“[Trophies] to all my friends!” - Henry Chinaski (Mickey Rourke), Bar Fly

Nineteen (19) HRRT members raced at the 2015 edition of the Hardcore 24 (HC24). The nineteen riders organized themselves into six (6) teams, covering five (5) race categories. Every single HRRT member ended up on a podium with a trophy – not just a participation trophy, a trophy that was earned. Just as Henry Chinaski explained in Barfly "… anybody can be a non-drunk. It takes a special talent to be a drunk – It takes endurance.” the same is true for mountain biking. Anybody can be a non-24 hour racer. It takes a special talent to be a 24 hour racer.

More than anything I am deeply appreciative to the Hardcore 24 race promoters, lead by Mark (Swarty) Swarthout, for continuing to open-heartedly support a race format that uniquely caters to a diverse community of riders: first-timers to the hardened endurance racer; hammer-heads to the stop-and-smell-the-roses pleasure rider; three generations of riders all riding the same course over the same twenty-four hour period, all kicked off with a Friday evening bike parade to the overlook to watch the sunset. It is a perfect pairing with HRRT's philosophy of building a cycling community. Lucky for me, it's also my favorite race format. The most common first response to a displayed interest in 24 hour mountain bike racing is “you must be crazy.” Henry Chinaski says "Some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must lead."

As for my five person mixed team, it was a wild ride well before the clouds burst open and turned the newly sculpted trails into a giant seven mile long slip and slide. Ten days before the race, during the HRRT HC24 kickoff party, we had secured our final two team members. The day before the race, we were again short two team members. On race day morning I was able to shanghai a runner and a father of a HRRT junior rider to once again fill out the team – just two hours to the starting bell.

The runner, we'll call her Erin since that's her name, was at the HC24 supporting a friend who was riding with another of the HRRT teams. Erin was planning on having a nice relaxing weekend with only an eight mile training road run planned for Sunday. Erin, however, could not resist the lure of the HC24 goody bag: a $10-of-food coupon from the Marty’s Meat truck, a HC24 sponsor swag raffle ticket worth who knows what, a very collectible HC24 tie dyed t-shirt, a jar of peanut butter, and a chance at a coveted HC24 podium spot and a trophy. The peanut butter was the clincher.

Tom, on the other hand, just needed to have a foot size close to anyone with an extra pair of shoes – 9-1/2. Bingo! Tom (owner of Chatham Brewery and a proud sponsor of HRRT) and Sara had stopped by the HC24 to drop off their son and then planned to spend a couple days touring the Finger Lake's country-side. Tom and Sara agreed to Tom riding the first lap for our team – just a short four hour delay to their weekend plans.

Lastly, it was just the matter of selling the concept of allowing Erin to run a lap for our team. Swarty agreed. We had our final roster: three old men, each nursing a shoulder injury, a sponsor with no riding equipment of his own, and a runner willing to substitute a trail run for her planned road run.

Three up, three down. Tom did the first lap, as was agreed, and was off to enjoy what was left of his weekend touring the Finger Lakes. Erin then took the baton and ran a lap. After the lap, Erin couldn't put on her running shoes for the rest of the day. Chuck went third, bounced off a tree, and by the end of his lap could no longer grip a handle bar with his left hand. Or shift. Or brake. The other Don and I took the reins and figured we had a long rest-of-the-day ahead of us.

You know when you're speeding along on an express subway train late at night and all there is to break the monotony of the darkened tunnel and the random passing of a forgotten construction bulb, is the periodic subway platform with its florescent lights and signage, and your brain, like a camera, trying to capture all the information that it can before the shutter closes. That's how I remember the balance of the 24 hours. I remember Don and I agreed to double up on laps so that we could get some rest time between turns. I remember Tom reappeared out of nowhere around 7PM to contribute two more laps. I remember feeling a drop of rain and recalling that the forecast had predicted rain by 1AM. I remember the long-haired hippie dude at 2AM saying “sleep is for the weak”. I remember crawling into my car at 3AM to get some desperately needed sleep because I was getting weak and Jen was going to wake me at 4AM to do a lap together. I remember riding a couple of laps with Jennifer one at sunrise – a total treat. I remember turning in my ankle bracelet timing chip. I remember being handed a trophy and a bottle of wine and thinking life is really good.

Henry Chinaski says, “This is a world where everybody's gotta do something. Y'know, somebody laid down this rule that everybody's gotta do something, they gotta be something. You know, a dentist, a glider pilot, a narc, a janitor, a preacher, all that.” This weekend, my something was a 24-hour racer.

