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| Planet Bike Cup Day 1 |
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Monday, September 26, 2011
Photos: USGP of Cyclocross Day 2: Women's Pro
These are the only photos I took on day two. Family obligations pulled me away from the course after my race. I came back to get the tent in the break in the weather after the women's race. I found these last few competitors working their way toward the home stretch. I wish I could have been their for more of the day.
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| Photos: Planet Bike Cup Day 2 |
Planet Bike Cup. Day 2
Sunday morning I was not up and out of the house as early as I was on Saturday. I dawdled in a fatigued stupor looking at the pile of mostly dry spandex, looking at my backpack, stuffing things in, taking things out. The weather map looked ominous, ominous and wet, so what would I need to wear? By the time I got to the race the First race of the day was lining up to go off, and I did not get to pre-ride the course. It took time to set up the tent which was placed at the bottom of the far side of the hill on a parking lot instead of at the very top. I was trying to A) not have to carry the tent up the Stanley run up again, and B) trying to be somewhere that would not turn to mud.
I even got a bike rack from across the parking lot and carried it over the course to hold the tent down, and to provide additional space for storing gear (a impromptu lean-too) made with a tarp. I spent a lot of time messing around with the tent and stuff, and pretty much used all of the time I had during the men's 4 race to get ready for my first pre-ride. By the time my pre-ride started so had the rain. The course was muddy, and the main track was already slick with mud. The off-camber turns on the top of the course were already slick, and getting worse with every drop. I returned to the tent and cheered on the women from Chicago that I know, Becky, Ellie, Katie, and Katie (all of whom did awesome). Paolo and I were in the tent watching the muddy women ride by and it hit me that...we were next. There was not another race between the women's 3/4 and the men's 2/3. It was time to get ready now. I put on my skin suit and opted on arm and leg warmers. I got into a conversation with Paolo about toe cleats I said "yes" and he said "meh". But as the rain picked up he switched his vote to "Yes", and I helped him put in his cleats while he pinned on my number. I slipped on my rain jacket and pants, threw on my poncho, and it was time to head to staging.
Which of course meant another trip to the portapotty to undo all the dressing I had just so meticulously completed in a small wet enclosed space with risk of loosing something small in the most embarrassing way. When I emerged the rain had surged heavier, and I tooled around the parking lot a few more times before heading to staging. Once again they were calling names as I arrived, but as my number was even higher than it had been on Saturday I had plenty of time to shed my rain gear and get into the starting grid. We were tightly packed again waiting for the whistle. I saw my Mom and Dad standing near the starting grid, and waved at them. I think we got a whistle on day two instead of a gun. Was it too wet for black powder?
Regardless the whistle went and we surged forward once more. Once again I made my way to the outside to find room to sprint, and once again I was able to make up some positions on the field hugging the corner. It was longer, but there better traction out in the wide-line because the grass was not completely submerged in mud. I was able to move past some people on that turn, and it felt like I moved from the back half of the pack into the front half. As we headed into the Zipp barriers I was in very tight traffic. So tight I actually had to put my shoulder into a rider who was trying to cut me off from the outside. He even took his hand off his handlebar and reached for my bar for a moment. Someone, maybe an official, yelled to keep your hands on your own bike, and he relented. I remember nothing else about him except that his arm was royal blue.
It was about that time that my body felt the impact of having raced the day before. There were a couple of straight areas where guys who were still firing on all cylinders were accelerating, and I could not engage any high-end torque. I just kept in a low gear and spun until the next technical section. My mantra in wet and muddy conditions is to stay below the threshold of effort where cognitive ability is impaired. Mistakes are more costly than going slow. Beside, in the wet weather all of my "matches" were wet, and so I did not have any to burn.
The Stanley run-up had been modified to make it even more difficult. They threw in an extra up-then-down 180 degree turn before turning 180 degrees back up the run-up. In my first lap it was rideable to the top of the 180. But the way down was already a sluice of mud and water. I didn't run down. I planted a foot and slide down. The run-up was the most painful part of the course for me. My third trip up I got a really bad side-stick on the run-up, and had to soft pedal for a while until it went away. All the technical muddy corners, the water, the puddles and mud were fine, but the run-up kicked my ass more and more each lap.
The first announcement I heard over the PA system about how much of the race was left was that there were three laps left. I remember thinking to myself that I didn't know that I would be able to finish the race. I did not know where I would find the energy to run up that hill three more times. I was seriously wondering if I had it in me to finish. But it was also on this lap that I started to feel like I was moving a little bit faster than some of the others on the course. Yes I was dying, but maybe I wasn't dying as fast as some others. I pressed onward.
My brother and his wife were standing just on the other side of the hill on my third trip up watching the now treacherous off camber. When I navigated through it by unclipping and "scootering" with two steps around the apex, they heckled in the spirit of the sport saying next time I should make it worth their while and at least have the decency to wipe out.
As I hit the pavement the most glorious thing happened. I heard the announcers say that there was only one lap left. Somewhere in the middle of my fourth lap the counter jumped from 3 to go down to 1 to go, and all of the sudden it was the bell lap. Any doubt of being able to finish was washed away, and I just focused on riding within my self, finding the best line (sometimes very far away from an ideal line) through the corners and getting around guys when they made a mistake and fell down. I remember my right leg-warmer came untucked from my shorts on the last lap, and I watched as it slowly crept down around my ankle. I dared not stop and tug on it, and there was no room for taking a hand off the wheel. Instead I watched it fill up with mud, and hoped that it did not become entangled in my drive train.
