My race report for NWX Crit is posted on the team blog. It was fast, I was not. The end.
Showing posts with label Crits. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Crits. Show all posts
Monday, June 29, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Waking the Dead (Legs): Capitol Criterium Race Report
(Warning: If much of this sounds familiar, it is just an expanded version of my race report on the team site.)
Juan, Jeff, Sam and I journeyed up to Olympia, Washington on Saturday afternoon to race the Capital Criterium. The only races on Oregon soil for the weekend were the Elkhorn Classic Stage race and Test of Endurance....yeah, right. Anything with the words "stage" and "endurance" are decidedly not on my agenda right now.
I had hoped to loosen up my sleepy legs with a ride on my new cross bike and some track racing on Friday night. However, since it is June in Oregon, and the first day of my weekend, it poured rain all afternoon. Sam, Jeff and I rode in the downpour for about 45 minutes before deciding that beers at East Bank was a saner course of action.
Racing in Washington is sort of a pain in the ass. You have to buy a USCF one-day license and pay $10 to rent a number. Its total racket. All of a sudden, a race that originally cost $25 costs $45. Lucky for Sam and I, we got to race one minute for every dollar and got $10 of it back for returning the numbers unharmed.
I liked this course. The front side was a straightaway 500 meter incline. Not really a climb, because we could big ring it, but the grade was high enough that you could use it to make people suffer. It plateaued up at the south end and the back and north sides were downhill and technical. The race was basically like doing one minute intervals at 90%, with 30 seconds recovery surrounded by bicycle roller derby--for 45 minutes. Barf-o-licious.
Jeff raced first, in the masters A/B race. Direct quote: "Those are some fast old fuckers." Unfortunately, our fearless leader was pulled early and paid around $2 a minute to race. Not a good value.
Juan went next. From where Sam and I could see the course from our trainers, it looked like he held 2nd-8th wheel the entire race and finished fourth. Here is his race report. I can attest to the fact that the Starbucks guy that he rode behind most of the race was a total monster truck.
Sam and I rode in the Cat 3 race. It was just Cat 3s...a change up from riding in Oregon. Another change was that 80% of the riders belonged to one of three teams. And those teams are coordinated and disciplined.
My best guess is that about 20 women lined up for the start. It was pretty strange to be sitting at the line and not know anyone...it's that pre-whistle gossip with my friends that usually takes the edge of of those last 5 minutes.
Since I hadn't put in a hard effort on the bike for 14 days, I spent the first 20 minutes wishing that a meteor would fly out of the sky and put me out of my misery. I watched Sam win a prime and tried to pick up on how the teams were coordinating. All while trying not to get yo-yo-ed off the back.
At about 25 minutes, everything started to feel better, both in my legs and in my head, and I was able to really start racing, instead of simply surviving. It was pretty obvious after 20 minutes the riders that two of the teams wanted to save for the end of the race. The third, I had a pretty good idea, but wasn't 100% positive. There was lots of talking in the pack and there was more than one instance where I wanted to tell someone to quit bossing me around. But I'm trying to behave myself and was likely breathing too hard to do more than squawk. (Or perhaps whip out the FT possum hiss-that is some scary shit.)
It was also obvious that, after Sam contested a few primes and I put in some good attacks on the incline, the organized teams tried to start limiting our movement. We kept getting boxed in and/or pinched out on the good cornering lines. It didn't take me long to realize that if the pack --whittled down to about 12-15 riders, about three from each team, Sam and I and two or three lonely onlies--stayed intact in the last 2 laps, Sam and I were dead meat.
What I decided to do will probably not be a surprise to those who know me...try something that looks really stupid but just might work. So with three laps to go, I took a huge flyer off of the front from the base of the climb. And I just kept hammering until the end of the race...standing up on the hill and and attacking every corner on the backside. If I had anything to say about it, no one was going to get any recovery time until the race was over. I knew that the effort wasn't going to win the race, or leave me any sprint legs for the end, but I figured that I could throw down enough hurt and shell enough people to give Sam and I some room to move at the end.
This effort was really fucking hard. There was lots of drool and I threw up in my mouth at the end of the race. That is all I have to say about that.
This time around, the "just stupid enough to be dangerous" strategy worked-probably aided by the sneak attack factor--no one up in Washington knew anything about my strengths /weaknesses. I think I managed to cut the pack of 15 women to six or seven by the last lap.
Two women passed me with 1/2 lap to go and I just willed myself to stay on their wheels until the end. Lucky for me, the finish was the steepest part of the incline, and I was able to hold on for third. Sam had room to get herself up to fifth.
So this is what I like about WA races. (1) Being the wild cards messing with the organized teams and (2) They have much better schwag for podium finishes. I got a really nice steel water bottle, $20, socks, a t-shirt and some tire levers that look like sex toys.
We stopped for milkshakes on the way home. All in all not a bad race experience. I don't have any racing pictures (but Juan found a good one located here), but here is a picture of a really weird unicorn cake Sam and I spotted at a cafe near the race course:
Juan, Jeff, Sam and I journeyed up to Olympia, Washington on Saturday afternoon to race the Capital Criterium. The only races on Oregon soil for the weekend were the Elkhorn Classic Stage race and Test of Endurance....yeah, right. Anything with the words "stage" and "endurance" are decidedly not on my agenda right now.
