Thursday, July 4, 2013
Recovery road...
...is unfortunately a road I'm all too familiar with. Last Friday I went under the knife to have a right inguinal hernia repaired. Surgery was successful and recovery has been going much better than expected. Hopefully I will be on a spin bike in another week or so and back on the bike by the third week...riding easy of course. Until then, I'll be enjoying the break from training and watching the Tour like it's my job!
Trying to catch up - Races #4 and #5
Yes, I've been neglecting the blog a bit these days. I've been busy training and racing my bike so the blog hasn't exactly been priority #1. Despite my absence here, I've completed another eight races prior to my mid-season break for surgery. So here's a quick run down of what happened in races #4 and #5...
Race #4, Bethel Spring Series - This was the final race of the Bethel Spring Series and we were in the running for the team competition as well as the yellow jersey with one of our sprinters, Stefan. Going into the race, Stefan was 2nd in points and needed to beat the yellow jersey as well as 3rd place in the standings to win. For the team competition, we were in the lead with a small margin. It was a tough race with lots of attacks but it all came down to the end of the race with a small group of riders getting away with about 5-6 laps to go. Since things didn't seem to be closing down for a field sprint, we made our way back to the front to shut things down. First Mike dropped the hammer. Unfortunately he dropped it so hard that no one could follow. I was up next after Mike came back with two to go. I accelerated smoothly after the finishing climb and headed down the hill. I knew there was someone on my wheel, I assumed the whole field was too. Unfortunately at the bottom of the hill I had a chance to look back only to realize I was off the front with one of our competitors who was very anxious for me to drag him up to the break which we were closing in on rapidly. I eased up, got yelled at by the wheel sucker, and forced him to go it on his own. Seems he couldn't decipher which team I raced for despite our team kits! I finished the lap in no man's land and got caught as we headed down the back straight. This time there was fire in the peloton...they were flying. I latched on to the back fairly spent and rolled into the finish a little frustrated at what had happened. Despite my frustration, one of my teammates told me that rolling off the front is what lit the fire in the peloton, igniting the chase. As it turns out, they caught the break on the finish stretch and Stefan sprinted to 2nd place, ahead of his competition, taking the yellow jersey. That also cemented our win in the team competition, thus taking the double.
Race #5, Quabbin Road Race - This past winter, I discovered footage on YouTube from QRR...an unsanctioned race in Massachusetts that circumnavigates Quabbin Reserve and finishes on the climb to the tower. The roads looked beautiful and it seemed to be a good event so I figured I'd give it a shot. Several other teammates headed over for the race as well and I had Ira and Tim along side me in the 3/4's. Well, there is a key word above that says a lot about this event...unsanctioned. It was well organized, well run, and had a nice purse and deep payout. Unfortunately, that's where the good ended. Our field ended up with something like 134 category 3/4 riders...yet again with the center-line rule in place. The course was extremely fast and the peloton was massive. It didn't take long for me to start to feel real uncomfortable with the way guys were riding given the speed, very schizophrenic...either all out or slamming on the brakes. I took my place on the left side near the double yellow so I'd hopefully have a way out if I needed it (this is called foreshadowing). The first half of the race was on two lane state routes with typical state route traffic. Unfortunately we didn't have a rolling enclosure that typically comes with a USAC race. Instead, we had the "Blue Knights" who were off-duty cops on personal motorcycles. I don't even think we had a full time follow car. Judging by events, the traffic was doing a good job at ignoring our "Blue Knights" and passing the peloton at will in both directions, sometimes at the same time! To make matters worse, the state route seemed narrow and had no shoulder, only a guard rail. I knew it was only a matter of time and sure enough, on a gradual down hill in excess of 35 mph, someone touched, panicked, and went down setting off a nasty chain reaction. I witnessed several guys pile in at full speed and the sound was horrible. That was the last time I rode in the pack. That crash split the field and I was now at the back of the front group where I remained the rest of the race. About 10 miles later on another super fast gradual descent, there was a touch of wheels near the front setting off the second pile-up. I could see a cloud of dust in the peloton from everyone slamming on their brakes, seconds later I smelled the burning pads. With one eye on the oncoming lane (which was thankfully clear of traffic) and the other on the peloton, I swerved first around a guy sitting in the road with no bike and then around the massive pile of machines and men. I saw Ira in front of the crash on his feet fiddling with his chain. I asked if he was OK and he said yes. Tim was safe somewhere behind me. With that, I quickly set about closing the sizable gap to the remainder of the peloton which was still flying. It seemed to take forever and I passed a few guys who tried and simply couldn't make it. No sooner than I made contact, now completely shelled, we hit a long grinder and it was all out. I remember focusing on the wheel ahead and trying to ignore my body screaming at me...staying locked on the wheel. I survived to the top and things finally let up allowing for some much needed recovery. I was now the sole FGX rider in a peloton of around 50. The remaining 30 miles were mostly uneventful...except for a few guys who managed to crash on a climb at a relatively slow speed! With around 4 miles to go the pace jumped as it was now all business. I sat in, content to let others kill themselves in a vain attempt to get rid of a few more. We turned into the Quabbin Reserve park and the road began to climb. Despite descending this very climb for the "neutral" start, I has no clue about grade, length, or even exactly where the finish line was. I sat at the back as the peloton aggressively attacked the climb from the bottom. As the climb wore on, I started naturally moving forward as guys tired and drifted back. Surprisingly, the climb was longer than I would have guessed and we were still hammering. Finally we rounded a gradual bend to the left and I could see the finish. I accelerated as did the guy just ahead of me. In the final 200 meters, we passed many guys blowing to shreds. Unfortunately I crossed the line feeling like I could have gone harder, a victim of not knowing the run up to the finish. Regardless, I finished up lucky 13th and pocketed $90. I told you there was a nice purse with deep payout!