My bike was filthy to the point where the mud was interfering with shifting. I lost some spots on the last lap, but I also made some spots up as I was able to take advantage of the mistakes of others. I remember having closed a gap on a rider in front of me down and around the playground, but the last time up the hill was by far the worst. It didn't feel like I was running. It didn't even feel like I was walking. It felt like I was literally crawling as I supported my weight with my bike, and used my legs to drive us up the hill. It was not pro, but it got me to the top which was all that mattered at that point. I was completely spent at the top, unable to breathe. The rider in front of me had pulled away up the hill, and I gave up any hope of catching him. Instead I turned my attention backwards, and wondered what I had to do to keep the rider behind me from catching me at the finish line again. When I hit the pavement I glanced backwards. There was no one coming. There would be no dash to the finish line for me, just a nice stroll toward personal victory.
When I cross the line I posted-up to celebrate. I had no idea where I finished, but I did finish. The announcers made note that lots of guys were posting up across the finish. Just finishing means something on a day like that. I went back and found my parents at the starting line, went back to the tent, and changed into dry warm clothes. I was starting to shiver, and just wanted to be dry. I ended up riding back to my brother's house as a cool down, and started the process from last night all over again. Wash the bike, wash the clothes, then me.
The mud came off very easy with a garden hose. When I turned the hose to my skinsuit dark brown water ran off the bottom for almost a minute as I sprayed clean water onto it. Everything from my shoes to my helmet was saturated with as much mud and water as it could hold. Everything got pre-washed and then thrown in a washing machine. I threw myself into the shower, and had to kick the dirt and grit down the drain.
We had a little family gathering at my brother's house so I did not make it back out to watch more of the races until later. There was a break in the storm near the end of the women's pro-race and I returned to fold up the tent and give away water bottles that my sister-in-law had from work. I pulled out my camera and snapped some photos of last lap of the women's race. I headed up the hill to hand out water bottles, and it started to sprinkle again. I sprinted downhill and collapsed the tent by myself and loaded it into my brother's blazer. I did not have any of my rain gear (or waterproof shoes) so I did not stay to watch the men tear it up. Although there was nothing left to tear. The course was completely destroyed from fence to fence. There was no grass left just a two mile long slough of mud three meters wide.
The timing of my race was messed up. My placing was correct, but my lap-times are only recorded for three laps. Someone missed me through the finish area on my first lap. But the totals are pretty telling.
On Saturday I ran 6 laps in just over 42 minutes. On Sunday I ran one fewer lap, but took about five minutes longer to complete the course. It felt like it was more than a little epic. Not "Gravel Metric 2011"-EPIC, but certainly a grueling cyclocross-race epic.
I even got a bike rack from across the parking lot and carried it over the course to hold the tent down, and to provide additional space for storing gear (a impromptu lean-too) made with a tarp. I spent a lot of time messing around with the tent and stuff, and pretty much used all of the time I had during the men's 4 race to get ready for my first pre-ride. By the time my pre-ride started so had the rain. The course was muddy, and the main track was already slick with mud. The off-camber turns on the top of the course were already slick, and getting worse with every drop. I returned to the tent and cheered on the women from Chicago that I know, Becky, Ellie, Katie, and Katie (all of whom did awesome). Paolo and I were in the tent watching the muddy women ride by and it hit me that...we were next. There was not another race between the women's 3/4 and the men's 2/3. It was time to get ready now. I put on my skin suit and opted on arm and leg warmers. I got into a conversation with Paolo about toe cleats I said "yes" and he said "meh". But as the rain picked up he switched his vote to "Yes", and I helped him put in his cleats while he pinned on my number. I slipped on my rain jacket and pants, threw on my poncho, and it was time to head to staging.
Which of course meant another trip to the portapotty to undo all the dressing I had just so meticulously completed in a small wet enclosed space with risk of loosing something small in the most embarrassing way. When I emerged the rain had surged heavier, and I tooled around the parking lot a few more times before heading to staging. Once again they were calling names as I arrived, but as my number was even higher than it had been on Saturday I had plenty of time to shed my rain gear and get into the starting grid. We were tightly packed again waiting for the whistle. I saw my Mom and Dad standing near the starting grid, and waved at them. I think we got a whistle on day two instead of a gun. Was it too wet for black powder?
Regardless the whistle went and we surged forward once more. Once again I made my way to the outside to find room to sprint, and once again I was able to make up some positions on the field hugging the corner. It was longer, but there better traction out in the wide-line because the grass was not completely submerged in mud. I was able to move past some people on that turn, and it felt like I moved from the back half of the pack into the front half. As we headed into the Zipp barriers I was in very tight traffic. So tight I actually had to put my shoulder into a rider who was trying to cut me off from the outside. He even took his hand off his handlebar and reached for my bar for a moment. Someone, maybe an official, yelled to keep your hands on your own bike, and he relented. I remember nothing else about him except that his arm was royal blue.
It was about that time that my body felt the impact of having raced the day before. There were a couple of straight areas where guys who were still firing on all cylinders were accelerating, and I could not engage any high-end torque. I just kept in a low gear and spun until the next technical section. My mantra in wet and muddy conditions is to stay below the threshold of effort where cognitive ability is impaired. Mistakes are more costly than going slow. Beside, in the wet weather all of my "matches" were wet, and so I did not have any to burn.
The Stanley run-up had been modified to make it even more difficult. They threw in an extra up-then-down 180 degree turn before turning 180 degrees back up the run-up. In my first lap it was rideable to the top of the 180. But the way down was already a sluice of mud and water. I didn't run down. I planted a foot and slide down. The run-up was the most painful part of the course for me. My third trip up I got a really bad side-stick on the run-up, and had to soft pedal for a while until it went away. All the technical muddy corners, the water, the puddles and mud were fine, but the run-up kicked my ass more and more each lap.
