The real report

Okay.

Lunch time.

Need to fire up the nuker and warm some pasta up.

In the mean time. I do feel a slightly more proper race report is due than the thoughts and comments tossed up there.

Who knows how long I was stopped at the lowest point there on Meeting house road helping change the flat. And no, it didn't occur to me to just give mark the pump and tube and ride off in chase of my group. If I had any idea how fast and how well rested Mark was there waiting for me he would have caught me in no time and could have handed me up the pump when he passed. But no. I waited. And gave my little trusty lightweight pump a hundred or so strokes so he wouldn't cramp up too badly inflating it (yeah, maybe I should have brought the CO2). But that is such a small part of the story of the 2008 running of the Tour of the Battenkill, I dare not dwell on it too much.

Skinny Whitey picked me up Friday afternoon and us two masters cyclocrossers (one wicked fast, him, and one wicked tall, me) headed to Bennington VT where we had a room booked for the night. The trip was a breeze once we cleared the moronic back ups on the Mass Pike. Right up 22. Much faster than trying the Lenox/Pittsfield route to Salem. Conversation drifted around about cars food kids general stuff between us skinny bike racer types tipping towards the late 30s in age.

We get there. Get our rooms and head over to meet up with the rest of our team at dinner. Chow down, chat and head back to the room. Settling down to watch a bit of Hockey on TV (Red Wings vs Predators - awesome game). Regulation over and everyone else bails to their rooms, leaving skinny and me to go through the night before pre-race routine, you know, shower, shave the legs, that stuff. He finished up just as Detroit scored in OT and off i went for my round in the crappy ass bathroom with the sweet granite tub surround. Oh yeah, there was no water in there when we checked in. I guess they hadn't turned it on in that wing yet this year? Crazy.

So i get all sorted out. Get some nice badger balm rubbed into the legs and start watching a minute or two of the Ducks game, but well, my eyes were heavy and it was late. I should be able to fall right asleep. WRONG. WTF. G Damn it. Last year sharing a bed with a team mate was my excuse for not sleeping. Now a bed to myself and I still can't fall alseep? Damn it! I should just get up at 5am and drive next year. It hasn't helped that 1/2 of the nights this week were really crappy for sleep. And my routine was thrown way out of whack with spring break and all. Wouldn't trade the week for the normal routine, not at all. So I guess I must have dozed off around midnight only to wake up at pretty regular intervals, took advantage of them to drink and piss (I was well hydrated to start the race at least).

Waking up, made coffee (dissected a filter and filled it with good market coffee instead of the crap that was there). Walked over to the continental breakfast, made a nice belgian waffle, had a few hard boiled eggs an english muffin and some coffee. Talked about the pope and dopers and training and randomness with the team. Then we all rolled over to the race. Me and skinny hadn't picked up our numbers yet. And yup, sure enough, my name was highlighted and they said they needed more information from me. Ah hell what now? Oh, they just don't believe my USAC #. Yes. It is correct. Same number since '94. Yes, as Geo says, I have some old dead guy's number. Three Three Nine IS correct. Walk over to the freebies, grab two packs of Advil liquid caps some cheese and well. Time to take a leak, pin the numbers on. Down a handful yogurt sticks (stonyfield farms of course) some more water and pack the bottles on. What was in the bottles deserves a post all to itself (later).

What to wear was made easy. I wore as little as possible. jersey and shorts. Even didn't wear my faithful cotton cycling cap under the helment, just bare hair under there. Made the choice to go with the Gold Iridium lens instead of the clear I've been wearing all year, and I did one super smart thing. Sun screen. Liberally and thickly applied some Neutrogena SPF 45 to my legs neck face and arms.

What I rode was pretty easy too. The 53-42x12-27, Klein Quantum Pro (WA built) w/9sp dura-ace and Rolf Vector Pro clinchers running conti 4 season 28c. Yeah. 28s. Maybe I should have gone with a slightly skinnier tire, even though they only weigh in at 250 grams each the rolling resistance might have been a big negative, esp looking back on my 45 miles out of 55 that I rode solo. But as people were pinch flatting left and right in the first 10 miles... my wheels held air. I did stick the little orange frog from the january cross race on the stem. But he was the only thing gracing the bars this year. No speed meter, no power meter, no heart rate meter. Nutting. I race the race based on memory and knowing what turn lead to another. "racing" in segments.