In the days following QRR, video of the first crash in the 3/4 race hit the internet and it told a tale of just how dangerous this race was...not due to crashes but due to the lack of control of the surrounding traffic. After the race, I vowed that that was my last QRR because I never felt safe until after the second crash slimmed the peloton down to around 50 riders. A simple rolling enclosure with significantly more active lead/follow cars or on-duty police would have completely changed the experience. It's a shame really, because it was a great race on a demanding course.
Race #4, Bethel Spring Series - This was the final race of the Bethel Spring Series and we were in the running for the team competition as well as the yellow jersey with one of our sprinters, Stefan. Going into the race, Stefan was 2nd in points and needed to beat the yellow jersey as well as 3rd place in the standings to win. For the team competition, we were in the lead with a small margin. It was a tough race with lots of attacks but it all came down to the end of the race with a small group of riders getting away with about 5-6 laps to go. Since things didn't seem to be closing down for a field sprint, we made our way back to the front to shut things down. First Mike dropped the hammer. Unfortunately he dropped it so hard that no one could follow. I was up next after Mike came back with two to go. I accelerated smoothly after the finishing climb and headed down the hill. I knew there was someone on my wheel, I assumed the whole field was too. Unfortunately at the bottom of the hill I had a chance to look back only to realize I was off the front with one of our competitors who was very anxious for me to drag him up to the break which we were closing in on rapidly. I eased up, got yelled at by the wheel sucker, and forced him to go it on his own. Seems he couldn't decipher which team I raced for despite our team kits! I finished the lap in no man's land and got caught as we headed down the back straight. This time there was fire in the peloton...they were flying. I latched on to the back fairly spent and rolled into the finish a little frustrated at what had happened. Despite my frustration, one of my teammates told me that rolling off the front is what lit the fire in the peloton, igniting the chase. As it turns out, they caught the break on the finish stretch and Stefan sprinted to 2nd place, ahead of his competition, taking the yellow jersey. That also cemented our win in the team competition, thus taking the double.
Race #5, Quabbin Road Race - This past winter, I discovered footage on YouTube from QRR...an unsanctioned race in Massachusetts that circumnavigates Quabbin Reserve and finishes on the climb to the tower. The roads looked beautiful and it seemed to be a good event so I figured I'd give it a shot. Several other teammates headed over for the race as well and I had Ira and Tim along side me in the 3/4's. Well, there is a key word above that says a lot about this event...unsanctioned. It was well organized, well run, and had a nice purse and deep payout. Unfortunately, that's where the good ended. Our field ended up with something like 134 category 3/4 riders...yet again with the center-line rule in place. The course was extremely fast and the peloton was massive. It didn't take long for me to start to feel real uncomfortable with the way guys were riding given the speed, very schizophrenic...either all out or slamming on the brakes. I took my place on the left side near the double yellow so I'd hopefully have a way out if I needed it (this is called foreshadowing). The first half of the race was on two lane state routes with typical state route traffic. Unfortunately we didn't have a rolling enclosure that typically comes with a USAC race. Instead, we had the "Blue Knights" who were off-duty cops on personal motorcycles. I don't even think we had a full time follow car. Judging by events, the traffic was doing a good job at ignoring our "Blue Knights" and passing the peloton at will in both directions, sometimes at the same time! To make matters worse, the state route seemed narrow and had no shoulder, only a guard rail. I knew it was only a matter of time and sure enough, on a gradual down hill in excess of 35 mph, someone touched, panicked, and went down setting off a nasty chain reaction. I witnessed several guys pile in at full speed and the sound was horrible. That was the last time I rode in the pack. That crash split the field and I was now at the back of the front group where I remained the rest of the race. About 10 miles later on another super fast gradual descent, there was a touch of wheels near the front setting off the second pile-up. I could see a cloud of dust in the peloton from everyone slamming on their brakes, seconds later I smelled the burning pads. With one eye on the oncoming lane (which was