head about him and do the job at hand. He still has his lips so firmly attached to Lance's kiester that you would think this is the most serious bro-mance ever, but Bob manages to do it with an impish charm that makes it work.
Phil and Paul are still the champs, but I think that they have moved into a new stage where they recognize that people are paying attention to what they say and they have to mix up their phrases a bit more. I don't need any more of Paul's "funny feelings", which are neither funny nor feelings, but we do need Phil to down a bottle of his favorite Bordeaux and come up with a suitable addition to suitcase of courage.
Lastly, I have to give praise to the cycling gods who have blessed us with live coverage and DVRs. On the west coast timing, I can get up early, hit the beginning of the DVR-saved broadcast and skip commercials right up until the end of the show, usually catching up to the live broadcast by the end or so close that my blackberry hasn't ruined the surprise. As a cycling fan from the 80's, you new cycling fans have no g-d'm idea how easy you have it. I will rail about that again another day.
Riders - Lance Armstrong - Love him or hate him, you have to give the old guy credit. Damn fine job of showing the world how to compete in a bike race when your brain is stronger than your legs. I had to laugh a few times since Lance would have put a hit out on any other rider who expressed "team" opinions the way he did, but give the guy props for obeying the team rules even when Contador was not. My beef with Lance is that much of the world thinks he is a lovable survivor, when he is in fact a cold-blooded killing machine, but that is exactly what made him capable of winning the world's hardest sporting event an unimaginable seven times in a row. Can't wait to see him teach Taylor Phinney how to do it all over again after taking one more shot in 2010.
Alberto Contador - Dude can climb better than the climbers and time trial better than the time trialers. How do you do that?
Mark Cavendish / Thor Hushvold - Awesome battle. I wish Cavendish would shut his mouth sometimes, but you gotta take the good with the bad. Guy's legs have more 500 meter wattage than anyone would think possible. He did it on the flat, uphill, straight on, with curves, you name it. On the other hand, Thor did it old school, making sure he was there always and that mountain ride to take up points was classic. I'm glad he got the green jersey. Oh yeah, Tyler Farrar. Oh man, that many second places would indicate that late-career Erik Zabel was his mentor, not Cavendish's. Farrar will rack up some wins, but it's too bad he didn't get one here (except for the Garmin curse which he must live with).
George Hincapie - The Garmin curse befalls all members of the Garmin team for jacking Big George out of the yellow jersey. When a mountain of cycling class has that kind of well-deserved recognition grabbed away from him by the petty-ness of Matt White and Jonathon Vaughters (even though he wasn't there, he is covered with the shit splatter from White's decision), they deserve to be cursed. Columbia-HTC didn't need any favors from anyone, but George Hincapie is one of those riders who deserve the right treatment from any American rider, team or cycling fan. I think it would have been great to see Lance in the jersey for a day, except for Contador being an ass, and George "resplendent" in yellow, except for Garmin leadership being asses. I hope George will get a ride for the next couple of tours and be the guy with the most tours under his belt. He may not get Paris-Roubaix the way he deserves, but he can get that record with the incredible work ethic and monster strength that he embodies.
Jens Voigt - You aren't allowed to talk work ethic and monster strength in cycling without including an ode to Jens Voigt. The Tour will not be same without him in a few years, but let's hope his horrible face-scrapping won't slow him down for long. His accident is one of those things that could happen to any of us, losing his grip on the bars due to a bump, but it is pure Jens to have done it at 50 kph just after the summit of a mountain where he was being super domestique when it would have been much more reasonable for him to be in the auto-bus or laughing group. I don't know how Lance keeps up his testosterone with one ball, but maybe Jens could give him one of his multiple cast-iron left-overs.