I had hoped to loosen up my sleepy legs with a ride on my new cross bike and some track racing on Friday night. However, since it is June in Oregon, and the first day of my weekend, it poured rain all afternoon. Sam, Jeff and I rode in the downpour for about 45 minutes before deciding that beers at East Bank was a saner course of action.
Racing in Washington is sort of a pain in the ass. You have to buy a USCF one-day license and pay $10 to rent a number. Its total racket. All of a sudden, a race that originally cost $25 costs $45. Lucky for Sam and I, we got to race one minute for every dollar and got $10 of it back for returning the numbers unharmed.
I liked this course. The front side was a straightaway 500 meter incline. Not really a climb, because we could big ring it, but the grade was high enough that you could use it to make people suffer. It plateaued up at the south end and the back and north sides were downhill and technical. The race was basically like doing one minute intervals at 90%, with 30 seconds recovery surrounded by bicycle roller derby--for 45 minutes. Barf-o-licious.
Jeff raced first, in the masters A/B race. Direct quote: "Those are some fast old fuckers." Unfortunately, our fearless leader was pulled early and paid around $2 a minute to race. Not a good value.
Juan went next. From where Sam and I could see the course from our trainers, it looked like he held 2nd-8th wheel the entire race and finished fourth. Here is his race report. I can attest to the fact that the Starbucks guy that he rode behind most of the race was a total monster truck.
Sam and I rode in the Cat 3 race. It was just Cat 3s...a change up from riding in Oregon. Another change was that 80% of the riders belonged to one of three teams. And those teams are coordinated and disciplined.
My best guess is that about 20 women lined up for the start. It was pretty strange to be sitting at the line and not know anyone...it's that pre-whistle gossip with my friends that usually takes the edge of of those last 5 minutes.
Since I hadn't put in a hard effort on the bike for 14 days, I spent the first 20 minutes wishing that a meteor would fly out of the sky and put me out of my misery. I watched Sam win a prime and tried to pick up on how the teams were coordinating. All while trying not to get yo-yo-ed off the back.
At about 25 minutes, everything started to feel better, both in my legs and in my head, and I was able to really start racing, instead of simply surviving. It was pretty obvious after 20 minutes the riders that two of the teams wanted to save for the end of the race. The third, I had a pretty good idea, but wasn't 100% positive. There was lots of talking in the pack and there was more than one instance where I wanted to tell someone to quit bossing me around. But I'm trying to behave myself and was likely breathing too hard to do more than squawk. (Or perhaps whip out the FT possum hiss-that is some scary shit.)
It was also obvious that, after Sam contested a few primes and I put in some good attacks on the incline, the organized teams tried to start limiting our movement. We kept getting boxed in and/or pinched out on the good cornering lines. It didn't take me long to realize that if the pack --whittled down to about 12-15 riders, about three from each team, Sam and I and two or three lonely onlies--stayed intact in the last 2 laps, Sam and I were dead meat.
What I decided to do will probably not be a surprise to those who know me...try something that looks really stupid but just might work. So with three laps to go, I took a huge flyer off of the front from the base of the climb. And I just kept hammering until the end of the race...standing up on the hill and and attacking every corner on the backside. If I had anything to say about it, no one was going to get any recovery time until the race was over. I knew that the effort wasn't going to win the race, or leave me any sprint legs for the end, but I figured that I could throw down enough hurt and shell enough people to give Sam and I some room to move at the end.
This effort was really fucking hard. There was lots of drool and I threw up in my mouth at the end of the race. That is all I have to say about that.
This time around, the "just stupid enough to be dangerous" strategy worked-probably aided by the sneak attack factor--no one up in Washington knew anything about my strengths /weaknesses. I think I managed to cut the pack of 15 women to six or seven by the last lap.
Two women passed me with 1/2 lap to go and I just willed myself to stay on their wheels until the end. Lucky for me, the finish was the steepest part of the incline, and I was able to hold on for third. Sam had room to get herself up to fifth.
So this is what I like about WA races. (1) Being the wild cards messing with the organized teams and (2) They have much better schwag for podium finishes. I got a really nice steel water bottle, $20, socks, a t-shirt and some tire levers that look like sex toys.
We stopped for milkshakes on the way home. All in all not a bad race experience. I don't have any racing pictures (but Juan found a good one located here), but here is a picture of a really weird unicorn cake Sam and I spotted at a cafe near the race course:
Monday, May 11, 2009
Icebreaker Crit: 200 Miles of Driving, 30 minutes of Racing, 3 Beers and 1 Win.
After a two-week hiatus from racing, we got back at it at the Icebreaker Criterium in Eugene, Oregon. But not before getting in a Team Picture Day on Saturday...HV Style.
Followed by two hours of easy riding. Followed by two hours of easy beer drinking. And, for me, two hours later in the evening of easy stuffing my face with homemade Moroccan food.
Then off to the races on Sunday morning. Four hours of driving for a 30 minute race. Seems insane, right? Not when you simply make the race the mid-day climax to an all-day adventure around Oregon.