thankfully clear of traffic) and the other on the peloton, I swerved first around a guy sitting in the road with no bike and then around the massive pile of machines and men. I saw Ira in front of the crash on his feet fiddling with his chain. I asked if he was OK and he said yes. Tim was safe somewhere behind me. With that, I quickly set about closing the sizable gap to the remainder of the peloton which was still flying. It seemed to take forever and I passed a few guys who tried and simply couldn't make it. No sooner than I made contact, now completely shelled, we hit a long grinder and it was all out. I remember focusing on the wheel ahead and trying to ignore my body screaming at me...staying locked on the wheel. I survived to the top and things finally let up allowing for some much needed recovery. I was now the sole FGX rider in a peloton of around 50. The remaining 30 miles were mostly uneventful...except for a few guys who managed to crash on a climb at a relatively slow speed! With around 4 miles to go the pace jumped as it was now all business. I sat in, content to let others kill themselves in a vain attempt to get rid of a few more. We turned into the Quabbin Reserve park and the road began to climb. Despite descending this very climb for the "neutral" start, I has no clue about grade, length, or even exactly where the finish line was. I sat at the back as the peloton aggressively attacked the climb from the bottom. As the climb wore on, I started naturally moving forward as guys tired and drifted back. Surprisingly, the climb was longer than I would have guessed and we were still hammering. Finally we rounded a gradual bend to the left and I could see the finish. I accelerated as did the guy just ahead of me. In the final 200 meters, we passed many guys blowing to shreds. Unfortunately I crossed the line feeling like I could have gone harder, a victim of not knowing the run up to the finish. Regardless, I finished up lucky 13th and pocketed $90. I told you there was a nice purse with deep payout!
In the days following QRR, video of the first crash in the 3/4 race hit the internet and it told a tale of just how dangerous this race was...not due to crashes but due to the lack of control of the surrounding traffic. After the race, I vowed that that was my last QRR because I never felt safe until after the second crash slimmed the peloton down to around 50 riders. A simple rolling enclosure with significantly more active lead/follow cars or on-duty police would have completely changed the experience. It's a shame really, because it was a great race on a demanding course.
Sunday, June 30, 2013
The Secret Race - Race #3
OK, so all of this is getting a little out of order as I try desperately to catch up on my posts. This post goes back to early April, so here we go...
With a less than stellar March finally giving way to good health and a couple solid weeks of training, it was time to tackle the Northeast's springtime right of passage, the Tour of the Battenkill. I reconned the course Easter weekend to check out what kind of shape the dirt sections were in. Surprisingly, the dirt was in the best shape I had ever seen it in with only one bad section less than a mile long. Well packed, minimal loose gravel, and few pot holes. What more could you ask for? Oh yeah, good weather. I've been fortunate with my Battenkill experiences, all have been held under blue skies and spring-like temperatures. This year however, it was looking like my luck had run out.
Race day morning, just across the border in Vermont, I awoke to sleet/ice covered ground and temperatures barely above freezing. By start time, temperatures were supposed to be approaching 50F but I had my doubts as the overcast skies seemed to have a firm grip on the day. Thankfully, Cambridge was a bit warmer than Vermont. Unfortunately that meant that the system that dumped sleet and ice on us the previous day/night dumped rain in and around the Cambridge area. Big deal you say, the rain was gone by race time...why are you complaining? Well, if you thought that you clearly haven't ridden a road bike on dirt roads...and wet dirt roads at that. No, I'm not afraid of getting dirty but I do have my reservations about racing on saturated dirt roads. That essentially feels like riding your bike through a couple inches of wet cement...at race speed! Than means BIG power just to sit in. I have known this little fact for some time now and saturated dirt roads would not favor me one bit...despite the fact that I like harsh conditions. My normal advantage on dry roads of being able to pop over the short steep kickers while expending less energy than the rest was now a liability. In reality, it didn't matter since I had let go of Battenkill being an early season goal thanks to my March illness. Regardless, I still harbored hopes of a strong ride in a race I love.