Tour Organization/Route - I give the ASO a solid B, but that is because I am a softy. They deserve credit for trying, even if they didn't get everything right. No radios for riders - dumb idea; we can't pretend that the world keeps moving ahead even if the French have a national passion for doing so. No time bonuses - I liked this, so that we didn't have stupid games the first week with sprinters "buying" their way into the Yellow jersey; it probably took something away from some mountain stages because it mattered less if you were 2nd or 6th in a group that got the same time, but overall this was reasonable. Team Time Trial - loved having it back even though I usually skip watching it; if you want to win the Tour, you have to show up with a team that can perform and this enforces that idea. I also liked that they just let the time stand, rather than artificially limiting the time between teams the way they did a few years ago. Route overall - hey, they tried. The idea was to leave the race unknown until the last week and potentially the last day. Mt. Ventoux was a bit anticlimactic, because the standings didn't change much, but that is because every one of the top ten did his job and held his place. It could have been much different if someone had a bad day; which would have been more likely with a few more mountains before Mt. Ventoux, but again - I give credit for trying. The downside was that some of the mid-first week until the end of the second week was completely miss-able, but frankly, even though I am slavishly devoted to the coverage, that is true almost every year. So, overall, enough time trialing, enough mountain top finishes to create gaps, and mountain base finishes to keep riders working, and a decent mix that wasn't afraid to try some next roads and mix up the direction. Lastly, loved the Monte Carlo start.
Versus Coverage - Wow, long-time readers expect me to launch into Craig Hummer, but honestly, I think you have to give the guy credit. He has improved. During the Tour of California I thought he was failing to hide a meth problem the way his mouth motored on and on and on and on, right past having anything to say or motoring over his elders with much more insight and experience. Now, I almost exclusively watched the morning coverage that had the Phil and Paul commentary, but what I saw of re-broadcasts made me think that Craig Hummer deserves credit for learning and growing. He still doesn't bring to the booth the obvious charisma of Kirsten Gum, but I may have to give up on that particular fading fantasy.
As for Bob, they seem to have gotten his medication almost perfect. He was able to spin some of those analogies and metaphors, but keep his head about him and do the job at hand. He still has his lips so firmly attached to Lance's kiester that you would think this is the most serious bro-mance ever, but Bob manages to do it with an impish charm that makes it work.
Phil and Paul are still the champs, but I think that they have moved into a new stage where they recognize that people are paying attention to what they say and they have to mix up their phrases a bit more. I don't need any more of Paul's "funny feelings", which are neither funny nor feelings, but we do need Phil to down a bottle of his favorite Bordeaux and come up with a suitable addition to suitcase of courage.
Lastly, I have to give praise to the cycling gods who have blessed us with live coverage and DVRs. On the west coast timing, I can get up early, hit the beginning of the DVR-saved broadcast and skip commercials right up until the end of the show, usually catching up to the live broadcast by the end or so close that my blackberry hasn't ruined the surprise. As a cycling fan from the 80's, you new cycling fans have no g-d'm idea how easy you have it. I will rail about that again another day.
Riders - Lance Armstrong - Love him or hate him, you have to give the old guy credit. Damn fine job of showing the world how to compete in a bike race when your brain is stronger than your legs. I had to laugh a few times since Lance would have put a hit out on any other rider who expressed "team" opinions the way he did, but give the guy props for obeying the team rules even when Contador was not. My beef with Lance is that much of the world thinks he is a lovable survivor, when he is in fact a cold-blooded killing machine, but that is exactly what made him capable of winning the world's hardest sporting event an unimaginable seven times in a row. Can't wait to see him teach Taylor Phinney how to do it all over again after taking one more shot in 2010.
Alberto Contador - Dude can climb better than the climbers and time trial better than the time trialers. How do you do that?
Mark Cavendish / Thor Hushvold - Awesome battle. I wish Cavendish would shut his mouth sometimes, but you gotta take the good with the bad. Guy's legs have more 500 meter wattage than anyone would think possible. He did it on the flat, uphill, straight on, with curves, you name it. On the other hand, Thor did it old school, making sure he was there always and that mountain ride to take up points was classic. I'm glad he got the green jersey. Oh yeah, Tyler Farrar. Oh man, that many second places would indicate that late-career Erik Zabel was his mentor, not Cavendish's. Farrar will rack up some wins, but it's too bad he didn't get one here (except for the Garmin curse which he must live with).