Burns and I, as is becoming our tradition, carpooled. I drive and fiddle with the heat every five minutes. She DJs. Usually with a mixed CD she's created for someone else. I'd feel like sloppy seconds, but she has really good taste in music and totally nailed the mix on this CD (including my current favorites by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Starfucker, Jose Gonzales and the Gossip).
Once we are back together, its all about observing and evaluating the strength and weaknesses of the riders around me. Throw in some fast corners and attacks for good measure. I don't contest any of the prime laps, instead choosing to counter after each prime. I spend a lot of time at the front, driving the pace when it dips below 19 MPH. With at least two real sprinters in the field, I figure my best bet at winning is to wear people out and lengthen the final sprint as much as possible.
So I attack with 5 left, 3 left and with 1 left, I tell Anna that it is her turn to throw down some pain. She takes off and I grab her wheel. She hammers into the wind as I try to catch my breath and get into the gear that I want for the final 200 meters.
Coming out of the last corner, I stand and sprint out of the corner. There is about 150 left in the race, but I stay standing and sprinting. I'm hoping that going early has caught people by surprise and that I can get a decent buffer between me and the speed demons.
And this plan of mine, well, it works. Although I can tell someone is gaining in the twenty-five meters, I had given myself enough room to come away with the W. With a nice throw at the end for good measure.
My first W. Ever. In a bike race.
Maybe people get used to seeing empty road in front of them when they finish races. Maybe they acclimate to that rush of being king of the mountain (albeit, in my case, less of a mountain and more like an anthill).
I, for one, will forever have a snapshot in my mind of what that empty road looked like. (And how I could still see the spots in my eyes, and taste the blood in my mouth, for ten minutes following the race. ) It was a pretty sight.
Here I am with the reason I won that race, my leadout Anna, all smiles after a great first crit:
(Thanks Kenji for the photo!)
Then we drove home...and by "home" I mean where we spend every post-race Sunday....HUB. Beers on the patio with my favorite people. Anna, Sally and Jamie showed up with flowers for Tedder, Sam (who survived her first crit on US soil), Burns (who was second in her race, first Cat 3) and I. Mindy also showed up with a crown, which she insisted that I wear for the duration of the evening:
Burns, you'd better watch out...there's a new princess in town.
Or not. She always manages to have the last word.
Special acknowledgments to:
1. Anna, who survived her first crit without killing anyone.
2. Sallyanne, who stayed with the pack and counterattacked on more than one occassion. Rock.
3. Beth, who didn't have to rip my hands off because I stayed in the drops the whole race.
4. Sam, who was here only a week before being nicknamed Party Foul.
5. Jamie, who had no idea what he was getting into when he agreed to race with us and survived anyways. And appeared to enjoy being bossed around by his female teammates.
6. Tedder, who learned on Sunday that "oriental" is not the preferred nomenclature. It's "Asian-American," dude.
Forthcoming...a post on learning to ride the velodrome and Monday Night PIR.
Followed by two hours of easy riding. Followed by two hours of easy beer drinking. And, for me, two hours later in the evening of easy stuffing my face with homemade Moroccan food.Then off to the races on Sunday morning. Four hours of driving for a 30 minute race. Seems insane, right? Not when you simply make the race the mid-day climax to an all-day adventure around Oregon.
Burns and I, as is becoming our tradition, carpooled. I drive and fiddle with the heat every five minutes. She DJs. Usually with a mixed CD she's created for someone else. I'd feel like sloppy seconds, but she has really good taste in music and totally nailed the mix on this CD (including my current favorites by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Starfucker, Jose Gonzales and the Gossip).
Arrived about an hour before race time and immediately headed out to do a few laps of the course before the racing started. All right turns...ugh. Legs sort of dead...double ugh.
Thirty minutes later I'm spinning on the trainer, dripping with sweat and getting a head start on a healthy sunburn. "We Are the People" by Empire of the Sun blasting in my ears over and over again. Getting in the zone.
We line up at around 10:45. It's a small field, Mother's Day attrition leading to a group of less than 15. The whistle goes off and I stand up and start hammering toward the first corner. From somewhere over my right shoulder I hear, "God-damn-it, Lindsay," as I ride away, up front and alone for the first lap and a half. After about three minutes, my legs have finally reentered the land of the living and I coast along and wait for the field to catch up.
Once we are back together, its all about observing and evaluating the strength and weaknesses of the riders around me. Throw in some fast corners and attacks for good measure. I don't contest any of the prime laps, instead choosing to counter after each prime. I spend a lot of time at the front, driving the pace when it dips below 19 MPH. With at least two real sprinters in the field, I figure my best bet at winning is to wear people out and lengthen the final sprint as much as possible.
So I attack with 5 left, 3 left and with 1 left, I tell Anna that it is her turn to throw down some pain. She takes off and I grab her wheel. She hammers into the wind as I try to catch my breath and get into the gear that I want for the final 200 meters.
Coming out of the last corner, I stand and sprint out of the corner. There is about 150 left in the race, but I stay standing and sprinting. I'm hoping that going early has caught people by surprise and that I can get a decent buffer between me and the speed demons.
And this plan of mine, well, it works. Although I can tell someone is gaining in the twenty-five meters, I had given myself enough room to come away with the W. With a nice throw at the end for good measure.