The first announcement I heard over the PA system about how much of the race was left was that there were three laps left. I remember thinking to myself that I didn't know that I would be able to finish the race. I did not know where I would find the energy to run up that hill three more times. I was seriously wondering if I had it in me to finish. But it was also on this lap that I started to feel like I was moving a little bit faster than some of the others on the course. Yes I was dying, but maybe I wasn't dying as fast as some others. I pressed onward.
My brother and his wife were standing just on the other side of the hill on my third trip up watching the now treacherous off camber. When I navigated through it by unclipping and "scootering" with two steps around the apex, they heckled in the spirit of the sport saying next time I should make it worth their while and at least have the decency to wipe out.
As I hit the pavement the most glorious thing happened. I heard the announcers say that there was only one lap left. Somewhere in the middle of my fourth lap the counter jumped from 3 to go down to 1 to go, and all of the sudden it was the bell lap. Any doubt of being able to finish was washed away, and I just focused on riding within my self, finding the best line (sometimes very far away from an ideal line) through the corners and getting around guys when they made a mistake and fell down. I remember my right leg-warmer came untucked from my shorts on the last lap, and I watched as it slowly crept down around my ankle. I dared not stop and tug on it, and there was no room for taking a hand off the wheel. Instead I watched it fill up with mud, and hoped that it did not become entangled in my drive train.
My bike was filthy to the point where the mud was interfering with shifting. I lost some spots on the last lap, but I also made some spots up as I was able to take advantage of the mistakes of others. I remember having closed a gap on a rider in front of me down and around the playground, but the last time up the hill was by far the worst. It didn't feel like I was running. It didn't even feel like I was walking. It felt like I was literally crawling as I supported my weight with my bike, and used my legs to drive us up the hill. It was not pro, but it got me to the top which was all that mattered at that point. I was completely spent at the top, unable to breathe. The rider in front of me had pulled away up the hill, and I gave up any hope of catching him. Instead I turned my attention backwards, and wondered what I had to do to keep the rider behind me from catching me at the finish line again. When I hit the pavement I glanced backwards. There was no one coming. There would be no dash to the finish line for me, just a nice stroll toward personal victory.
When I cross the line I posted-up to celebrate. I had no idea where I finished, but I did finish. The announcers made note that lots of guys were posting up across the finish. Just finishing means something on a day like that. I went back and found my parents at the starting line, went back to the tent, and changed into dry warm clothes. I was starting to shiver, and just wanted to be dry. I ended up riding back to my brother's house as a cool down, and started the process from last night all over again. Wash the bike, wash the clothes, then me.
The mud came off very easy with a garden hose. When I turned the hose to my skinsuit dark brown water ran off the bottom for almost a minute as I sprayed clean water onto it. Everything from my shoes to my helmet was saturated with as much mud and water as it could hold. Everything got pre-washed and then thrown in a washing machine. I threw myself into the shower, and had to kick the dirt and grit down the drain.
We had a little family gathering at my brother's house so I did not make it back out to watch more of the races until later. There was a break in the storm near the end of the women's pro-race and I returned to fold up the tent and give away water bottles that my sister-in-law had from work. I pulled out my camera and snapped some photos of last lap of the women's race. I headed up the hill to hand out water bottles, and it started to sprinkle again. I sprinted downhill and collapsed the tent by myself and loaded it into my brother's blazer. I did not have any of my rain gear (or waterproof shoes) so I did not stay to watch the men tear it up. Although there was nothing left to tear. The course was completely destroyed from fence to fence. There was no grass left just a two mile long slough of mud three meters wide.
The timing of my race was messed up. My placing was correct, but my lap-times are only recorded for three laps. Someone missed me through the finish area on my first lap. But the totals are pretty telling.
On Saturday I ran 6 laps in just over 42 minutes. On Sunday I ran one fewer lap, but took about five minutes longer to complete the course. It felt like it was more than a little epic. Not "Gravel Metric 2011"-EPIC, but certainly a grueling cyclocross-race epic.
The Planet Bike Cup. Day 1
I started writing this post on Saturday night before exhausting set in. It was originally titled "Exhaustion"
It's day one of the Planet Bike Cup. I took more than 400 photos, was outside all day mostly on my feet, and oh yeah...cyclocross race.
Oh yeah...
Cyclocross race tomorrow.
Everything went smoothly this morning. I was up early at 6AM, and then snoozed for another half an hour. My brother helped me get to the park with the tent, bike, and gear, and then he went to play basketball. I got some help getting the Sprockets tent to the very top of the Stanley run up. I ran a warm-up lap before the first race, and another before the second race. The grass was damp with a heavy dew and maybe some overnight precipitation, but the ground was not muddy. In the corners if it was slippery with dust if anything. I took a few pictures in between and changed from my warm-up kit to my skin suit. It was a little bit of a frantic dash by the end as I was trying to get everything situated, my number pinned on, and visiting the portable rest room. It never fails that once I get all layered up to race, the first thing I have to do is go into a small plastic box and try to disrobe without dropping a glove or an arm-warmer in a smelly blue place.
By the time I made it to the staging area they were already calling guys into the starting grid, but I was fortunate that I did not miss my call up. My number was 247 so the call up order was not determined by registration order as I was one of the top 25 guys to register. That was a little bit disappointing, but randomness is like that sometimes. Fortunately there wasn't much time to be disappointed. We filed into the corral and bantered amongst ourselves waiting for the gun.
Bang.
Yes, I believe there was a legitimate gunshot to start our race. That's pro, right?