We lined up, all 133 of us, and it was mostly quiet with many nerves on display...all fully aware of what lay ahead. And once underway, it was clear that this day was going to be a battle with guys immediately fighting for position. There was even a crash a few miles in! Unfortunately promoters want the biggest bang for their buck so they squeeze way too many rider into fields with the centerline rule in effect and the results are inevitable. This is becoming a sad but common occurrence at the bigger races these day. Fields should be limited to no more than 100 riders when we do not have use of the whole road. I started about mid-pack but was continually shuffled back by those taking stupid chances. Eventually I found myself at the back of the massive peloton which I wasn't all to worried about. Typically ToB stays together until the latter stages of the race. My plan was to sit in for the first 50 miles and then move up as we neared the final two climbing sections. This was especially important due to my suspect fitness. As the race headed off the main road and through the iconic covered bridge, we picked our way through the first dirt sections. At the top of Juniper Swamp climb (which tops out at over 20%...on dirt!), we were stopped and held by the race officials due to an accident from a previous race on the descent. Damn, I could have walked my bike up the climb haha! It was actually a relief for many, many guys...quite literally a relief as the temporary stop turned into one massive nature break. Thank god we were in the middle of nowhere with no spectators around as the officials collectively turned their heads. Soon we were back under way. I felt reasonable enough but hadn't really been tested yet. Before I knew it, we were rolling through the first feed zone as I cruised through on the back. I saw my wife and told her "I'm in pain." How could I be in pain, I had not even been tested with a tough section yet. Well more on that in a bit. About a mile after the feed zone, we hit the first real climb on Joe Bean Rd. The climb is a little over a mile in length with four distinct steps, topping out at around 15%. As we began to climb, I set a comfortable tempo and after the first step I began to steadily move up. By the top of the climb, I was mid-pack and feeling good...but still in pain. Joe Bean Road rolls into a fast gradual descent, first on pavement and then on dirt. Up until this point, the dirt had been fairly firm because all three dirt sections we had already ridden were well drained. This section (Ferguson Road) was at a low point. What started out as just mushy dirt road soon turned into a complete mud pit. The peloton turned the screws and I stopped looking at power numbers as they were continually in the 300-400+ range. Besides, I had better things to pay attention to like sliding all over the place and staying upright. The previous races that passed through had beat this section of dirt, err mud, up pretty good and there was no good line...just mud. I was burning matches fast and was starting to worry about the whole damn match book going up in flames. Finally we reached the end and pavement. Things eased up and I rested up as best I could and grabbed a quick bite to eat. Up next was Carney Cassidy Road with its two serious dirt kickers. At first everything was good, I made it over the first kicker and then the second. I we climbed out of the second kicker, Ferguson Road's effort came back to haunt me as the elastic stretched and I started slipping off the wheel. And just then, I quit. One rider tried to encourage me to fight back but I was done. You see, mentally I was barely in this race from the start. It all goes back to that "I'm in pain" remark at the first feed zone. True, I was in pain but the pain is not why I had so little fight. It was the cause of the pain that had taken the fight out of me. As I struggle onward, my eyes grew blurry as I fought back the emotions and frustrations welling up inside of me. For a few moments, I thought "why me...again?" I had been riding my own secret race, I was riding injured. You see, the night prior to the race I discovered I had a right inguinal hernia. In other words, my intestines were falling out...and it didn't feel particularly great. I've already had a hernia on the left side many years ago so I knew exactly what was wrong and exactly what was required to fix it. Surgery...followed by a lengthy recovery. At first I was angry and then just depressed. I had worked so hard yet again only to have it taken away from me one more time. After last year, I couldn't do another mid-season come back, that I knew for sure. So for a few moments I felt sorry for myself...then I lifted my head up and started mashing on the pedals again. Not out of anger, not out of determination to finish, simply because I wanted to keep riding my bike.
And keep riding is exactly what I have done. Two doctor visits confirmed my diagnosis. The surgeon told me to "go on living my life as normal" until surgery so I decided that is exactly what I was going to do. With that single comment from the doctor, I decided to take a chance that I wouldn't make my condition worse and delayed my surgery until mid-summer so I could enjoy racing my bike. Now surgery will serve as a nice mid-season break allowing me to ramp up for some good late season races. It will also give me a good excuse to lay on my butt and enjoy the Tour de France! Coincidence on the timing? Not a chance!
Yeah, yeah, yeah...guts falling out, whatever. Back to Battenkill. After I was popped, I recovered nicely and rode strong to the finish...mostly alone as no one else seemed strong enough to stay with me. The further I rode, the more the pain faded away. I nearly managed to hold off the rather hard working, large groupetto to the finish...solo. Unfortunately I was caught 1 kilometer from the finish and ended up way back. Mostly though I was happy to have finished on this particular day. Muddy and tired, I was ready to call it a day. Until next year that is...
With a less than stellar March finally giving way to good health and a couple solid weeks of training, it was time to tackle the Northeast's springtime right of passage, the Tour of the Battenkill. I reconned the course Easter weekend to check out what kind of shape the dirt sections were in. Surprisingly, the dirt was in the best shape I had ever seen it in with only one bad section less than a mile long. Well packed, minimal loose gravel, and few pot holes. What more could you ask for? Oh yeah, good weather. I've been fortunate with my Battenkill experiences, all have been held under blue skies and spring-like temperatures. This year however, it was looking like my luck had run out.