My first W. Ever. In a bike race.
Maybe people get used to seeing empty road in front of them when they finish races. Maybe they acclimate to that rush of being king of the mountain (albeit, in my case, less of a mountain and more like an anthill).
I, for one, will forever have a snapshot in my mind of what that empty road looked like. (And how I could still see the spots in my eyes, and taste the blood in my mouth, for ten minutes following the race. ) It was a pretty sight.
Here I am with the reason I won that race, my leadout Anna, all smiles after a great first crit:
(Thanks Kenji for the photo!)
Then we drove home...and by "home" I mean where we spend every post-race Sunday....HUB. Beers on the patio with my favorite people. Anna, Sally and Jamie showed up with flowers for Tedder, Sam (who survived her first crit on US soil), Burns (who was second in her race, first Cat 3) and I. Mindy also showed up with a crown, which she insisted that I wear for the duration of the evening:
Burns, you'd better watch out...there's a new princess in town.
Or not. She always manages to have the last word.Special acknowledgments to:
1. Anna, who survived her first crit without killing anyone.
2. Sallyanne, who stayed with the pack and counterattacked on more than one occassion. Rock.
3. Beth, who didn't have to rip my hands off because I stayed in the drops the whole race.
4. Sam, who was here only a week before being nicknamed Party Foul.
5. Jamie, who had no idea what he was getting into when he agreed to race with us and survived anyways. And appeared to enjoy being bossed around by his female teammates.
6. Tedder, who learned on Sunday that "oriental" is not the preferred nomenclature. It's "Asian-American," dude.
Forthcoming...a post on learning to ride the velodrome and Monday Night PIR.
Friday, April 17, 2009
A Race In Which I DNF and Nearly Soil My Shorts.
Pretty sure that I only have eight crit lives left. Left one of them in Hood River last night.
We picked a great day to go out. Julie from Mountain View, Anne, Kim and Judy from Sorella and my new teammate Amy all showed up. The course is more like a small PIR, rather than a true crit, and we race clockwise...I need some work on my right turns and this was a perfect place to practice.
Beth had a master plan and I was happy to follow along with it: hang out for 13 laps, attack on the 14th and she would lead me out on the 15th for the win.
Here is actually how it went down: hang out for 13 laps, watch Anne (who was going to help us) take off a lap early, laugh at Beth's comment "What the hell is that old bitch doing?!", attack late because we were getting lapped by the masters, build a 20 meter gap.
I was out front heading out of the first corner at about 25 MPH into the headwind (as planned-the Bradley Armored Fighting Vehicle had headwind duty and Beth had leadout duty) and I heard and felt a huge POP from the rear of my bike. Followed by the feeling of my back end being jerked to the left. I'm not sure how I knew what to do or how I managed to stay upright. I weighted the bike as hard as I could, relaxed my upper body and skidded to a stop. Was facing backwards on the course when all was said and done.
Then the fear caught up with me and I nearly puked on the sidewalk.
Beth and I should have been roadkill...she was that close to my wheel, we were that close to the curb and we were going that fast. So I'm sitting there and thinking about all of this afterwards...how the HELL did I manage to keep that bike upright? I think it was 50% dumb luck and 50% cyclocross.
In cyclocross, at least if you're me, you spend a good portion of the race with some part of the bike doing something that you don't want it to. Maybe its the back derailleur or the chain. Or the operator's stomach from drinking too much the night before. But mostly its your back wheel. I've had a lot of low-speed practice with what to do (and not do) when my back wheel starts to misbehave. It probably helped save my ass, and my bike, last night.
Today: new tires. Had some discussion with Jeff about the stock tires that came on the Ruby and they're probably inadequate for how I ride and where I ride.
This weekend: Table Rock RR. My parents, who have never seen me bike race, are making the trip over from the home country to watch. I'm pretty excited.
Hood River Crit Series. It was a beautiful day, Beth wanted to teach me some tactical stuff and 40 minutes of "racing" in the sun with friends kicks the ass off of a hill workout any day of the week.
We picked a great day to go out. Julie from Mountain View, Anne, Kim and Judy from Sorella and my new teammate Amy all showed up. The course is more like a small PIR, rather than a true crit, and we race clockwise...I need some work on my right turns and this was a perfect place to practice.
Beth had a master plan and I was happy to follow along with it: hang out for 13 laps, attack on the 14th and she would lead me out on the 15th for the win.
Here is actually how it went down: hang out for 13 laps, watch Anne (who was going to help us) take off a lap early, laugh at Beth's comment "What the hell is that old bitch doing?!", attack late because we were getting lapped by the masters, build a 20 meter gap.
I was out front heading out of the first corner at about 25 MPH into the headwind (as planned-the Bradley Armored Fighting Vehicle had headwind duty and Beth had leadout duty) and I heard and felt a huge POP from the rear of my bike. Followed by the feeling of my back end being jerked to the left. I'm not sure how I knew what to do or how I managed to stay upright. I weighted the bike as hard as I could, relaxed my upper body and skidded to a stop. Was facing backwards on the course when all was said and done.
Then the fear caught up with me and I nearly puked on the sidewalk.