So. We headed to the start. And they moved the start down to just on the road. We rolled out. It was pretty mellow. Neutral to the neutral and the pace picked up a touch but not much. It got a bit faster as we tipped down and peeled off the first road. And faster still as we approached the dirt. But it was baby smooth this year (compared to last year). Enough rocks to cause lots of *clink* *pssssssss* or maybe only a few of those. But the pace wasn't really to challenging. Lots of sudden slowing up front following accelerations (or so it seemed from my spot in the middle towards the back). But there was no giant farm equipment blocking the road, we were somewhat neutralized coming into town and things picked up barely heading towards the hill and then, well it got fast at the base of the hill. Uh Oh. I've already consumed 1/2 of a 24oz bottle and we're barely 10 miles into the race. Shit. To back up a few yards, just as we turn on to 64 I notice I'm along side C. White, I say my last words for a long time "Howz it going Whitey?" His reply was a pleasant "good, thank you". That "thank you" tossed in there says volumes. "Class act" I think as he speeds away...

Pace starts picking up. I'm jamming, standing, sitting, spinning, powering. Using what ever i got to get up. And well it was enough to get up and then enough to scream past people heading down and slow for the left turn and just nuke it to get to the hill. And I tag in to the back of the field. Saddly a little CRV like car blew past me just before the crest of the hill and proceeded to follow our race. I was thinking WTF? Who is that following, driving in the middle of our race? (the big wheel truck passed me mid climb first climb sadly). Not only that but I was catching that fahking car quickly on the dirt, and sucking his dirty dry dust leading up to the hill, and fahking it all if I didn't catch and almost pass it climbing the hill. For naught though. It zoomed past the stragglers and left not much dust in its wake, although I got close enough to notice, oh, it is our second wheel car. I passed a few folks heading down the road. I was flying, passing handfuls here and there. There was a somewhat organized group of 4 or 5 up the road, quick check behind and no organization, okay, drill it, get in on that group. WTF. Come on. Catch them! Well, I did. I caught on, but just as a trailing group got there I think, or maybe the trailing group got me just before). All together, then it pitched up a second and my efforts to bridge up alone were for naught. I lost 10 seconds, then a few more as we tipped down towards the bridge. And then yeah i chickenshitted it through the left hander onto the bridge. And then I stupidly decided to try and count how many seconds I was back of that group of 8 or more. 50-60. Uh Oh.

No one behind me that I could see. Me. Alone. Drilling it at my LT in the 53x14-15 what ever the 3rd cog is in the back. Check again. Yep still 50-60. Oh that totally sucks. They aren't getting any further away, but, that's 8 people and I'm one. That ain't good odds. Then all of a sudden some guy comes up to me, he's flying. And I jump on his wheel. And hang on. Holy crap this guy is strong. I'm sitting there, vainly searching for a draft. Absolutely NONE to be found and he isn't little, it is just the wind direction is strong enough and off center enough to fahk with me. And after a couple thousand meters of hanging on for dear life with my HR maxed out he drifts a foot ahead, then a meter and pretty soon he's gone. A faint speck ahead of me as we enter Cambridge. Alone I soldier through.

Feeling greatly relieved that the Cat 2 field has not caught me prior to going on their extended loop over the mountain. That relief drives me on. Ticking away 53x14 or the 15 back and forth, keeping that cadence as high as I can. Ticking away. Feeling pretty good for being alone and slow. Too hot. Drink more. Not too much, I should have two bottles left when I hit the feedzone. I don't. I start into the second bottle before the feed zone. I need fluid. Fuel I'm doing good with. The mix is right. I ate enough. I'm riding. I'm feeling the pain.