See more photos here

“As long as you've got the bars you're in control.”

“... There's a place that serves as a home for children to become independent and for adults to play like children” - Leigh Donovan

WHO CAN ENTER THE BLACK FLY CHALLENGE?

Whether you’re a serious competitor or an amateur cyclist, a unicyclist, tandem team, mountain biker or cyclocross rider, the Black Fly Challenge is an adventure that will test your stamina and strength over 40 miles of varying terrain, elevation gains and quick descents. Expect to ride over dirt, gravel, sand and around exposed boulders littered throughout the course. Retrieved from http://www.adirondackexperience.com/events/black-fly-challenge

Life is full of decisions – like cyclocross bike versus mountain bike versus unicycle versus fat bike versus tandem bike. A comparison sort is a sorting algorithm that reads a list of elements through a single abstract comparison operation (for example: what will be more fun?) and determines which of two elements should occur first in the final sorted list. I employ a comparison sort to help me decide which type of bike to ride. While the bulk of BFC competitors meet the challenge of the Black Fly with a mountain bike, my comparison sort results specified that I ride a cyclocross bike for the 20^th running of the Black Fly Challenge (with the unicycle coming in dead last, since I can’t ride a unicycle and the tandem bike was out, since I couldn’t figure out what to do with that second seat).

The first Black Fly (BFC) Challenge was held in 1996, with a total of 60 competitors. The BFC field of competitors has grown annually since that time and is now one of HRRT's most anticipated summer events. This year, at the race start, a bullpen of hundreds of competitors from around the country sang happy birthday to some guy named Don; finishing the serenade just in time for the 10 second to start countdown – best birthday ride start ever.

The profile of the BFC race course is sorta like a teenager's forehead; an unsightly boil flanked by numerous pimples. The first 20 miles of the race was to the head of the boil and was fairly uneventful: a few miles of tarmac, followed by well graded dirt, continuing onto not so well graded dirt, culminating in an arduous exposed bolder riddled dirt climb to the course's apex. The first twenty miles, predominantly climby, also offered an excellent opportunity to demonstrate the virtues of a cyclocross bike – a Colnago World Cup with a gravel grinder tweak by Jen. The 11-28 cassette was traded for a 12-30 version. My Stan's Ironcross wheels were mounted with thirty-five millimeter file tread tires and inflated to 50psig.

By the twenty mile point in the race, I had down-selected the surrounding competition to three rabbits against whom I'd pace myself. The first rabbit cramped at mile 28, the beginning of the climb up one of the many pimples; rabbit number two fell off the back at mile 34, ascending the last of the larger pimples; the third rabbit, a mountain bike endurance racer who's wheel I never dreamed I could keep in sight, became my mark.

I once heard a wise man say “As long as you've got the bars you're in control.”- Krispy Baughman in Third Down a film by Thor Wixom and Phil Edlefson (2002)

At the start of the BFC there were the general precautionary statements: make sure everyone has a number plate with a chip, be cool for the mass start – everyone will be on course within a couple minutes, blah, blah, someone pre-riding hit some rocks, crashed bad and broke their back two days ago, blah... What was that? Someone broke their back and was airlifted out? What rocks? Exactly where are these rocks? They're on the back side of the last big pimple? I followed my mark over the head of that last big pimple a foot from their wheel. “Pick a clean line.” were the last words I said as I tucked in behind the endurance mountain biker for the descent. This is where the virtues of the mountain bike shone brightly.

Bam! I was straddling my top tub, both feet off the pedals, chain dragging the ground, hanging onto my curly bars with a death grip. I didn't see what I had hit or how I'd hit it. I wasn't sure that my bike was still in one piece – it wouldn’t be the first bike to disintegrate out from under me. All I knew was that I had to slow my rig down. Have I ever mentioned how much I appreciate disc brakes? By the end of my four second near death experience, I had somehow slowed the rig, put a foot on a pedal, hoisted my rear end back onto the saddle, and with one spin of the crank-set re-established a working drive train. I looked around shaken and in complete disbelief that the Colnago and Stan's wheels were still in one piece and that I'd only lost twenty yards on my mark – best birthday ride near-death-experience ever.