Beth and I should have been roadkill...she was that close to my wheel, we were that close to the curb and we were going that fast. So I'm sitting there and thinking about all of this afterwards...how the HELL did I manage to keep that bike upright? I think it was 50% dumb luck and 50% cyclocross.
In cyclocross, at least if you're me, you spend a good portion of the race with some part of the bike doing something that you don't want it to. Maybe its the back derailleur or the chain. Or the operator's stomach from drinking too much the night before. But mostly its your back wheel. I've had a lot of low-speed practice with what to do (and not do) when my back wheel starts to misbehave. It probably helped save my ass, and my bike, last night.
Today: new tires. Had some discussion with Jeff about the stock tires that came on the Ruby and they're probably inadequate for how I ride and where I ride.
This weekend: Table Rock RR. My parents, who have never seen me bike race, are making the trip over from the home country to watch. I'm pretty excited.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Cherry Blossom: Stage Two and Three Reports
Here is my second installment of the Cherry Blossom 2009 race report. By the way, did anyone actually SEE a Cherry Blossom while they were in The Dalles? I thought I might have seen one yesterday while climbing up Seven Mile Hill, but that might have just been my cornea exploding.
Stage Two: The Time Trial. Unlike most sane, rational human beings, I like time-trialing. This might be the case for me being neither sane nor rational, but that is a topic for another day.
One of the more insane things about time trialing is that the most important part actually takes place before you race. Warming up for a TT is an art form. It's all about kicking your own ass and minimizing the time at the start of the TT when all you want to do is throw up in your mouth. For an eight mile race such as this one, I would ideally warm up for an hour.
And ideally, we wouldn't have had to coordinate six people, seven bikes, four trainers, three extra wheelsets, two pots of coffee and 100 pounds of gear at 6AM on a Saturday morning.
So we ended up only having about 40 minutes to get ready. Which involved getting my heart rate up to 85% as quickly as possible.... in 37 degree weather. This is why Metallica and Red Bull exist.
The course was an out-and-back course with about 400 feet of elevation gain in the first 4 miles.
It was hard. I was on the edge of barfing the entire time. So all in all, exactly what needed to happen. Overall time 22:32. Averaged about 21.3 MPH. Caught my 30 second, 60 second, 1:30, 2 min, 2:30 and 3 minute persons.
I ended up second (I am listed third in the results, but the posted winner of the TT was the victim of a clerical error) by about 11 seconds. Not bad, but the TT was my best chance to win a stage and I know that an extra 15 minutes of warm up would have gotten me those 11 seconds.
But....moving on to my favorite type of racing...crit racing.
Stage Three: Cherry City Criterium. I was hooked on crits after my first one in August of last year. Fast, dangerous and over in less than 45 minutes. (Sort of like junior prom, but just a little bit). I am a confident bike handler and frequently sport an overabundance of ego--so it was a natural fit.
I got a call-up for my TT finish and it was pretty awesome to hear all of the cheering When the inevitable ejection from Cat 4 comes within the next few months, I'm going to miss the ladies that I've met in the last two months of racing.
The call-up also got me up front for the start of the race, which cut down on my pre-race anxiety. The only place worse than the middle of a Cat 4 women's crit is anywhere in a Cat 5 men's crit.
I wanted to start fast and out front, lead as little as possible and fall no further back than third or fourth wheel for the entire race. We were having to deal with a backside headwind and there were only 4 corners-all easy, so there probably wasn't going to be an opportunity for a breakaway. But if someone jumped, I wanted to be in the position to go with her.
I executed my plan perfectly, more or less. By "more or less", I mean that I was exactly where I wanted to be going into the sprint...until I took the final corner too tight, had to make a correction and lost both speed and the wheel I wanted to be on for the sprint. I did fight my way back to fifth, stood up and sprinted....IN MY DROPS.
The post-race relief I felt lasted about 45 seconds. Someone rolled up to me and told me that I had a teammate that went down in the final sprint. I didn't see anyone from my team and panicked. Basically rode another lap of the course at a faster pace than we had raced at.
Turns out Mindy went down with 30 meters to go. A lot of road rash and a busted front wheel, but otherwise OK. In fact, she was able to get up and RUN her bike though the finish line, "Breaking Away" style. You might not know if from looking at her, but Mindy is a seriously tough cookie.
We stuck around until the end of the women's 1/2/3 crit, which ended with a great finish for Burns but also with a horrible crash on the final turn. One of my former teammates from Group Health and a friend from Veloce were two of the four taken off via ambulance. Very sobering.
As was the prospect of climbing 1800 feet in 5 miles the next morning. We drove the dreaded Seven Mile Hill on our way home and I promised myself I wouldn't think too much about it until the morning. I broke this promise repeatedly.
Fell asleep in the middle of "My Cousin Vinny" and dreamt of climbing.
Stage Two: The Time Trial. Unlike most sane, rational human beings, I like time-trialing. This might be the case for me being neither sane nor rational, but that is a topic for another day.
One of the more insane things about time trialing is that the most important part actually takes place before you race. Warming up for a TT is an art form. It's all about kicking your own ass and minimizing the time at the start of the TT when all you want to do is throw up in your mouth. For an eight mile race such as this one, I would ideally warm up for an hour.
