“It never gets easier, you just go faster.”

 “It never gets easier, you just go faster.” Greg LeMond. In my case it’s “they” who go faster.

I didn’t know if I was going to race until the end of my pre-ride; two days previous I couldn't put weight on my left foot. My foot is Injured – not sure how – maybe I just over did it? In the previous few weeks I rode the Ididaride and the ADK 80K, banged my head on a tree (not that this has anything to do with my foot), participated in a cyclocross clinic, rode the Mohawk-Hudson Century, and then helped a friend load hay into his barn -- all along with a few training rides sprinkled in between. I've read that the first step to recovery is getting past the denial that you’re injured. At the end of my pre-ride, my foot felt fine; evidently I’m not injured (or still in denial).

The race started about normal; the hole-shot could have been mine if I wanted risk life and limb (the

photo of the first turn tells a different story) – I chose to go wide and avoid the gravel, exiting the first curve in third. No problem, just maintain contact with the leaders – cook book. That seemed to work in Cat 5. I quickly discovered that Cat 4-5 was a whole new recipe (for disaster).  It rained the day before and the course was soft. Things slowed down as soon as the race went off-road. By things, I mean me. Racers started passing me like sedans passing long-haulers in the Pennsylvania hills. These Cat 4-5 guys have a much higher power to weight ratio than I’m used to.

I consider myself skilled with the technical parts of cyclocross racing, so I cannot explain why, on the first lap, I dismounted a full three strides early at the barriers. I sort of redeemed myself in the shallow hollow taped to kind of mimic a half-pipe feature – shift, shift and shift – you could accelerate all the way through that feature. Beyond the “half-pipe”, there were a couple reversed banked curves. I caught riders every lap in these two sections of technical riding.

Things that worked well:  My nutrition. A bowl of oatmeal loaded nuts and berries, and sweetened with pure Vermont maple syrup two hours before go time and then a GU Roctane at T – 15 for the excellent start; and my new Colnago World Cup.  I didn’t seem to have any problems on the short punchy climbs – the World Cup geometry is kick; and shouldering the Colnago was a very natural motion – balanced and always falling right into position.

 

Things that didn't work so well: My legs. In the end power to weight ratio trumped technical riding

skills. My race warm-up; it was less than half the length it should have been. That’s a lesson I learned last year and then ignored by doing just one lap to qualify my foot.  My foot; it blew up. Turns out I do have an injured foot.

All in all, things went pretty well. I lost to many more than I want to–but beat a few racers that I didn't think I could beat. I’ll take it.

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It’s a bitch of a sport, but it’s worth a try...

“It’s a bitch of a sport, but it’s worth a try, because if you accomplish something that you never knew was possible, you’ll always have a reason to swing for the fences.” Phil Gaimon wrote in his epilogue to Pro Cycling on $10 a Day. Phil’s book is an account of his incredible and successful pursuit to be a pro cyclist. I finished Phil’s book the weekend of the ADK 80K.

This was the second year of the ADK 80K. Jen and I, again, raced in the cyclocross duo category. Last year we were the only cyclocrossing duo; this year we were the only cyclocrossers, period! When this race factoid was mentioned at the award ceremony, there was a comment from the peanut gallery – “That’s because they didn't learn last year”. Things I remember:

There was a guy, who I caught on my first lap, with a jersey that proclaimed “train with purpose”.  Wait a minute, I just wrote in my last race report that my ski coach, Joe, always tells his students to “ski with purpose”. For some reason, like yellow shoes, I found this bothersome. I thought to myself – I’m going to make this guy lose with purpose.  I passed him cresting a hill, out descended him on my cross bike and then dropped him like a hot potato (“potatoe” if you have presidential aspirations) on the next climb.

There was a maple tree sap line (plastic hose) partially unearthed and nearly parallel with the trail; to the mountain biker – non-issue; to the cyclocrosser – issue.  Nuclear fission and resultant neutrons coursing through a reactor core popped into my mind.  To the mountain biker the sap line was like most materials where Neutrons readily pass right through. To the cyclocrosser the sap line was Hydrogen, hit it and you’re instantly changing direction and loosing energy.

On the last climb up Main Street, I asked myself “why am I doing this?” I’m finishing the last half of the last lap, I’m racing no one and I’m in pain – Sisu came to mind. A Finnish word with no direct translation used to express stubborn determination. That’s what I had, a stubborn determination to finish strong and respectfully. Turns out Jen and I had a very respectable finish time.

 

I was glad to have had disc brakes on my cross bike. More than I want to admit, rattling down the rocky descents, I lost my grip on the bars and break levers. The rate of acceleration resulting from loss of control of the brake levers was panic attack invoking. Being able to stem my acceleration with one brake saved me more than once.

“That’s because they didn't learn last year” is what the peanut gallery responded. I’d like to think that Jen and I continue to “swing for the fences.”