Race day morning, just across the border in Vermont, I awoke to sleet/ice covered ground and temperatures barely above freezing. By start time, temperatures were supposed to be approaching 50F but I had my doubts as the overcast skies seemed to have a firm grip on the day. Thankfully, Cambridge was a bit warmer than Vermont. Unfortunately that meant that the system that dumped sleet and ice on us the previous day/night dumped rain in and around the Cambridge area. Big deal you say, the rain was gone by race time...why are you complaining? Well, if you thought that you clearly haven't ridden a road bike on dirt roads...and wet dirt roads at that. No, I'm not afraid of getting dirty but I do have my reservations about racing on saturated dirt roads. That essentially feels like riding your bike through a couple inches of wet cement...at race speed! Than means BIG power just to sit in. I have known this little fact for some time now and saturated dirt roads would not favor me one bit...despite the fact that I like harsh conditions. My normal advantage on dry roads of being able to pop over the short steep kickers while expending less energy than the rest was now a liability. In reality, it didn't matter since I had let go of Battenkill being an early season goal thanks to my March illness. Regardless, I still harbored hopes of a strong ride in a race I love.
We lined up, all 133 of us, and it was mostly quiet with many nerves on display...all fully aware of what lay ahead. And once underway, it was clear that this day was going to be a battle with guys immediately fighting for position. There was even a crash a few miles in! Unfortunately promoters want the biggest bang for their buck so they squeeze way too many rider into fields with the centerline rule in effect and the results are inevitable. This is becoming a sad but common occurrence at the bigger races these day. Fields should be limited to no more than 100 riders when we do not have use of the whole road. I started about mid-pack but was continually shuffled back by those taking stupid chances. Eventually I found myself at the back of the massive peloton which I wasn't all to worried about. Typically ToB stays together until the latter stages of the race. My plan was to sit in for the first 50 miles and then move up as we neared the final two climbing sections. This was especially important due to my suspect fitness. As the race headed off the main road and through the iconic covered bridge, we picked our way through the first dirt sections. At the top of Juniper Swamp climb (which tops out at over 20%...on dirt!), we were stopped and held by the race officials due to an accident from a previous race on the descent. Damn, I could have walked my bike up the climb haha! It was actually a relief for many, many guys...quite literally a relief as the temporary stop turned into one massive nature break. Thank god we were in the middle of nowhere with no spectators around as the officials collectively turned their heads. Soon we were back under way. I felt reasonable enough but hadn't really been tested yet. Before I knew it, we were rolling through the first feed zone as I cruised through on the back. I saw my wife and told her "I'm in pain." How could I be in pain, I had not even been tested with a tough section yet. Well more on that in a bit. About a mile after the feed zone, we hit the first real climb on Joe Bean Rd. The climb is a little over a mile in length with four distinct steps, topping out at around 15%. As we began to climb, I set a comfortable tempo and after the first step I began to steadily move up. By the top of the climb, I was mid-pack and feeling good...but still in pain. Joe Bean Road rolls into a fast gradual descent, first on pavement and then on dirt. Up until this point, the dirt had been fairly firm because all three dirt sections we had already ridden were well drained. This section (Ferguson Road) was at a low point. What started out as just mushy dirt road soon turned into a complete mud pit. The peloton turned the screws and I stopped looking at power numbers as they were continually in the 300-400+ range. Besides, I had better things to pay attention to like sliding all over the place and staying upright. The previous races that passed through had beat this section of dirt, err mud, up pretty good and there was no good line...just mud. I was burning matches fast and was starting to worry about the whole damn match book going up in flames. Finally we reached the end and pavement. Things eased up and I rested up as best I could and grabbed a quick bite to eat. Up next was Carney Cassidy Road with its two serious dirt kickers. At first everything was good, I made it over the first kicker and then the second. I we climbed out of the second kicker, Ferguson Road's effort came back to haunt me as the elastic stretched and I started slipping off the wheel. And just then, I quit. One rider tried to encourage me to fight back but I was done. You see, mentally I was barely in this race from the start. It all goes back to that "I'm in pain" remark at the first feed zone. True, I was in pain but the pain is not why I had so little fight. It was the cause of the pain that had taken the fight out of me. As I struggle onward, my eyes grew blurry as I fought back the emotions and frustrations welling up inside of me. For a few moments, I thought "why me...again?" I had been riding my own secret race, I was riding injured. You see, the night prior to the race I discovered I had a right inguinal hernia. In other words, my intestines were falling out...and it didn't feel particularly great. I've already had a hernia on the left side many years ago so I knew exactly what was wrong and exactly what was required to fix it. Surgery...followed by a lengthy recovery. At first I was angry and then just depressed. I had worked so hard yet again only to have it taken away from me one more time. After last year, I couldn't do another mid-season come back, that I knew for sure. So for a few moments I felt sorry for myself...then I lifted my head up and started mashing on the pedals again. Not out of anger, not out of determination to finish, simply because I wanted to keep riding my bike.