And ideally, we wouldn't have had to coordinate six people, seven bikes, four trainers, three extra wheelsets, two pots of coffee and 100 pounds of gear at 6AM on a Saturday morning.
So we ended up only having about 40 minutes to get ready. Which involved getting my heart rate up to 85% as quickly as possible.... in 37 degree weather. This is why Metallica and Red Bull exist.
The course was an out-and-back course with about 400 feet of elevation gain in the first 4 miles.
It was hard. I was on the edge of barfing the entire time. So all in all, exactly what needed to happen. Overall time 22:32. Averaged about 21.3 MPH. Caught my 30 second, 60 second, 1:30, 2 min, 2:30 and 3 minute persons.
I ended up second (I am listed third in the results, but the posted winner of the TT was the victim of a clerical error) by about 11 seconds. Not bad, but the TT was my best chance to win a stage and I know that an extra 15 minutes of warm up would have gotten me those 11 seconds.
But....moving on to my favorite type of racing...crit racing.
Stage Three: Cherry City Criterium. I was hooked on crits after my first one in August of last year. Fast, dangerous and over in less than 45 minutes. (Sort of like junior prom, but just a little bit). I am a confident bike handler and frequently sport an overabundance of ego--so it was a natural fit.
I got a call-up for my TT finish and it was pretty awesome to hear all of the cheering When the inevitable ejection from Cat 4 comes within the next few months, I'm going to miss the ladies that I've met in the last two months of racing.
The call-up also got me up front for the start of the race, which cut down on my pre-race anxiety. The only place worse than the middle of a Cat 4 women's crit is anywhere in a Cat 5 men's crit.
I wanted to start fast and out front, lead as little as possible and fall no further back than third or fourth wheel for the entire race. We were having to deal with a backside headwind and there were only 4 corners-all easy, so there probably wasn't going to be an opportunity for a breakaway. But if someone jumped, I wanted to be in the position to go with her.
I executed my plan perfectly, more or less. By "more or less", I mean that I was exactly where I wanted to be going into the sprint...until I took the final corner too tight, had to make a correction and lost both speed and the wheel I wanted to be on for the sprint. I did fight my way back to fifth, stood up and sprinted....IN MY DROPS.
The post-race relief I felt lasted about 45 seconds. Someone rolled up to me and told me that I had a teammate that went down in the final sprint. I didn't see anyone from my team and panicked. Basically rode another lap of the course at a faster pace than we had raced at.
Turns out Mindy went down with 30 meters to go. A lot of road rash and a busted front wheel, but otherwise OK. In fact, she was able to get up and RUN her bike though the finish line, "Breaking Away" style. You might not know if from looking at her, but Mindy is a seriously tough cookie.
We stuck around until the end of the women's 1/2/3 crit, which ended with a great finish for Burns but also with a horrible crash on the final turn. One of my former teammates from Group Health and a friend from Veloce were two of the four taken off via ambulance. Very sobering.
As was the prospect of climbing 1800 feet in 5 miles the next morning. We drove the dreaded Seven Mile Hill on our way home and I promised myself I wouldn't think too much about it until the morning. I broke this promise repeatedly.
Fell asleep in the middle of "My Cousin Vinny" and dreamt of climbing.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Holy Crit!
Even though it is Monday morning and raining, I've been sporting a pretty huge grin on my face. I did two crits this weekend, and the last time I've felt this pleasantly surprised at my own ability was when I got my grades after my first term of law school and realized that, yah, I can do this shit.
After my performance at the TT last weekend, the HTFU crew called bullshit on my lack of fitness excuse and I no longer had a ready made reason not to show up at a local road race. When I casually mentioned in Thursday morning's class that I was pondering showing up at the Swan Island Crit on Saturday morning for a little bit of cyclocross training, Beth, Sarah and Coco jumped all over it and declared that it was about fucking time that I showed up for something.
My plan was to sign up online so that I wouldn't have 48 hours to talk myself out of it. Because in all honesty, the idea of riding in a pack and cornering with a bunch of strangers freaked me out quite a bit. And I really didn't want to get spit out the back and ride by myself.
There was no online registration, so if I was going to talk myself out of racing, it was going to happen the night before the race. Fortunately, I took D to the Lifesavas/Mos Def show for his birthday Friday night and, due to two shots of jager and yet another sick set by the Lifesavas, totally forgot about chickening out.
Saturday-Swan Island Crit
It was already 75 degrees when we woke up on Saturday morning at 8am and the weather was projected to reach 102 by mid-afternoon. Not the best conditions for a bike race, but I've survived for six hours at altitude bleeding out of my face during a half-ironman, so I figured that I could survive a 30 minute bike race.
My goals were simple goals: stay upright and finish with the group. I chatted with Coco before the race and told her that if I could hold my own in the group, I would try and do a few lead-outs for her and Tamara on the points laps and at the finish. They have been participating in the Cat 4 women's series that has been going on all summer and both needed the points for the series. As I figured my only goal was to not make a total ass out of myself, I should help them out if I could.