Last year, I pre-rode the BFC course in this year's direction; This turned out to be an advantage over my mark, who was new to the Indian Lake-to-Inlet race option. I knew which of the remaining pimples in the varying terrain was the last. I stayed just out of my mark's peripheral vision and at two pedal strokes to the crown of the last of the hills, I shifted and stomped on my pedals with all I had. Luckily, I got the jump on my mark and was able to open up a sufficient gap on the final descent to maintain the lead into the last mile of the race which is single track. Once into the single track, I had a technical abilities advantage and was able to hold onto a three second lead across finish line. I ended the day with a best-race-ever feeling for a my standard mid-pack performance – best birthday ride finish ever.

See More photos here: http://www.pbase.com/j_harvey/2015_black_fly_challenge

“How sweet it is” – Jackie Gleason

Traditionally I pick trash during the first mountain bike race of the season – I planned to do the same this day. As I cruised the Schenectady Central Park (SCP) mountain bike trail system on my Colnago World Cup I noticed a couple of things: (1) the trails were at a hero dirt moisture content and (2) the HRRT NICA conglomerate race team, a.k.a “the juniors” had done a wonderful job prepping the trails for their upcoming race, including removal of a winter's worth of windblown trash.

Tree-hugger note: In past years Dunkin' Donuts took top honors for most roadside trash accumulation around SCP. Single-use packaging and the drive-through are slowly burying the world in trash.

After a couple miles of trail riding, I started to get the itch to race. Then I noticed a racer with yellow shoes. Yellow shoes are like the matador's red cape. Hero dirt, beautifully prepped trails and now yellow shod competition – who, I ask, can resist this combination of planetary alignment. Race on.

As protocol dictates (according to me), when entering a mountain bike race on a cyclocross bike one must race in either the expert or open category or you just look silly. The main goal (also according to me), is to not only do your best in your category, but also not let any of the sport category sandbaggers catch you. In this particular race the sport category started one minute after the open.

Within the first mile of the SCP trails, the trail doubles back upon itself a couple of times. It's a perfect opportunity to size up the competition. As expected, the open cat boys were starting to gap me. I also spotted the lead sportie; a guy in a orange and white kit. Back when I was just a lad, my brothers and I would ride our bike across town to the public swimming pool. It cost a quarter a day to swim. Out in front of the public swimming pool there was an ice cream vendor with a stainless steel wrapped, umbrella adorned cart. For another quarter you could have any one of the items in the cart. All the way in the bottom of the cart, hiding in the mist created by the dry-ice were paper-wrapper treats, equipped at one end with a stick. Strip down the wrapper to expose the most delicious orange-vanilla ice cream experience ever. I'm being chased by a giant, mountain bike riding, creamsicle!

I need to keep the creamsicle behind me for two laps. I decided the best way to keep him off my tail was to chase down and pass the lagging open cat rider. Easier said than done. Maintaining contact with the open rider ahead of me lead to a dropped chain in the twisted snarling root section of trail and an endo in the “let’s-just-toss-these-old-telephone-poles-across-the-trail” section of the first lap. Regardless, I passed through the start-finish on the heels of an open rider and still comfortably ahead of the creamsicle.

The second lap went a little better: another chain drop, but no endo. It's definitely faster to slowly negotiate the pile of telephone poles than it is to endo quickly over the pile of telephone poles. Also, I judged that the mountain bikers were starting to feel the weight of their rigs. The sweeper of the open category riders yielded to me half way

through the second lap in the trail section known as squirrel. It's called squirrel, not because the trail changes direction umteen times in a distance equivalent to the width of a highway, but because when looked upon from above the trail resembles the chalk outline of a squirrel that tried to change directions umteen times while crossing a highway. I now had additional cushion between me and the creamsicle. Eureka! Just ahead, yellow shoes was slumped over his bike next to the trail. Could this possibly be an exacta race? Will I hold off all the sport cat riders and best the yellow shoe-shod open rider? Ernesto, mi danno le ali! I mean, I hope he's okay.

On the final stretch of the second lap, I slugged down the balance of my water and tossed my bottle to the side. Two laps down and I had disposed of the creamsicle rider and the rest of the sport category racers. Normally, two laps on the cross bike and I'm done - not today. All focus went to not allowing the yellow shod rider catch me on the third and final lap. If I can hold him off, it'll be the lemon icing on the creamsicle. Recalling famous words of a recently retired pro rider "If it hurts me, it must hurt the other ones twice as much", I put my head down and pushed on. Evidently the others were hurting because the ride order remained the same throughout the third lap and at 1:34:18 I had my exacta – A creamsicle with lemon icing.