And keep riding is exactly what I have done. Two doctor visits confirmed my diagnosis. The surgeon told me to "go on living my life as normal" until surgery so I decided that is exactly what I was going to do. With that single comment from the doctor, I decided to take a chance that I wouldn't make my condition worse and delayed my surgery until mid-summer so I could enjoy racing my bike. Now surgery will serve as a nice mid-season break allowing me to ramp up for some good late season races. It will also give me a good excuse to lay on my butt and enjoy the Tour de France! Coincidence on the timing? Not a chance!
Yeah, yeah, yeah...guts falling out, whatever. Back to Battenkill. After I was popped, I recovered nicely and rode strong to the finish...mostly alone as no one else seemed strong enough to stay with me. The further I rode, the more the pain faded away. I nearly managed to hold off the rather hard working, large groupetto to the finish...solo. Unfortunately I was caught 1 kilometer from the finish and ended up way back. Mostly though I was happy to have finished on this particular day. Muddy and tired, I was ready to call it a day. Until next year that is...
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Friday, May 10, 2013
Thursday, May 9, 2013
F%#k Me - Race #7
"When it rains at Floyd Bennett Field, you find out what it's made of: silt and sand, the dregs of Jamaica Bay. It gets in your eyes, in your mouth and in your hair; it coats your legs and arms; it's even gotten into your shoes, through your socks and between your toes. You will still be shaking it out of your jersey even after it's been laundered: the next time you wear it, a fine cloud of silicate grit flies out, like fairy dust. And when the sun shines, which it mostly does at Floyd Bennett Field, it is like being a kid again - coming back from the beach, sun-tanned and wind-burned, with sand in everything."
CHALET MAGAZINE, Issue 001
New York - New York
Matt Seaton
Last fall hurricane Sandy battered New York City, leaving behind a path of destruction well beyond the city...destruction which many have yet to recover from. Floyd Bennett Field took the hit on the chin, only slightly protected by Breezy Point, Roxbury, and Rockaway Park. Debris was strewn all about the derelict airfield and the already beat up runways and taxiways bore a new mark of history. Floyd Bennett Field served as a dumping grounds for the wreckage as well as a staging area for the recovery effort. Heavy equipment came and went, dropping off debris and reducing it to more easily managed piles of waste. As the memories and scars of Sandy slowly fade away and the daylight stretches ever so longer, whispers of Floyd began to emerge from those on two wheels. Rumors that the field was covered with debris and heavy equipment fueled fears in some that an NYC tradition decades old might not happen this year. An then a couple weeks ago an announcement was made, the Tuesday Night Race Series was on and the airfield would be "clear" and ready for racing.
They say you either love racing at Floyd or you hate racing at Floyd. There are very few casual entrants at Floyd as they typically come to their senses quite quickly and vow to never race Floyd again. That leaves the regular crowd, a very tough crowd. Strong men who take pleasure in torturing themselves and others for the sport of it. And for those who hate it, hurricane Sandy certainly didn't do anything to improve the conditions...that's for sure. A few warm-up laps revealed the course was grittier than ever with wood chips strewn all about between turns 1 and 2, the pot holes were a little deeper and sharper, and the cracks a little wider. Floyd Bennett Field...you've been missed. It's good to be back.
But wait, what happened to race numbers 3, 4, 5, and 6 you ask? Eh, I'll get to those later. Yes, they all have stories but they simply aren't Floyd.
So as Tuesday afternoon wound down, I left behind a beautiful, calm, warm spring day in Manhattan only to arrive at Floyd as the winds were picking up with the cold ocean "breeze" whipping up from the south. 58 starters lined up for the 12 lap category 1/2/3 race and I was feeling optimistic coming off a strong race on Sunday. It took all of 5 minutes to shatter my optimism as only Floyd can do. What fresh hell have I gotten myself into now? I forgot how hard this race is...EVERY...SINGLE...TIME. Within the first few minutes, I stopped glancing at my power numbers because they no longer mattered. I was flat out fighting, full gas. The first time down the front straight resembled a scene from Paris Roubaix. The field was strung out at well over 30 mph kicking up a cloud of Floyd's finest dust. Between turns 1 and 2, I swore we were racing into a wood chipper. Wood chips were flying everywhere as debris constantly snapped under the peloton's wheels, ricocheting off frames, wheels, bodies, and faces. I never imagined Floyd could be any more challenging than it already was...yet it was. I spent the first few laps figuring out positioning for each of the four straights and getting reacquainted with the nonstop hustle, the burning legs, and the general sensation of being in way over your head. I counted down the laps one at a time as I chewed on my stem, doing my best to race smart to simply make it to the end. There were moves off the front but I didn't really have the capacity to worry about that, rather I spent my race avoiding being gaped and fighting for the best position possible.
