Thursday, July 30, 2009
24 Hours of 9 Mile Forest
We (Me, Big Steve, and Josh) rolled into Wausau, WI last Friday ‘round 2pm and found ourselves at a primo campsite near the last bend in the race course. The vibe was subdued due to a smaller turnout for the event than normal. At the end of the day, there were over 300 teams registered, but it just didn’t seem that big because the camping is well dispersed. Granny Gear took over the event this year, and that didn’t go over so well with many value-oriented ‘Sconnies. All in all, it made for great racing, very quiet night laps, and if they learn from their mistakes this year, the event will be back to where it used to be within a year or two.
What happened can only be described in the context of a perfect storm – the good kind of storm that soaks drought stricken fields and breathes life into corn crops across Iowa in July. We had temps in the 60’s which aided hydration, 24 hour support before, during, and after the race from Big Steve with an assist from PMFT (Phil My Favorite Tool), no significant mechanical issues, and I had a partner that was as stubborn about hammering this out as I was. We had very few words at the exchange tent….just “nice lap”, or “go get it”, or “good work”. No drama, no crying, no bitching, just poker faces that said let’s do this.
Goooo! I was the runner for the LeMans start, and I was off the back of the pack within 100 yards. I learned my lesson at the 24 Hours of Moab last fall by sprinting and I never recovered. Yeah, I lost a couple of minutes, but big whoop – there were 23 hours and 58 minutes left. So I hopped on Big Steve’s rigid singlespeed Raleigh which has a lot going for it – except for the fact that the seatpost slips. My hamstrings were taking the brunt of the damage, and we were in 6th place after my lap. Josh put a good time in and got us into 3rd after his turn. I switched bikes after my second lap to Big Steve’s Salsa Dos Niner and that was the ticket for me. No seatpost issues and some suspension up front. I was dialed.
We sat in 3rd until dark when we made the leap to first place when other teams began doubling up laps to get some sleep for the other rider. Not us. Me, Josh, Me, Josh…..no variations from the order, no sleep, and everything was about routine and as Coach Steve said “I want you to give me 75% on every lap”. What coach says that? A damn good one, because once you blow in a race like this, it’s over. I’d finish a lap, Steve would wash the bike, tune it – all the while I’d stretch, put my legs up, and cram down as much food as I could in an hour. I ate seven sandwiches, fruit, salty shit, chicken breasts caveman-style, and the occasional licorice vine. One sandwich had bread totally soaked and soggy from the rain, but it didn’t matter. The white paste balled up and I choked it down with a smile. I was laughing inside about basically being able to eat the ass out of a rhino without much care or concern.
4am came and went and we were still a half hour up and that feeling of the sun coming up soon and wrapping up the event carried me through the pre-dawn dampness. Seeing the other teams not giving up was motivation to keep throwing down laps. PMFT woke up from a nap and was at camp then. He didn’t say much, but he didn’t have to. It was just about having another human up and alive to remind me that not everyone was asleep at this insane hour at that riding a bike in a forest of pitch black was a normal thing to do.
After 24 hours, we finished with a 35 minute lead over the second place team. We covered 255 miles over 18 laps of a 14+ mile twisty course that kept you on your toes. Sweet Sara, we won the G-Damn race! In 12 years of racing, that’s my first, first place ever in a non-age group event. Josh said about a month before that we would win it, and it happened.
What happened can only be described in the context of a perfect storm – the good kind of storm that soaks drought stricken fields and breathes life into corn crops across Iowa in July. We had temps in the 60’s which aided hydration, 24 hour support before, during, and after the race from Big Steve with an assist from PMFT (Phil My Favorite Tool), no significant mechanical issues, and I had a partner that was as stubborn about hammering this out as I was. We had very few words at the exchange tent….just “nice lap”, or “go get it”, or “good work”. No drama, no crying, no bitching, just poker faces that said let’s do this.
Goooo! I was the runner for the LeMans start, and I was off the back of the pack within 100 yards. I learned my lesson at the 24 Hours of Moab last fall by sprinting and I never recovered. Yeah, I lost a couple of minutes, but big whoop – there were 23 hours and 58 minutes left. So I hopped on Big Steve’s rigid singlespeed Raleigh which has a lot going for it – except for the fact that the seatpost slips. My hamstrings were taking the brunt of the damage, and we were in 6th place after my lap. Josh put a good time in and got us into 3rd after his turn. I switched bikes after my second lap to Big Steve’s Salsa Dos Niner and that was the ticket for me. No seatpost issues and some suspension up front. I was dialed.