I was kind of in the middle at the start and worked my way around to the outside edge. I was able to move up in some positions during this first hard burn and get closer to the front of the pack, but I was not able to sustain that pace for long. The speeds were very high on the dry grass, and there were a lot of open straightaways in the top half of the course. I kept hemorrhaging spots that I had burned hard to gain. I wonder if it would have been better to hold an inside position, not burn as hard, and then try to pick guys off at some of the later straightaways. Regardless, the race was on.
It was a combined Cat 2 and Cat 3 race which means there were lots of guys who were faster than me. Every time I was passed I thought to myself, "It's okay. He's Cat 2." When someone I recognized as a Cat 3 passed me I thought to myself, "It's okay. He should be Cat 2." Mostly I didn't think.
I do remember loathing the Stanley run-up. A long steep climb that some of the pros were bunny-hopping over the rail-road ties at the bottom and riding up. I was dismounting, leaning heavily on my bike, and then running up as fast as possible which did not feel very fast at all. The one lap that I did sprint hard up the hill I got to the top and realized that not only did I have to ride my bike again, but I had to be able to navigate some oxbow off camber turns, which was almost impossible without any oxygen.
I do remember some things about the last lap. Somewhere near the bottom of the Stanley Steamer I passed Austin who was on foot. He shifted over his rear chain ring and ground his chain along the spokes behind the cassette. Forrest passed me, and pulled away up the Stanley Run-up. There was a guy who was right behind me at the top of the run-up and we ended up in a dead sprint for 56th place. I had the lead, and I lost the sprint by about 3 inches because I stopped pedaling and tried to "lean" it in, instead of continuing to hammer past both the finish line and the point of vomiting. Part of me is kicking myself for giving up just a bit too soon, and the rest of me is kind of glad I did not vomit for 56th place. Fifty seventh place was uncomfortable enough.
I hung out and watched the pros race cheering on the Chicago natives I knew, and watching some of my teammates drink and heckle to the best of their ability. I got some help getting the tent taken down I packed up my belongings into my backpack, rode back to my brother's house to get his car, and then returned to the park to pick up the tent. The rest of the night was spent cleaning my bike, then cleaning clothes, and then finally cleaning me. I went out for a treat at Culver's and returned to my brother's house for a quiet evening of photo editing and writing about my day.
It's day one of the Planet Bike Cup. I took more than 400 photos, was outside all day mostly on my feet, and oh yeah...cyclocross race.
Oh yeah...
Cyclocross race tomorrow.
Everything went smoothly this morning. I was up early at 6AM, and then snoozed for another half an hour. My brother helped me get to the park with the tent, bike, and gear, and then he went to play basketball. I got some help getting the Sprockets tent to the very top of the Stanley run up. I ran a warm-up lap before the first race, and another before the second race. The grass was damp with a heavy dew and maybe some overnight precipitation, but the ground was not muddy. In the corners if it was slippery with dust if anything. I took a few pictures in between and changed from my warm-up kit to my skin suit. It was a little bit of a frantic dash by the end as I was trying to get everything situated, my number pinned on, and visiting the portable rest room. It never fails that once I get all layered up to race, the first thing I have to do is go into a small plastic box and try to disrobe without dropping a glove or an arm-warmer in a smelly blue place.
By the time I made it to the staging area they were already calling guys into the starting grid, but I was fortunate that I did not miss my call up. My number was 247 so the call up order was not determined by registration order as I was one of the top 25 guys to register. That was a little bit disappointing, but randomness is like that sometimes. Fortunately there wasn't much time to be disappointed. We filed into the corral and bantered amongst ourselves waiting for the gun.
Bang.
Yes, I believe there was a legitimate gunshot to start our race. That's pro, right?
I was kind of in the middle at the start and worked my way around to the outside edge. I was able to move up in some positions during this first hard burn and get closer to the front of the pack, but I was not able to sustain that pace for long. The speeds were very high on the dry grass, and there were a lot of open straightaways in the top half of the course. I kept hemorrhaging spots that I had burned hard to gain. I wonder if it would have been better to hold an inside position, not burn as hard, and then try to pick guys off at some of the later straightaways. Regardless, the race was on.
It was a combined Cat 2 and Cat 3 race which means there were lots of guys who were faster than me. Every time I was passed I thought to myself, "It's okay. He's Cat 2." When someone I recognized as a Cat 3 passed me I thought to myself, "It's okay. He should be Cat 2." Mostly I didn't think.
I do remember loathing the Stanley run-up. A long steep climb that some of the pros were bunny-hopping over the rail-road ties at the bottom and riding up. I was dismounting, leaning heavily on my bike, and then running up as fast as possible which did not feel very fast at all. The one lap that I did sprint hard up the hill I got to the top and realized that not only did I have to ride my bike again, but I had to be able to navigate some oxbow off camber turns, which was almost impossible without any oxygen.
I do remember some things about the last lap. Somewhere near the bottom of the Stanley Steamer I passed Austin who was on foot. He shifted over his rear chain ring and ground his chain along the spokes behind the cassette. Forrest passed me, and pulled away up the Stanley Run-up. There was a guy who was right behind me at the top of the run-up and we ended up in a dead sprint for 56th place. I had the lead, and I lost the sprint by about 3 inches because I stopped pedaling and tried to "lean" it in, instead of continuing to hammer past both the finish line and the point of vomiting. Part of me is kicking myself for giving up just a bit too soon, and the rest of me is kind of glad I did not vomit for 56th place. Fifty seventh place was uncomfortable enough.