Images by Victor Chan, One Imaging Photography
I'm in there somewhere, pounding around the airfield. As the laps ticked off, the pace remained high however the surges seemed to subside slightly and I started to come into my own and began to move up to the front 10 riders or so. And then it happened. What appeared to be a simple acceleration, I got out of the saddle and held the wheel in front...except it wasn't a simple acceleration, there is no such thing at Floyd. And there I was, off the front with three other riders...all of which were undoubtedly much better suited at flat, windy, big power races. In comparison, I was the tiny climber crashing the rouleurs party. If I had any extra cognitive capability I would have certainly recalled Jens Voigt in Overcoming saying "why me?" What mental acuity remained was devoted to righting this wrong and resuming a smart race. With searing legs, I eased off the pedals and waited for the peloton which was once again strung out. As the went ripping by, I got back up on the pedals and fought with everything I had left to rejoin the peloton. I hid deep in the pack for a couple laps trying to recover from what could have been a very stupid move for me. It was then that I realized I couldn't feel my pinkies or the next finger in...they felt like blocks of wood from the constant pounding of the old airfield. At one point, I'm convinced I had a Di2 battery ricocheted off my front wheel, yet another victim of Floyd Bennett Field. After a little recover, I found myself back at the front feeling comfortably pained with 3 laps to go.
Image by Victor Chan, One Imaging Photography
I held position in the top four to five riders, amazingly right at the back of the rotation of strongmen. That is what I call the sweet spot. With one lap to go, the pace increased even more and things stretched just a little bit further. Wheels were that much harder to hold and the peloton snaked about from left to right and back. As we headed down the back straight and rounded turn 3, I lost position on the wheel ahead of me to a rider insistent upon inserting himself into the line. Unfortunately for me, the riders in front swung right forcing me off the wheel and into the wind as the other guy along side me happily took up my position. Interesting lesson learned on gaining position for the finale that I will tuck away for another day. I fought a futile battle on the windward side to get back in line but there were simply no gaps and no opportunities even as I tried to force the issue. And then it became readily apparent that there was very little in reserve, my legs were done. My shot at the sprint was over plain and simple. I eased off the pedals a little as I turned onto the finishing stretch and finished 21st toward the back of the peloton. The original field of 58 had been reduced to 28 riders and I was one of them. Some nights at Floyd, simply finishing with the peloton is a sweet victory in itself.
After the race, the team congregated by our cars, everyone dirty and shell shocked. War stories were told and gashes in sidewalls were compared. It's amazing what you can willingly do to yourself in just over an hour's time. Fuck me, that was hell. See you next Tuesday Floyd.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Trading Blows - Race #2
The day after the Trooper race, I headed over to CT for the Bethel Spring Series. The Bethel Spring Series is held in an "industrial park" on an 0.8 mile course punctuated with a sharp, short uphill finish, a long gradually descending back stretch, and of course wind. It is a great series, a safe course, and usually attracts fairly clean racers. Given the crowded Trooper race the day before overloaded with poor behavior, a clean race would be a welcome change. The race was a bit of a question mark for me because I hadn't really saved myself for racing that week, instead plugging away at training in an attempt to get back on track from losing most of March due to illness. I was still lacking high end...going into a race that requires plenty of high end, repeatedly. Another factor was that one of my teammates was in the yellow jersey...except he was in the yellow jersey in Europe. Slight problem, thus we were out to prevent those closest in the points competition from winning. Etsu, our fearless team leader, dispensed the race orders and we were off.