We sat in 3rd until dark when we made the leap to first place when other teams began doubling up laps to get some sleep for the other rider. Not us. Me, Josh, Me, Josh…..no variations from the order, no sleep, and everything was about routine and as Coach Steve said “I want you to give me 75% on every lap”. What coach says that? A damn good one, because once you blow in a race like this, it’s over. I’d finish a lap, Steve would wash the bike, tune it – all the while I’d stretch, put my legs up, and cram down as much food as I could in an hour. I ate seven sandwiches, fruit, salty shit, chicken breasts caveman-style, and the occasional licorice vine. One sandwich had bread totally soaked and soggy from the rain, but it didn’t matter. The white paste balled up and I choked it down with a smile. I was laughing inside about basically being able to eat the ass out of a rhino without much care or concern.
4am came and went and we were still a half hour up and that feeling of the sun coming up soon and wrapping up the event carried me through the pre-dawn dampness. Seeing the other teams not giving up was motivation to keep throwing down laps. PMFT woke up from a nap and was at camp then. He didn’t say much, but he didn’t have to. It was just about having another human up and alive to remind me that not everyone was asleep at this insane hour at that riding a bike in a forest of pitch black was a normal thing to do.
After 24 hours, we finished with a 35 minute lead over the second place team. We covered 255 miles over 18 laps of a 14+ mile twisty course that kept you on your toes. Sweet Sara, we won the G-Damn race! In 12 years of racing, that’s my first, first place ever in a non-age group event. Josh said about a month before that we would win it, and it happened.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
It Never Ends
As I watched the Giro d'Italia this past May - riding on a trainer at night during numerous stages - I watched one of my favorite cyclists riding aggressively, forcefully, and darn near winning the race. Danilo DiLuca. Heck, my daughter even started following DiLuca because she loved the fact that he had to wear pink spandex as the race leader, and it was fun pronouncing his name. So, it comes as no surprise today that DiLuca tested positive for performance-enhancing CERA twice during the Giro. "The Killer" as he's strangely referred to since he's all of 5'6" and a buck thirty soaking wet, had made a huge comeback at the Giro - and obviously it was, well, too huge.
It may never end even when Lance comes clean some day. They always do. The guilt, it's just too much to take. Rebellin, Hamilton, Kohl, Riis, Ricco, Andreau, Ullrich, Valverde, Heras, Mancebo, Pantani, Millar, Virenque, Basso, even poster boy Eric Zabel.....just to name a few. And Lance crushed them all for 8 straight years with a high Vo2, carmichael training, and a bit of luck.
It may never end even when Lance comes clean some day. They always do. The guilt, it's just too much to take. Rebellin, Hamilton, Kohl, Riis, Ricco, Andreau, Ullrich, Valverde, Heras, Mancebo, Pantani, Millar, Virenque, Basso, even poster boy Eric Zabel.....just to name a few. And Lance crushed them all for 8 straight years with a high Vo2, carmichael training, and a bit of luck.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Highs and Lows
It was 54 degrees when I left Flagstaff at 6am yesterday. When I stepped out of my car in Phoenix at 9am it was well over 90. Meetings wrapped up around 2pm and I was in my car headed back north. It was 110 and it took my little baby Kia a good while to cool the cab down. Back in Flag at 5pm to light rain.....so what better way to relax than a ride through the forest in the rain. I got home around 7pm, soaked to the bone. My bud Ellsie rolled over to drop his dog off and he was wearing a fleece jacket. It was 51 degrees, raining, and - cold. We're getting rain all week so it should be good prep for the race this Saturday in Wausau, WI.
My little Kia worked hard in that heat. I think she needs a beer, not me. Maybe I'll treat her to some 91 octane this week.
My little Kia worked hard in that heat. I think she needs a beer, not me. Maybe I'll treat her to some 91 octane this week.
Friday, July 17, 2009
My little softball lovin’ sweetie spent another evening on the field. This time, they had more of a ‘game type’ practice and got to get into some situational instruction. Tonight it’s a full on 9 inning game, and a ½ game against the little league boys. They beat the boys in some catching/running drills last night, so the game tonight should be pretty fun to watch.
Once again, I snuck off into the woods for 1.5 hours of bike practice and had a blast trying to find the right balance between rolling a tire off my front and rear rims versus achieving the highest speed possible in the curves. I never completely rolled one off, but I definitely burped air trying. First at 24 psi, and finally down to around 18 before I came damn close to losing too much air, and – GASP! – having to stop and pump up a tire! Oh the problems middle age white guys have sometimes. I do love testing the limits of shocks, wheels, tires, etc….the occasional crash is well worth knowing what works and what doesn’t. A few days back I rolled up on some shuttlers (you know, guys who get a ride to the top, and bomb down on true downhill bikes). They were gathered at a large jump over a gap with a quick banked turn heading left and one of the guys, after much discussion, took off towards the jump – launched it, did a 90 degree turn mid-air, and landed at an angle smack into a banked turn stopping on a dime. The compression used every millimeter of his suspension. I can’t imagine what his back felt like. But the frame didn’t break. I’ll leave that kind of testing to him. Me like my frame, and me don’t want to buy a new one, or a new back for that matter.