George Hincapie - The Garmin curse befalls all members of the Garmin team for jacking Big George out of the yellow jersey. When a mountain of cycling class has that kind of well-deserved recognition grabbed away from him by the petty-ness of Matt White and Jonathon Vaughters (even though he wasn't there, he is covered with the shit splatter from White's decision), they deserve to be cursed. Columbia-HTC didn't need any favors from anyone, but George Hincapie is one of those riders who deserve the right treatment from any American rider, team or cycling fan. I think it would have been great to see Lance in the jersey for a day, except for Contador being an ass, and George "resplendent" in yellow, except for Garmin leadership being asses. I hope George will get a ride for the next couple of tours and be the guy with the most tours under his belt. He may not get Paris-Roubaix the way he deserves, but he can get that record with the incredible work ethic and monster strength that he embodies.
Jens Voigt - You aren't allowed to talk work ethic and monster strength in cycling without including an ode to Jens Voigt. The Tour will not be same without him in a few years, but let's hope his horrible face-scrapping won't slow him down for long. His accident is one of those things that could happen to any of us, losing his grip on the bars due to a bump, but it is pure Jens to have done it at 50 kph just after the summit of a mountain where he was being super domestique when it would have been much more reasonable for him to be in the auto-bus or laughing group. I don't know how Lance keeps up his testosterone with one ball, but maybe Jens could give him one of his multiple cast-iron left-overs.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Bike Racing in Cheney. And Spokane.
I pasted an e-mail below that I received earlier today. In case you hadn't heard, the State Master's Criterium Championships are in Spokane this weekend. Actually, they're in Cheney, but if you live in Spokane it's close enough to ride, and the race is being organized by a Spokane-based club, so I'm OK saying that the race is in Spokane. That makes sense, right?
The good people at the Spokane Regional Sports Commission somehow forgot to mention that on Sunday, Spokane is also hosting the State Master's Road Championships. I could be sarcastic and say something like it's hard to keep up with all of eastern Washington's road racing, but I'm sure it was just an oversight. The folks at the SRSC are very cool and are also great boosters of cycling. So instead I'd like to thank them for sending out a news release about bike racing. I think it's probably the first one any news outlet has received this year. Seriously, bike racing here needs more of this kind of attention.
Anyway, if you're interested in watching riders suffer at high speeds, head to Cheney on Saturday. For an added bonus, on Sunday find your way to northwest Spokane and watch a bunch of riders suffer up Four Mounds Road. For a map, click here.
All of this news about racing has me very excited. Kind of like the Tour de France, but with older riders. Except for Lance Armstrong. He's old enough to ride with the Masters here, but then again he's not from Washington state. And he's professional. And he's actually in France right now, getting ready for the Tour de France. Which starts in Monaco. Monaco is really close to France. Kind of like Cheney is really close to Spokane. Except people in Monaco tend to have a lot more money than people in Cheney. Or Spokane. Or France for that matter.
I on the other hand, despite having bike measurements that are almost identical to Lance's do live in Washington. And I'm not a professional, even though I used to work with professional cyclists. Which makes me eligible to race (the first part of the last sentence, not the last part of the last sentence), which I'll do. What's interesting (to me) though is that I've been to both France and Monaco. And Spokane and Cheney. Speaking of which, Monaco is really hilly. So is the race on Sunday. But alas, my time in Monaco won't have helped me for the race this weekend. Neither will the three days I spent in San Francisco earlier this week for work. San Fran is also hilly, but I didn't ride once, so the hills there won't have helped build power for the climbs in Spokane. Neither will the copious amounts of food I ate or alcohol I drank in San Franciso. Although it's also true that Spokane has similar kinds of food and fluids, and I could have masticated and embibed unhealthy food and drink here as well. But I didn't, because I wasn't here. I was in San Francisco.
Anyway, have fun this weekend and good luck if you're racing.
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| For Immediate Release | Contact: Suzanne Boyce 509-742-9396 suzanneb@spokanesports.org |
| June 26, 2009 | |
WA State Masters Cycling Championships This Weekend In Cheney200 cyclists, including local riders, compete for championship (Cheney, WA) While the city of Spokane is hooping-it-up this weekend, Cheney will be spinning with the best master cyclists in the State during the Washington State Masters Criterium Cycling Championships on Saturday, June 27, 2009. A technical 8-corner, 1-mile loop through downtown Cheney will be the course for 200 cyclists vying for "Best in Washington" honors. Junior C/D 9:00AM
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