I hung out and watched the pros race cheering on the Chicago natives I knew, and watching some of my teammates drink and heckle to the best of their ability. I got some help getting the tent taken down I packed up my belongings into my backpack, rode back to my brother's house to get his car, and then returned to the park to pick up the tent. The rest of the night was spent cleaning my bike, then cleaning clothes, and then finally cleaning me. I went out for a treat at Culver's and returned to my brother's house for a quiet evening of photo editing and writing about my day.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Okay...so this was pretty cool.
As previously noted, I raced on Sunday.
Instead of going with my usual Monday night routine and going on the Chicago Cycling Club Monday night group ride, I went to a small (3 people) impromptu cyclocross practice at Cricket Hill. It was a nice change of pace from a 40 or 50 mile day. I also wanted to be "fresh" for the Tuesday morning Johnny Sprockets cyclocross practice at Montrose Harbor.
I set my alarm for 6AM. It woke me up, I hit "Dismiss" instead of "Snooze" and fell back asleep. I woke up again at 6:27AM and in a fog realized what had happened. The pillows called loudly to me. "Lay back down. It won't hurt anything if you skip this week. Come on. We miss you already."
But I was already up and mentally figuring out how to cram what normally takes 45 minutes in a slow stupor into the next 20 minutes. I thought a little panic would help so I panicked.
I made it to practice fashionably late, with just enough time to drop my bag and drop my tire pressure.
We played 2 games of "foot down" as a warm-up, and then went to hotlaps around a course. During the hotlaps we noticed a photographer with a big lens who was taking pictures of us. During our break he came up to ask us what we were doing. He came to the harbor early to enjoy some wonderful morning light, and stumbled across a bunch of people in brightly colored spandex crawling in and out of the pain cave.
He explained he was a photojournalist with the Tribune, and he had no idea what we were doing. We started explaining cyclcross to him, and he asked if anyone would be willing to give a little explanation on camera of who we were and what we were doing. I volunteered so I could give a shout-out to my friends at Johnny Sprockets and the Chicago Cyclocross Cup
This was the result.
It was one take, and looking at it now I wish I had read today's update so I could have said SIX HUNDRED AND EIGHTY RACERS instead of 560 pre-regs. Also, I used the word "discipline" too many times. Other than that I think it went pretty well for being before 8AM on a Tuesday morning.
I am also very glad I broke out my good baby-sharks-clubbed-to-death-with-baby-seals-skin suit with red racing strips for practice this morning and not the faux-red regular-lycra-skin suit or heaven forbid, matching separates with arm warmers.
Instead of going with my usual Monday night routine and going on the Chicago Cycling Club Monday night group ride, I went to a small (3 people) impromptu cyclocross practice at Cricket Hill. It was a nice change of pace from a 40 or 50 mile day. I also wanted to be "fresh" for the Tuesday morning Johnny Sprockets cyclocross practice at Montrose Harbor.
I set my alarm for 6AM. It woke me up, I hit "Dismiss" instead of "Snooze" and fell back asleep. I woke up again at 6:27AM and in a fog realized what had happened. The pillows called loudly to me. "Lay back down. It won't hurt anything if you skip this week. Come on. We miss you already."
But I was already up and mentally figuring out how to cram what normally takes 45 minutes in a slow stupor into the next 20 minutes. I thought a little panic would help so I panicked.
I made it to practice fashionably late, with just enough time to drop my bag and drop my tire pressure.
We played 2 games of "foot down" as a warm-up, and then went to hotlaps around a course. During the hotlaps we noticed a photographer with a big lens who was taking pictures of us. During our break he came up to ask us what we were doing. He came to the harbor early to enjoy some wonderful morning light, and stumbled across a bunch of people in brightly colored spandex crawling in and out of the pain cave.
He explained he was a photojournalist with the Tribune, and he had no idea what we were doing. We started explaining cyclcross to him, and he asked if anyone would be willing to give a little explanation on camera of who we were and what we were doing. I volunteered so I could give a shout-out to my friends at Johnny Sprockets and the Chicago Cyclocross Cup
This was the result.
It was one take, and looking at it now I wish I had read today's update so I could have said SIX HUNDRED AND EIGHTY RACERS instead of 560 pre-regs. Also, I used the word "discipline" too many times. Other than that I think it went pretty well for being before 8AM on a Tuesday morning.
I am also very glad I broke out my good baby-sharks-clubbed-to-death-with-baby-seals-skin suit with red racing strips for practice this morning and not the faux-red regular-lycra-skin suit or heaven forbid, matching separates with arm warmers.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Photos: Jackson Park
Photos from Jackson Park.
Men's 30+
Women's 4s and Juniors
Men's 1-2-3
Men's 30+
Women's 4s and Juniors
Men's 1-2-3
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| Chicago Cyclocross Cup 2011 Jackson Park |
That went well....
Sunday morning started with an alarm ringing at 7AM. I threw my legs over the side of the bed, wiped the sleep out of my eyes with my fists, and stood up and stepped into a something resembling a Rube Goldberg machine who's sole purpose was to get me out the door headed for Jackson Park in less than a hour. My clothes were laid on the floor next to the bed in the order they needed to be put on. There were socks, warm-up bib-shorts, khaki shorts, under armor top, warm-up jersey in a row. A bowl and spoon for cereal waited on the table, water-bottles were half filled with ice in the freezer, three roast beef sandwiches on homemade bread sat in the fridge with 15 ozs of home-brew energy gel portioned out into 5 oz servings. An empty soft-sided cooler waited next to the fridge to be filled. A backpack by the door waited for a soft-sided cooler. Shoes, socks, race kit, helmet, gloves, tubes, levers, pump, chain lube, multi-tool were already preloaded in my backpack. I pulled the Camera battery off the charger, loaded it into camera, and loaded the camera into my camera bag. The Camera bag was then loaded into the backpack. I pulled the Falcon from her hanger, and was ready to roll with time to spare.