I notice a group behind me as the road tips up. Cool. I soft pedal a touch, resting in the 42. Waiting. They catch up. A rider in Altius kit is leading this bunch up the hill. I can ride with them up the hill, it isn't easy but the tempo won't make me blow up. Wait maybe it is easy. We scream down the hills. A band of bigger guys, absolutely cannon balls when ever the road tips down or is flat, settling into a damage limiting pace when it tips up. Perfect. I can ride with these guys. Heck maybe I'll even get to sprint for 60th place or something. One of the riders in the group is on a Trek Cross bike. No water bottle cages. one bottle tucked into his pocket. He askes everyone along the side of the road for water. He actually stops as we are beginning to crest one of the last hills on meetinghouse to get water from a house. He drops off the group. The group has whittled down. 5 of us. We tip down and see the most epic sight of the whole ride.

The looming up hill that looks like it is 10 miles long, straight up. Riders tipping over as they reach the crest. And we get to go down. SCREAMING down. The leader pauses as we cross an unmarshalled paved road. Good visibility and all clear, the rest of us swarm him.

Hey Ho, there's a ride standing at the lowest point of the dirt road. Hey, he's my team mate Mark. He shouts "Tube?", I'm going way too fast to notice much more than it is him and he isn't on his bike. I hit the brakes.

It takes a long time to slow down on that surface. I chatter and rumble off into the scrub on the side, get out of the hard pack line, let the guys get past me. And I do stop. Finally. Turn around and ride back and dig out the stuff.

Just as I'm getting back to Mark the Trek cyclocross bike riding guy passes.

We get it changed, he remarks, well now starts the Tour of Battenkill. No more race. I'm thinking, cool, we can ride back together. We don't. He gets a good 50 meters on me by the top of the climb. And after the next climb? He is gone. I pick off one or two riders here and there. But not really. Speeds are so disparate at this time working together isn't a reality.

I plug along. Turning as big a gear as I can but working to keep the cadence above 80 or so. Staying at LT. Getting as small and aero as I can when ever the road tips down. Resting only when it tips down enough.

And I start needing water. I've got 1/2 of each bottle left. I slowly consume all but 1/2 of one before greenwich. Holding off drinking more because, well I've still got a fair bit to go and one killer dirt climb left.

At one point I see littered curvy poland spring bottles on the side of the road. most are empty but some are 1/2 full. I contemplate stopping and dumping them over my head. Even start thinking about drinking them. But I keep doing. Big ring ticking over. No stop. Must ride. Ride ride ride. Keep pushing.

The whole race I kept thinking "already here?" "this is going by fast". It was remarkable in a way how quickly the miles slipped under my wheels.

Push, okay that's the lactic burn, ease off just a touch, okay, that hurts but I can keep this up. I ride. Greenwich salvation appeared. Brilliant glowing angels on the side of the road with bottles of Poland Spring water. "CAPS LOOSE" they shout offering bottles up. I grab one, stick it in my mouth and grab a second from a surprised younger female angel at the end of the row. I down them both. Quickly. Stuffing the empty crushed bottle in my left pocket, not wishing to toss them out near the Kill. I feel better. Joy returns. The rushing water of the Kill doesn't look nearly as delicious as it did on the run into Greenwich.

Thank you angels of Greenwich. Thank you.

I soldier on. I catch up to the Trek cyclocross guy. I ride off the shoulder chatting with him. Comment, no worries, my other bike is a cross bike. He says "My only bike is a cross bike." That's why he is riding it in the race. I must keep my pace up. He drops off behind me quickly. But he is also grateful to the angels of Greenwich. Hydration really is salvation in that kind of heat. Esp for us bigger types.

I roll through. The road tips up. I see Hannah heading the wrong direction. Huh? What is she doing? Did she finish already? Odd.

I keep going up it seems. Gently though. The feed zone. Is it right after the police station? Maybe. None-the-less I toss the two crushed bottles into the end of the feedzone, i hope some nice caring person wasn't grumbling when they picked them up.

Head down I motored on. Alone. No tunes in my head. Just the rhythm of the legs. And the sun beating down.

Finally. The turn.

And wow, what a mess. A good thousand skinny tires had probably gone through already, churning the loose mess into a powdery mix of big rocks and sketchiness. But I kept going. Traction wasn't anywhere near a problem. I hear a car.

Shit.

It can't be.

I look back. Yellow lights on the roof, scooby. Cool maybe it is another mail car. I try to take the least challenging lines on the right side of the road. It gets closer, starts to pass me, it is the Cat 4 BLACK car. Black? They started behind the Red group. Oh SHIT.