Take that Race Predictor 2

Goddard Park attracts thousands of visitors each year as Rhode Island’s most popular Metropolitan Park. The park offers a beautiful natural environment with spacious lawns, fields, and forested areas with a variety of trees from all over the world, including 62 deciduous and 19 evergreen species all neatly wrapped in blue vinyl tape. Visitors can make use of a golf course, an equestrian show area, 18 miles of bridle trails, 355 picnic tables, 11 game fields, a performing arts center and a beach for weddings, concerts, picnics and special events – such as cyclocross racing.

Goddard Memorial State Park, home of the NBX Grand Prix of Cyclocross, goes back to the early settlement of Warwick, a Rhode Island city located on the Narragansett Bay. Founded in 1642, Warwick has witnessed major events in American history. In 1772, Warwick was the scene for the first violent act against the Crown in what was to be called the Gaspée Affair. Local patriots mooned and then boarded HMS Gaspée, a revenue cutter (an armed enforcement service vessel) charged with enforcing the Stamp Act 1765 and Townshend Acts in Narragansett Bay and spilled the first blood of the American Revolution when the commanding officer of the Gaspée, took a shot to his crotch. Getting a shot to your crotch in Goddard Memorial State Park these days equates to missing the saddle on a superman style remount.

I flatted both days – I never flat. Some blame the roots. I’m a mountain biker I know how to handle roots. I ride roots so well that I took super sketchy lines that no normal person would ever attempt. I ride roots so well that I passed two other riders in a turn by hugging a tree and popping off its raised root collar to air the mud hole. I’m so good at roots that I was the extremely rare rider to take the right, high and dry line that just happen to lie on the far side of some sick surface roots. A post-race wheel autopsy confirmed my suspicion. The tube had a tiny single circular puncture. Saturday’s flat was the curse of the race predictor. I was supposed to finish 32^nd, my flat, pit stop and wheel change pretty much put me right on target.

Sunday’s flat was realized, believe it or not, at the exact location as Saturday’s flat, at the top of the stairs run-up three-quarters way though the lap; again on my last lap. I don’t like curses. I decided to assess my bikes handling (of course it handled fine, it’s a Colnago World Cup)as I raced toward the pit and if the Michelin Mud 2 bead stayed locked to my Stan’s Iron Cross wheel; I would take my chances and finish on the flat. I've had quite a bit of experience riding on flat tires. More than once I've been bit by a rattler (by the way, this flat was the result of a snake bite) while cruising down the back side of Sleeping Beauty on the East side of Lake George, and just road it flat to the bottom. The tire was still on the rim as I came up on the pit and I went for it. Race Predictor had me finishing 31^st in Sundays race. I crushed the curse by 9 spots. Take that Race Predictor.

You're probably thinking, “you destroyed an Iron Cross wheel for 9 spots!” Wrong. The wheel stayed true, the tire stayed locked in place, there’s not a mark on the Iron Cross. It was the curse that took a shot to the crotch. Thanks Stan.

Best race ever – again!

I’m in my post-season – Last week’s Bethlehem Cup is my traditional end-of-season race. Boy would that have been a mistake to end my season with my end-of-season race. My first post-season race was so great I’m thinking of re-defining my season.

The 2015 HRRT race team application included the question; “What was your best race ever?” Review of my race reports indicate that my best races have a common theme; I have a plan, I stick to the plan and as a result, I think, end up exceeding personal expectations. Day-1 of the Supercross Cup just made the list of best races.

Key ingredients to Don having a successful race: (1) Concentrate on the pre-ride. It’s not only about the legs. I personalize the course, try several lines and build Don’s plan “A” cognitive race map with plan “B” backups – for when it gets backed-up. (2) Decide how to address the hazards. It’s a race – get from point “x” to point “y” as fast as possible, not a pretty as possible. In this particular race the fastest line involved diving into the mud ruts. (3) Use proven nutrition. Oatmeal laced with nuts and berries and sweetened with pure maple syrup two hours prior to the start; a banana a half hour before go time; and a delicious GU Roctane at precisely T-15 minutes to launch.  Just typing the word Roctane makes me feel like I need to race someone – very Pavlovian.  (4) This is a new one. Park next to the guy who is always a top five finisher and do what he’s doing, under the neighboring tent, to keep legs warm and blood flowing.