The race started with a bang as is usual for criterium races. On of the rival teams, SixCycles, showed up with a full complement of riders in an attempt to put their breakaway artist into the yellow. We had our ace up our sleeve in the form of Ira, a super strong and extremely savvy racer with a sleeper sprint. The first four laps felt like a boxing match between FGX Racing and SixCycles. SixCycles was determined to get some of their guys off the front and were constantly attacking. We of course had to continually cover all of those attacks and shut them down. Eventually things settled down after several laps which was a good thing because I had been at the front for the entire first volley and was gassed. I drifted to the back to seek some shelter and recover as other took up the guard duty at the front. Eventually a few rider slipped away and then the bridge attempts began. Several competitors took their shots with a few succeeding at dragging some of our guys up to the growing break. Eventually the break solidified and we were happy with the make-up which included three of our guys. That was until the SixCycles breakaway artist and yellow jersey threat moved to the front. To be safe, I slotted in behind my teammate who was covering him. As we hit the climb, my teammate let a gap open, apparently exhausted from the early fighting, and the SixCycles guy surged hard to snap the elastic. I hammered around my teammate but the damage was already done. The SixCycles guy was just up the road and we were now off the front bridging. We turned onto the back stretch which was smack into a nasty headwind this week and I hammered and stabilize the gap. The SixCycles guy caught another solo guy and took a brief breather. I closed the gap down but as soon as I made contact, the SixCycles guy attacked fully knowing I would be feeling the effort. He was right...and that was also a nice tactical move. I could not respond and by the time I had recovered enough over the next 10 seconds or so, it was over and he was gone. Now sitting in no man's land, I decided there wasn't much I could do given my limited fitness...I simply didn't have the high end to complete the bridge. I drifted back and recovered only to thwart another yellow jersey threat's multiple attempts to bridge. He would surge off the front only to realize he was towing me along for a free ride and was forced to sit up. The remainder of the race was fairly uneventful. I had been recovering from efforts nicely despite not have as strong and deep of a high end as I wanted. No shock given that I had yet to reach that stage of my training! I decided to practice my positioning and sprinting in the field sprint and took 3rd or 4th in the field sprint. Not bad all things considered.
After we rolled around for a cool down lap, I heard that Ira had finished second and the SixCycles threat had not finished in the points. Unfortunately, a Bethel Cycles kid won the sprint and took the yellow jersey. From what I heard, he had a wicked sprint and the quads of Andre Greipel to match. With two weeks remaining in the series, we would have our chance to get the yellow back. Thanks to Ira's strong finish, we did end up with the lead in the team competition so all was not lost. As for me, I was somewhat happy with my race given my fitness and slightly tired legs. Overall, I was most happy with being healthy and racing again. The rest will come in due time.
The race started with a bang as is usual for criterium races. On of the rival teams, SixCycles, showed up with a full complement of riders in an attempt to put their breakaway artist into the yellow. We had our ace up our sleeve in the form of Ira, a super strong and extremely savvy racer with a sleeper sprint. The first four laps felt like a boxing match between FGX Racing and SixCycles. SixCycles was determined to get some of their guys off the front and were constantly attacking. We of course had to continually cover all of those attacks and shut them down. Eventually things settled down after several laps which was a good thing because I had been at the front for the entire first volley and was gassed. I drifted to the back to seek some shelter and recover as other took up the guard duty at the front. Eventually a few rider slipped away and then the bridge attempts began. Several competitors took their shots with a few succeeding at dragging some of our guys up to the growing break. Eventually the break solidified and we were happy with the make-up which included three of our guys. That was until the SixCycles breakaway artist and yellow jersey threat moved to the front. To be safe, I slotted in behind my teammate who was covering him. As we hit the climb, my teammate let a gap open, apparently exhausted from the early fighting, and the SixCycles guy surged hard to snap the elastic. I hammered around my teammate but the damage was already done. The SixCycles guy was just up the road and we were now off the front bridging. We turned onto the back stretch which was smack into a nasty headwind this week and I hammered and stabilize the gap. The SixCycles guy caught another solo guy and took a brief breather. I closed the gap down but as soon as I made contact, the SixCycles guy attacked fully knowing I would be feeling the effort. He was right...and that was also a nice tactical move. I could not respond and by the time I had recovered enough over the next 10 seconds or so, it was over and he was gone. Now sitting in no man's land, I decided there wasn't much I could do given my limited fitness...I simply didn't have the high end to complete the bridge. I drifted back and recovered only to thwart another yellow jersey threat's multiple attempts to bridge. He would surge off the front only to realize he was towing me along for a free ride and was forced to sit up. The remainder of the race was fairly uneventful. I had been recovering from efforts nicely despite not have as strong and deep of a high end as I wanted. No shock given that I had yet to reach that stage of my training! I decided to practice my positioning and sprinting in the field sprint and took 3rd or 4th in the field sprint. Not bad all things considered.
After we rolled around for a cool down lap, I heard that Ira had finished second and the SixCycles threat had not finished in the points. Unfortunately, a Bethel Cycles kid won the sprint and took the yellow jersey. From what I heard, he had a wicked sprint and the quads of Andre Greipel to match. With two weeks remaining in the series, we would have our chance to get the yellow back. Thanks to Ira's strong finish, we did end up with the lead in the team competition so all was not lost. As for me, I was somewhat happy with my race given my fitness and slightly tired legs. Overall, I was most happy with being healthy and racing again. The rest will come in due time.
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