But it was cloudy. I thought that maybe I should check the weather.
According to weather dot com it was currently sunny with a small chance of showers until 4PM when it looks like rain.
According to the window it was overcast. According to the sidewalk, it was raining. That was two votes to one weather dot crap. You loose. I stuffed a poncho and some arm-warmers in my bag in case the wet wanted to lead to cold. I also returned to the hall closet one more time and grabbed some knobby tires just in case. I strapped them around my backpack, put on my Shower Pass rain cycling jacket and Race Face rain pants, and headed toward the Lake.
I could have ridden the 13 miles to Jackson Park, but I have done that once before, and was not all that thrilled with the results. Given the mileage I have put on this year, I'm even more certain that I could have done it, I just didn't feel I needed to do it. Not with 40lbs of gear on my back and the weather cool and wet. The buses all have bike racks, and it was a relatively painless journey three blocks to the 151 then another block to the 6 and then three blocks to the Park.
I arrived to Jackson Park well before my target of 9AM. I just missed the start of the 40+ race (GOOO CHERNOH!) and had plenty of time to get set up for a pre-ride. One of the key things I learned last year was to dress to ride. It was nice being in civilian clothes on the way to most race, but it takes too much time to change into race clothes. I prefer to be able to get on the course and get rolling as soon as possible. There are too few windows to pre-ride to be missing them trying to get into bib shorts without showing everyone ye' ol' twig and giggle berries.
So I got myself set up to pre-ride, and then cheered on the 40+ riders. It was raining too much for me to get my camera out. Sorry mature gents, no photos of you today. I waited for the end of their race and did my first pre-ride lap. The course was wet from the morning's rain. My Michellin Jet file-treads did not do all that bad considering the course was wet, twisty and full of turns. I liked it better than the previous year's course with many more trees and shrubs and fewer straight aways across baseball diamonds.
I returned to the start, put back on some warm layers and got ready to watch my teammates Brent and Michael C take off in the 30 plus. (YAAAAYYYY GO BRENT!!!! GOOOOOOO MICHAEL!!!!!!!!!!!! (I really need a cowbell). The rain had let up so I took some pictures with me new camera.
During the 30+ the rain started coming down more steadily. Michael and Brent ran good races, and it was time for another prelap. The full field of 30+ racers combined with the added water significantly impacted the course. It was slick and the path around the course was muddy and brown where an hour earlier it had still been mostly green. There was a lot more drifting on the second pre-lap than there was the first. I was very glad I brought a different set of tires.
After my second pre-lap I returned once more to the team tent, changed into my dry race bibs, pinned my number onto my race jersey, ate a sandwich, pulled out my levers, and went after my tires. I focused on getting ready to race and did not take any pictures of the women's 1-2-3s. I took a short ride (too short it turns out) on my new tires, but did not stray to far from home. I knew that I wanted to be one of the first in the starting grid, so I was planning on being warmed up and ready to go fairly early so I could be one of the first to queue up. With a few laps left to go in the women's race, I went back to the tent grabbed a bottle of water and a home brew energy gel to suck on while waiting. I kept my jacket on to hold in some heat, and went to the starting line to wait at about 11:10AM (40 minutes before my race). There were already some veterans in the holding area, so I took my place amongst them. I don't remember how long I was standing there making small talk when it hit me. I had a panicked memory of a mistake I made at a race last year when I pinned my number on the wrong side of my jersey and discovered it a few minutes before the start of the race. So I opened up my jacket to double check, and realized that I wasn't even wearing a jersey. Just my underarmour and my race bibs. I had never bothered to put it back on after I pinned my number to it. So I leaned my bike up against the fence and made a quick "I'm warming up" run back to the tent to prevent automatic disqualification. I was back in plenty of time even before the bulk of the pack showed up.
And so we stood in an increasingly dense cloud of men and bikes. There was the subtle and almost imperceptible surging forward toward the starting line, the gentlemanly banter, the microscopic jockeying for position. Eventually it was our turn. Jason called us out in stages and I was able to fill up onto the front line. The call-ups were random and unlike last year at Jackson Park I did not get one. The starting grid filled up, and we were then given the opportunity to surge forward one more time before the start. I held my place and started from the second row fourth from the left of behind the 10 starters. Unfortunately I did not "pick the right horse" so to speak and when the whistle finally blew the center surged forward and my lane stalled, so going into the first turn there were already a dozen or two riders on the inside of me moving into the lead.
I overheard some of the master's 30+ riders talking about the first sharp downhill turn after the U bend with the barrier being a serious bottle neck. They were not wrong and even though I was in the front quarter of the hundred man field, things were already starting to pile up when I got there. The first 5 or 6 riders sped away while the field slammed on their collective brakes and piled into one another. It was definitely a choke point whether intentional or not. The field of 100 could have used some more distance to spread out naturally (especially with the random call-ups) before the course narrowed. Or as I have discovered in mountain biking a steep climb straight up hill is very effective way to spread out starts by ability. But I digress.
The rest of my first lap is kind of a blur. I know that I made up places on some guys in the twisty turns, I know others passed me. Things calmed down more in the second lap than in the first. I got into the pack of riders with whom I would be jockeying position for the rest of the race. My second lap was also the lap where I started to feel that my rear-tired was under inflated and rolling out on me around curves. I psyched myself out and thought I had a slow leak and was debating whether to stop and try and fix it or if I should keep riding until it was flat. It was a distraction and I soft-pedaled out of many turns on the second lap fearful of blowing it out or tearing it off the rim. It wasn't until the end of the second lap that I became more confident that my tire was a little under-inflated, but it was not losing pressure. If it was leaking it should have been flat by that point and it wasn't. So I pressed on.