It took about two laps for me to feel comfortable in the group, which was about 22 riders deep. It didn't take long to figure out (1) whose wheels I didn't want to be on and (2) that I was much more comfortable cornering than the majority of the field. The pace would surge on the straightaways and settle back on the backside. I really didn't even feel like I was working that hard, so when the bell rung on the first points lap, I surged to the front and picked up the pace considerably. Tamara and Coco immediately jumped on my wheel and I pulled them 3/4 of the way around before they jumped out front and took the lap. I was worried that the field would keep the pace high and I wouldn't get enough time to recover, but everyone slowed up again once we started cornering again.
I really don't specifically recall much of what happened between the first prime lap and the bell lap. I tried to stay near the front to protect Coco's wheel and was able to react quickly each time the Ironclad ladies sent someone off the front. I was actually surprised when the lap card read 2 laps to the finish, because I had anticipated being in a lot more discomfort by the end of the race. I therefore decided that I was going to see what sort of trouble I could cause in the final lap. Into the first corner I swung wide, accelerated and once I got up to Tamara and Coco, hollered at them to jump on. I held the front coming into the home stretch until my vision went spotty. Once the ladies started to sprint around me, I sat up and just spun into the finish. Tamara and Coco finished like second and fifth. Turns out that Tamara didn't react quickly enough to my jump and the women that ended up winning the race got the prime spot on my wheel.
D was marshaling one of the corners and said that every time I threw down and went off the front, that there was some suffering in the pack. I ended up finishing 16th or something, but was pleased as punch that I was not only able to hang on, but was able to really affect the outcome of the race. And I had so much fun that I immediately decided to sign up for the Cat 4 race at the OBRA state championships the next day.
Cat 4 OBRA State Championship Crit
The Cat 4 Race on Sunday was only 20 minutes, so I figured that although the 30 minutes on Saturday had worked me over a bit, that I could at least sit in for a shorter race. The Cat 4s raced with the 40+ and 50+ masters. My teammate Jan joined in for the masters race. Jan is a spectacular crit racer and I figured I could learn a lot just by watching to see what she did. I told her "just tell me what to do....I'll do whatever you tell me".
D and I had discussed strategy that morning. Right now I don't have the skills to contest a pack sprint, but I am a confident bike handler and have that TT motor in my backyard. So the plan was to stay near the front, help Jan out if I could and then just throw the hammer down on the last lap, take the corners really tight and see what happened.
The first lap was the worst. The Swan Island Crit is more like PIR--the corners were really loose and easy to pedal through. This course, in contrast had 6 corners and although the road was wide, the corners were tighter. Most of the ladies weren't taking the best line and seemed uncomfortable when Jan brought things closer to the curb on a few laps. I filed that away in my brain, thinking that it would come in handy at some point. Jeff and Beth were on first corner and D between the last two. Whatever they told me to do, I did.
Jan surged a couple of times, but the overall pace was pretty slow through the technical sections. I got sick of that pretty quickly and on the first prime lap, went to the front and upped the pace just a bit to string people out a bit. Into the last corner, I hear Jan yell "Go HARD Lindsay, go hard".... I ramped up the pace again, which enabled Jan to launch a solo attack for several laps and pick up both primes. Kick ass.
I tried to move to the front so that I could slow things down for Jan while she was on the attack, but just couldn't find enough space. Jan got tired and let us catch her with 3 laps to go. Again, I wasn't feeling uncomfortable at all, so going into the bell lap, I moved up to the front and drove the pace for the entire lap. I took all of the corners tight to the curb so if anyone was going to pass me, they would have to swing wide and take a longer line.
It was so damn cool to come into the finish stretch and see nothing ahead of me except for the finish line. Which got closer and closer without anyone catching me. With about 50 meters to go, I could see someone off to my left side. I stood up to sprint...and my left foot popped out of my pedal. (inner monologue: "fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck"). It took two or three more rotations to clip back in, but at that point she had a wheel length on me. If there had been 10 more meters past the finish line, I would have caught back up. But holy shit...second place! I have never been that close to winning a bike race. Beth went ape shit when I crossed the line. It was so awesome.
Turned out that my attack was also great lead-out for Jan, who finished fourth overall and first in her masters category. And it also managed to string out the field enough that I had some room to react when my foot came out.
So I think I reallllly like crit racing. Too bad the crit season is over for the year. But I'm now feeling really good about my fitness for cross season and am glad that I found a silver lining to the cloud of "can't mountain bike again until next year."
After my performance at the TT last weekend, the HTFU crew called bullshit on my lack of fitness excuse and I no longer had a ready made reason not to show up at a local road race. When I casually mentioned in Thursday morning's class that I was pondering showing up at the Swan Island Crit on Saturday morning for a little bit of cyclocross training, Beth, Sarah and Coco jumped all over it and declared that it was about fucking time that I showed up for something.
My plan was to sign up online so that I wouldn't have 48 hours to talk myself out of it. Because in all honesty, the idea of riding in a pack and cornering with a bunch of strangers freaked me out quite a bit. And I really didn't want to get spit out the back and ride by myself.
There was no online registration, so if I was going to talk myself out of racing, it was going to happen the night before the race. Fortunately, I took D to the Lifesavas/Mos Def show for his birthday Friday night and, due to two shots of jager and yet another sick set by the Lifesavas, totally forgot about chickening out.