What made day-1 of this week-end of racing best of the best is that I caught my mark. I thought of what Dave says “Race the guys ahead, pay no attention to those behind”. I chased from the start – never letting my mark get away. I passed everyone my mark passed. I thought of what Jens says “If it hurts me, it must hurt the other[s]…” I beat my brains out.  Then in lap four, my mark showed a moment of weakness and I attacked. Now it was time to pay attention to the guy behind me. Twice before the end of lap four there were counter attacks, but the counter attacks didn’t hold and I went into the bell lap ahead. I don’t know how far ahead, I was afraid to look. My mark rode past me on a run-up half way through the final lap. That must have been the burning of his final match because I overtook him on the slight up-hill grind that followed.

The race ended with in a 30 MPH sprint to the finish. I had bested my mark by one second on the clock, a bike and a half in length. As Roy, the dying replicate, says after the final chase sequence in Blade Runner, the best sci fi movie ever, “time… to die…” Well, time to recover anyway. I've got one more race weekend.

Masters schmasters, these guys are fast!

So the guys have been after me for a while to race Masters. Easier said than done.  I needed to be at least Cat 4 to race masters and I needed to make the bogey of ten (10) USAC races to upgrade.  I reached the bogey two weeks before the season closer, Bethlehem. With the help of one of the guys, the upgrade application made it through “the process” in time for me to register for the Bethlehen Masters 55+ race.  I’ll have to admit, even though I had convinced myself that the guys wanted me to races masters so that they could kick my butt and I also convinced myself that they all would, I felt quite at home in this geriatric bullpen of racers.

It was one of the smoothest starts I remember, we all simply accelerated onto the course.  Maybe it was the nature of the course design, but once on course it was nothing but the flow of racers.  Not the sprint to brake slinky of Cat 4-5.  Not the “excuse me while I drive you into the tape” of Cat 4-5 racing.  Not the “I’m going to pass you just to hold you up on the next climb” of Cat 4-5 racing.  There guys just flowed around the course. These are my peeps – they are just faster.  I went from mid-pack to bottom third with one quick upgrade.  I guess that’s the way it should be.

I need a race within the race to drive me. The major proponent of my upgrade to master’s racing, was the designated object, “rabbit”, of the race within the race. My rabbit got a considerable lead early in the race and I was never able to close that lead. Turns out that the rabbit is a considerably better sprinter that me and he put a few racers between us on the way to the “hole”. Getting around those racers and back onto the tail of the rabbit took the entire race plus 50 yards. It was one of the hardest fought races of my two seasons, one of the most exhausting races of my two seasons and one of my most satisfying races ever. The guys were right – racing with the masters is where I belong.

Sports for $100

I'll take Sports for $100

Waking to a predawn alarm  –  Kitting-up with two extra outer layers and a puffy jacket  –  Bushwhacking the bikes, in darkness, off the side porch, through the rhododendrons, across the lawn to the idling car  –  Meeting the on-call road snow emergency crew at the local 24/7 convenience store for a cup of coffee  –  Adding trail mix, bananas and chocolates to the coffee tab  –  Arriving at the park before the park entrance attendant has a chance to sort out the morning  –  Parking in an empty parking lot next to a field filled with collapsed tents, wind torn banners and miles of fluttering vinyl tape – Eating breakfast out of a paper bowl in the romantic light cast by the navigation system screen and seat heater lights – Fifteen minutes of quickstep dancing in the dark , cold and windy line of racers outside the concession stand in a kit with two extra outer layers and a puffy jacket – Pinning each other’s race numbers on the left side rib cage of our kits with the world’s smallest safety pins and numb fingers – Feeling our way along the course between the tape as the sun peaks above the horizon but continues to hide behind the cloud cover – Picking up the pace on the second pre-race lap to test tire pressure and adhesion – Testing your bike handling abilities and line selection on pre-race lap number three – Bringing your heart rate down and formulating your race plan on lap four while you listen for the last call to staging – Dropping everything at base camp save a last gulp of water, your GU Roctane and something to block the wind during the call-ups – 

“One minute to start” you throw your last piece of warm clothing over the rail of the bull pen, check your gear and jack your pedals for the start – “Thirty seconds to start, start could come at any time” – Sprint, sprint , sprint like you've never sprinted before, the sooner you get on course the better position you’ll be in for the first bottleneck. From here on out you execute your plan which can be summed up as: Ride as fast as you dare, pushing the biggest gear you can bear, take every opportunity that presents itself and when you hear the bell, step it up a notch and finally sprint to the finish.

What is Cyclocross Racing?