It was also the end of the second lap that the official told the rider in front of me that he was sitting in just around 20th position. That emboldened my spirit. The third lap started off with a bang. As I noted earlier I was jockeying for position with a couple of guys for most of the second lap, and I wanted to try to open up a gap on them and be in the lead going into the twisty back part of the course where I felt like I could out ride them. I burned a big match up the home straight away. When I looked down at my garmin I was sitting at 25mph riding on a slight incline in wet grass with 35lbs of pressure in my tire. It was awesome while it lasted, but unfortunately I burned too hot and was not able to maintain the gap on the two guys that I passed. They both caught me again before we reached the twisty stuff, and I was once again trailing them through the sharp turns. It was on this lap, that I made the worst technical mistake that I remember making. I was going around the sharp 180 double back into an off-camber by the lake when the rider in front of me went down in the mud. I was able to adjust my line and avoid him, but I ended up having to unclip to maintain my balance on the off camber uphill section. When I tried to step back up on the pedal, my muddy foot slipped off the front of my pedal two times as I stalled out on the hill. A pack of riders piled up behind me at the mess. I don't remember giving up any spots right then, but there was a pack that closed the gap and was breathing down our necks for the rest of the race. Some of those riders pass us on later laps. I had learned my lesson with 3 laps to go, and did not burn a big match on the straight away during lap -2. I pushed myself hard, but stayed within my threshold.
I tried to ride the penultimate lap calm but aggressive, and then hit the last lap as hard could. I wasn't the only one hitting the last lap hard as a couple of faster riders from team Pegasus (who got caught up in the collision at the beginning of the race) made their way through the crowd and advanced forward during that last lap. Fortunately for me the two riders I had been shadowing both had issues that allowed me to squeeze by them. One wiped out on a turn, and the second had a mechanical issue within 150yds of the finish line.
I was physically spent with a half lap left to go, and was battling to hang on. I could sense more riders behind me, maybe three or four, and I was started to feel like I would soon be bent over a garbage can donating partially used roast beef sandwiches for the greater good. I fought through that sick felling thought and pushed onward toward the finish. Coming around the last turn I was out of the saddle sprinting trying to catch the guy in front me sleeping (I didn't) and trying to to be caught sleepy by the riders behind (I wasn't).
It was my first solo Cat 3 race, and I finished 23rd out of about 100 entrants and 94 finishers. Despite the very wet and muddy conditions I ran fast (as verified by an independent observer and being spread as a rumor) and did not wipe out once (knock on wood). I hit almost all of my dismounts and remounts cleanly (no bull wrestling and only one 6 step remount). I finished in the top 25 and felt pretty good for the effort. I knew that I finished in front of a lot of guys who finished in front of me a lot of races last year. All in all, it went well. I stayed around for the Women's 4 race, the men's 1-2-3 race, and the start of the 4A race taking pictures and socializing. However, the rain was starting to get heavier, and Chernoh wanted to ride home, so we set off before the end of the 4A race. (A shout out to my friend Chernoh who A) road to the race from Foster and Clark, B) Raced in the Master's 40+, C) Raced in the Cat 3s, and D) Then rode home. He's one to watch for this year). We took the Lake Shore Path and enjoyed a favorable tailwind. We were both overloaded with gear and on fat-tire cross bikes. The rain continued to fall, but with the wind and a good day of racing us behind us our spirits remained warm and dry all the way home.
But it was cloudy. I thought that maybe I should check the weather.
According to weather dot com it was currently sunny with a small chance of showers until 4PM when it looks like rain.
According to the window it was overcast. According to the sidewalk, it was raining. That was two votes to one weather dot crap. You loose. I stuffed a poncho and some arm-warmers in my bag in case the wet wanted to lead to cold. I also returned to the hall closet one more time and grabbed some knobby tires just in case. I strapped them around my backpack, put on my Shower Pass rain cycling jacket and Race Face rain pants, and headed toward the Lake.
I could have ridden the 13 miles to Jackson Park, but I have done that once before, and was not all that thrilled with the results. Given the mileage I have put on this year, I'm even more certain that I could have done it, I just didn't feel I needed to do it. Not with 40lbs of gear on my back and the weather cool and wet. The buses all have bike racks, and it was a relatively painless journey three blocks to the 151 then another block to the 6 and then three blocks to the Park.
I arrived to Jackson Park well before my target of 9AM. I just missed the start of the 40+ race (GOOO CHERNOH!) and had plenty of time to get set up for a pre-ride. One of the key things I learned last year was to dress to ride. It was nice being in civilian clothes on the way to most race, but it takes too much time to change into race clothes. I prefer to be able to get on the course and get rolling as soon as possible. There are too few windows to pre-ride to be missing them trying to get into bib shorts without showing everyone ye' ol' twig and giggle berries.
So I got myself set up to pre-ride, and then cheered on the 40+ riders. It was raining too much for me to get my camera out. Sorry mature gents, no photos of you today. I waited for the end of their race and did my first pre-ride lap. The course was wet from the morning's rain. My Michellin Jet file-treads did not do all that bad considering the course was wet, twisty and full of turns. I liked it better than the previous year's course with many more trees and shrubs and fewer straight aways across baseball diamonds.
I returned to the start, put back on some warm layers and got ready to watch my teammates Brent and Michael C take off in the 30 plus. (YAAAAYYYY GO BRENT!!!! GOOOOOOO MICHAEL!!!!!!!!!!!! (I really need a cowbell). The rain had let up so I took some pictures with me new camera.