"Dad! We beat the boys!"
She was pretty excited....
Once again, I snuck off into the woods for 1.5 hours of bike practice and had a blast trying to find the right balance between rolling a tire off my front and rear rims versus achieving the highest speed possible in the curves. I never completely rolled one off, but I definitely burped air trying. First at 24 psi, and finally down to around 18 before I came damn close to losing too much air, and – GASP! – having to stop and pump up a tire! Oh the problems middle age white guys have sometimes. I do love testing the limits of shocks, wheels, tires, etc….the occasional crash is well worth knowing what works and what doesn’t. A few days back I rolled up on some shuttlers (you know, guys who get a ride to the top, and bomb down on true downhill bikes). They were gathered at a large jump over a gap with a quick banked turn heading left and one of the guys, after much discussion, took off towards the jump – launched it, did a 90 degree turn mid-air, and landed at an angle smack into a banked turn stopping on a dime. The compression used every millimeter of his suspension. I can’t imagine what his back felt like. But the frame didn’t break. I’ll leave that kind of testing to him. Me like my frame, and me don’t want to buy a new one, or a new back for that matter.
"Dad! We beat the boys!"She was pretty excited....
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Softball Nights Under the Lights
Lyza has a softball camp M-F from 6pm - 9pm this week, and it has been great. 16 girls from age 7-13 having a great time learning all of the fundamentals of softball and incorporating plenty of fun skils challenges along the way. I think she may have found one sport that really fits for her alongside soccer. It's been so great to watch her grasp the benefits of a team, and realize how she can learn from others - I think for her being one of the youngest players in the camp has been great too because she's not even close to being the best on the field. It's nice to get your ass handed to you from time to time. It's important, really.
Now, I can't sit on my ass in the bleachers for 3 hours over 5 days like the Katie Couric Moms and the overzealous Dads, so I have managed to squeeze in a 1-1.5 hour ride each night on the Campbell Mesa trail system just behind the fields. Campbell Mesa is flatter than Nebraska, but once you are off the Mesa you can dive down into Walnut Canyon - a place where I have had many, many strange experiences with my bud Scottie and solo on night rides. In the daylight however, the Indian burial grounds don't seem to mess with me much. The drop into Walnut Canyon is a doozie, with 20+ drops all steep enough to scrape your chainring if you're not picking the right line. Step/drop/step/drop, switchback, full brake skid into a 120 degree turn, step/drop/step/drop. Good times, but it means I'm straight hiking with my bike on my shoulder on the return trip. Back on the Mesa and I see a herd of at least 100 elk. I took a pic with my cell phone, but it looks like a single brown pixel a million miles away.
Quick change out of the stretchy goofy costume, and back to the softball practice. They played a scrimmage for the last hour and Lyza (aka Laser - as all the girls now have nicknames) plucked a pitch out of the air with her bat and got her first single. D rolled in with a few slices of pizza, and we had a good time under the lights watching the drama unfold.
Now, I can't sit on my ass in the bleachers for 3 hours over 5 days like the Katie Couric Moms and the overzealous Dads, so I have managed to squeeze in a 1-1.5 hour ride each night on the Campbell Mesa trail system just behind the fields. Campbell Mesa is flatter than Nebraska, but once you are off the Mesa you can dive down into Walnut Canyon - a place where I have had many, many strange experiences with my bud Scottie and solo on night rides. In the daylight however, the Indian burial grounds don't seem to mess with me much. The drop into Walnut Canyon is a doozie, with 20+ drops all steep enough to scrape your chainring if you're not picking the right line. Step/drop/step/drop, switchback, full brake skid into a 120 degree turn, step/drop/step/drop. Good times, but it means I'm straight hiking with my bike on my shoulder on the return trip. Back on the Mesa and I see a herd of at least 100 elk. I took a pic with my cell phone, but it looks like a single brown pixel a million miles away.
Quick change out of the stretchy goofy costume, and back to the softball practice. They played a scrimmage for the last hour and Lyza (aka Laser - as all the girls now have nicknames) plucked a pitch out of the air with her bat and got her first single. D rolled in with a few slices of pizza, and we had a good time under the lights watching the drama unfold.
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