I look back. No one.

WTF.

Where's the field?

Where is the breakaway rider?

Nothing. Yet this lead car is determined to create as much dust as possible for me and the guy up ahead of me to breath. I say eff this and crank over to the left side, just upwind enough to clear the air slightly and I match that car's pace. I follow it. Digging down, riding to it, I get closer. The car passes someone else. I think I passed it, but maybe not, we hit the pavement. I see a guy coming through who's going faster than me. The pace car picks up speed and the odd pair of car and lone cyclist churn up the paved section of the final climb. Closely behind follows the Cat 4 Red lead car and a few riders. We crest the hill. And it tips down. I'm MUCH bigger than anyone there. I come just SCREAMING past a kid who'd just passed me. easily 10+ mph passing him at the start of the hill and I just let it go. Flying. Soon though, we turn. And that means no more flying down hill.

It means pain. My foot is hurting. My right foot. Inflammation in the ball of my foot. It feels like there is blood pouring out of my toes. I've felt this before, but in my left foot. This sucks. But I just loosen the straps and keep pedaling. Soon a bigger chase group from the 4 Reds passes through me, they have a wheel car. A jeep I think. I sit in the car's draft. I don't know if the car likes that or not, but I do. I'm bummed. I didn't want to get passed by the following groups. That meant I lost a ton of time. More time than I cared to try and calculate.

I thought for a moment: "If i hadn't stopped to help mark, I might not have been caught." But i quickly dismissed that as ridiculous. That is a pretty shitty way to think. I am honestly very happy to have been able to offer help to a friend. Happy to have been caught by the Cat 4 break aways.

Then I hear another car. My god it is coming at me quickly. Holy Shit. No. No no no. it is the 40+. The tail gunning field. The last guys on the course. Funk and Bold. Just fahking DRILLING IT. ZOOM. They are gone. Wow. W.O.W.

I struggle on. A group a 4s comes through at some point. I try to stay out of the sprinting shenanigans. I think i was successful at that. I cross the line, hoping the cameras and the officials get my number. And I roll on back to the car.

Nathan is there with a bottle of cold water. It was great. I was cooked. My back was killing me, my foot hurt, I was nearly out of water. It hurt to breath. But.

I finished.

I swore to never racing in weather that hot again. (A solid lie but hey it sounds good at the time and makes sense for some big guy like me).

We sat around... i had few words to offer... my time, my placing, getting passed by groups turned down the fun meter. But the fun meter never really hit "un-fun" it just hung out in the middle somewhere. Stoically indifferent with a fun leaning angle.

I have no idea how long I was stopped. it wasn't a record fast tube change. Maybe 3-4 minutes? It might change my average speed a touch. But it matters little.

I popped 800 mg of Vitamin I (ibuprofen to be specific) and a couple bottles of water before we headed off to the Burger Den. And then sunday morning I popped 800 mg of the Advil Liquid gel samples from the race. Pain? Nothing lingering.

The race didn't really seem to take that long. Barely any time at all. If I had put a slightly thicker sock on my feet probably would have survived. If I had put more than 2 hours on the Quantum Pro at a time I might have made it through w/o the back pain. If i had actually carried through and done the east side hill repeats on a weekly basis instead of just once, if if if.

Lots of ifs.

Lessons learned. Right?

I learned that yes, Skinny and G-Ride probably have the best coffee machine in the world and yes now I do want one. What ever it is that they have (all i know is the particulars of how it works and what ya do - push a button - no idea what brand/make/model).

The outcome of the race certainly pushes me so far solidly towards Mt Biking that I wonder what in the world possessed me to start racing on the road. I should have stuck with my Michigan Mt Biking side as a Cyclcross compliment.

I stick pretty solidly by my first feeling. I would love another shot at this race. I will not give it a shot if it is this warm again.
I think i would have much more fun donning the orange suit and handing bottles out to the gang. Making it a game day choice even. There were many people who started that didn't finish. It is an honor to be among those who finished. It was a wicked challenging day esp when matched up with the caliber of the field.

And that was my race.

I think. Bits might be out of order slightly. It was written as well as I could recall it.

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