Saturday-Swan Island Crit
It was already 75 degrees when we woke up on Saturday morning at 8am and the weather was projected to reach 102 by mid-afternoon. Not the best conditions for a bike race, but I've survived for six hours at altitude bleeding out of my face during a half-ironman, so I figured that I could survive a 30 minute bike race.
My goals were simple goals: stay upright and finish with the group. I chatted with Coco before the race and told her that if I could hold my own in the group, I would try and do a few lead-outs for her and Tamara on the points laps and at the finish. They have been participating in the Cat 4 women's series that has been going on all summer and both needed the points for the series. As I figured my only goal was to not make a total ass out of myself, I should help them out if I could.
It took about two laps for me to feel comfortable in the group, which was about 22 riders deep. It didn't take long to figure out (1) whose wheels I didn't want to be on and (2) that I was much more comfortable cornering than the majority of the field. The pace would surge on the straightaways and settle back on the backside. I really didn't even feel like I was working that hard, so when the bell rung on the first points lap, I surged to the front and picked up the pace considerably. Tamara and Coco immediately jumped on my wheel and I pulled them 3/4 of the way around before they jumped out front and took the lap. I was worried that the field would keep the pace high and I wouldn't get enough time to recover, but everyone slowed up again once we started cornering again.
I really don't specifically recall much of what happened between the first prime lap and the bell lap. I tried to stay near the front to protect Coco's wheel and was able to react quickly each time the Ironclad ladies sent someone off the front. I was actually surprised when the lap card read 2 laps to the finish, because I had anticipated being in a lot more discomfort by the end of the race. I therefore decided that I was going to see what sort of trouble I could cause in the final lap. Into the first corner I swung wide, accelerated and once I got up to Tamara and Coco, hollered at them to jump on. I held the front coming into the home stretch until my vision went spotty. Once the ladies started to sprint around me, I sat up and just spun into the finish. Tamara and Coco finished like second and fifth. Turns out that Tamara didn't react quickly enough to my jump and the women that ended up winning the race got the prime spot on my wheel.
D was marshaling one of the corners and said that every time I threw down and went off the front, that there was some suffering in the pack. I ended up finishing 16th or something, but was pleased as punch that I was not only able to hang on, but was able to really affect the outcome of the race. And I had so much fun that I immediately decided to sign up for the Cat 4 race at the OBRA state championships the next day.
Cat 4 OBRA State Championship Crit
The Cat 4 Race on Sunday was only 20 minutes, so I figured that although the 30 minutes on Saturday had worked me over a bit, that I could at least sit in for a shorter race. The Cat 4s raced with the 40+ and 50+ masters. My teammate Jan joined in for the masters race. Jan is a spectacular crit racer and I figured I could learn a lot just by watching to see what she did. I told her "just tell me what to do....I'll do whatever you tell me".
D and I had discussed strategy that morning. Right now I don't have the skills to contest a pack sprint, but I am a confident bike handler and have that TT motor in my backyard. So the plan was to stay near the front, help Jan out if I could and then just throw the hammer down on the last lap, take the corners really tight and see what happened.
The first lap was the worst. The Swan Island Crit is more like PIR--the corners were really loose and easy to pedal through. This course, in contrast had 6 corners and although the road was wide, the corners were tighter. Most of the ladies weren't taking the best line and seemed uncomfortable when Jan brought things closer to the curb on a few laps. I filed that away in my brain, thinking that it would come in handy at some point. Jeff and Beth were on first corner and D between the last two. Whatever they told me to do, I did.
Jan surged a couple of times, but the overall pace was pretty slow through the technical sections. I got sick of that pretty quickly and on the first prime lap, went to the front and upped the pace just a bit to string people out a bit. Into the last corner, I hear Jan yell "Go HARD Lindsay, go hard".... I ramped up the pace again, which enabled Jan to launch a solo attack for several laps and pick up both primes. Kick ass.
I tried to move to the front so that I could slow things down for Jan while she was on the attack, but just couldn't find enough space. Jan got tired and let us catch her with 3 laps to go. Again, I wasn't feeling uncomfortable at all, so going into the bell lap, I moved up to the front and drove the pace for the entire lap. I took all of the corners tight to the curb so if anyone was going to pass me, they would have to swing wide and take a longer line.
It was so damn cool to come into the finish stretch and see nothing ahead of me except for the finish line. Which got closer and closer without anyone catching me. With about 50 meters to go, I could see someone off to my left side. I stood up to sprint...and my left foot popped out of my pedal. (inner monologue: "fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck"). It took two or three more rotations to clip back in, but at that point she had a wheel length on me. If there had been 10 more meters past the finish line, I would have caught back up. But holy shit...second place! I have never been that close to winning a bike race. Beth went ape shit when I crossed the line. It was so awesome.
Turned out that my attack was also great lead-out for Jan, who finished fourth overall and first in her masters category. And it also managed to string out the field enough that I had some room to react when my foot came out.
So I think I reallllly like crit racing. Too bad the crit season is over for the year. But I'm now feeling really good about my fitness for cross season and am glad that I found a silver lining to the cloud of "can't mountain bike again until next year."
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