During the 30+ the rain started coming down more steadily. Michael and Brent ran good races, and it was time for another prelap. The full field of 30+ racers combined with the added water significantly impacted the course. It was slick and the path around the course was muddy and brown where an hour earlier it had still been mostly green. There was a lot more drifting on the second pre-lap than there was the first. I was very glad I brought a different set of tires.
After my second pre-lap I returned once more to the team tent, changed into my dry race bibs, pinned my number onto my race jersey, ate a sandwich, pulled out my levers, and went after my tires. I focused on getting ready to race and did not take any pictures of the women's 1-2-3s. I took a short ride (too short it turns out) on my new tires, but did not stray to far from home. I knew that I wanted to be one of the first in the starting grid, so I was planning on being warmed up and ready to go fairly early so I could be one of the first to queue up. With a few laps left to go in the women's race, I went back to the tent grabbed a bottle of water and a home brew energy gel to suck on while waiting. I kept my jacket on to hold in some heat, and went to the starting line to wait at about 11:10AM (40 minutes before my race). There were already some veterans in the holding area, so I took my place amongst them. I don't remember how long I was standing there making small talk when it hit me. I had a panicked memory of a mistake I made at a race last year when I pinned my number on the wrong side of my jersey and discovered it a few minutes before the start of the race. So I opened up my jacket to double check, and realized that I wasn't even wearing a jersey. Just my underarmour and my race bibs. I had never bothered to put it back on after I pinned my number to it. So I leaned my bike up against the fence and made a quick "I'm warming up" run back to the tent to prevent automatic disqualification. I was back in plenty of time even before the bulk of the pack showed up.
And so we stood in an increasingly dense cloud of men and bikes. There was the subtle and almost imperceptible surging forward toward the starting line, the gentlemanly banter, the microscopic jockeying for position. Eventually it was our turn. Jason called us out in stages and I was able to fill up onto the front line. The call-ups were random and unlike last year at Jackson Park I did not get one. The starting grid filled up, and we were then given the opportunity to surge forward one more time before the start. I held my place and started from the second row fourth from the left of behind the 10 starters. Unfortunately I did not "pick the right horse" so to speak and when the whistle finally blew the center surged forward and my lane stalled, so going into the first turn there were already a dozen or two riders on the inside of me moving into the lead.
I overheard some of the master's 30+ riders talking about the first sharp downhill turn after the U bend with the barrier being a serious bottle neck. They were not wrong and even though I was in the front quarter of the hundred man field, things were already starting to pile up when I got there. The first 5 or 6 riders sped away while the field slammed on their collective brakes and piled into one another. It was definitely a choke point whether intentional or not. The field of 100 could have used some more distance to spread out naturally (especially with the random call-ups) before the course narrowed. Or as I have discovered in mountain biking a steep climb straight up hill is very effective way to spread out starts by ability. But I digress.
The rest of my first lap is kind of a blur. I know that I made up places on some guys in the twisty turns, I know others passed me. Things calmed down more in the second lap than in the first. I got into the pack of riders with whom I would be jockeying position for the rest of the race. My second lap was also the lap where I started to feel that my rear-tired was under inflated and rolling out on me around curves. I psyched myself out and thought I had a slow leak and was debating whether to stop and try and fix it or if I should keep riding until it was flat. It was a distraction and I soft-pedaled out of many turns on the second lap fearful of blowing it out or tearing it off the rim. It wasn't until the end of the second lap that I became more confident that my tire was a little under-inflated, but it was not losing pressure. If it was leaking it should have been flat by that point and it wasn't. So I pressed on.
It was also the end of the second lap that the official told the rider in front of me that he was sitting in just around 20th position. That emboldened my spirit. The third lap started off with a bang. As I noted earlier I was jockeying for position with a couple of guys for most of the second lap, and I wanted to try to open up a gap on them and be in the lead going into the twisty back part of the course where I felt like I could out ride them. I burned a big match up the home straight away. When I looked down at my garmin I was sitting at 25mph riding on a slight incline in wet grass with 35lbs of pressure in my tire. It was awesome while it lasted, but unfortunately I burned too hot and was not able to maintain the gap on the two guys that I passed. They both caught me again before we reached the twisty stuff, and I was once again trailing them through the sharp turns. It was on this lap, that I made the worst technical mistake that I remember making. I was going around the sharp 180 double back into an off-camber by the lake when the rider in front of me went down in the mud. I was able to adjust my line and avoid him, but I ended up having to unclip to maintain my balance on the off camber uphill section. When I tried to step back up on the pedal, my muddy foot slipped off the front of my pedal two times as I stalled out on the hill. A pack of riders piled up behind me at the mess. I don't remember giving up any spots right then, but there was a pack that closed the gap and was breathing down our necks for the rest of the race. Some of those riders pass us on later laps. I had learned my lesson with 3 laps to go, and did not burn a big match on the straight away during lap -2. I pushed myself hard, but stayed within my threshold.
I tried to ride the penultimate lap calm but aggressive, and then hit the last lap as hard could. I wasn't the only one hitting the last lap hard as a couple of faster riders from team Pegasus (who got caught up in the collision at the beginning of the race) made their way through the crowd and advanced forward during that last lap. Fortunately for me the two riders I had been shadowing both had issues that allowed me to squeeze by them. One wiped out on a turn, and the second had a mechanical issue within 150yds of the finish line.
I was physically spent with a half lap left to go, and was battling to hang on. I could sense more riders behind me, maybe three or four, and I was started to feel like I would soon be bent over a garbage can donating partially used roast beef sandwiches for the greater good. I fought through that sick felling thought and pushed onward toward the finish. Coming around the last turn I was out of the saddle sprinting trying to catch the guy in front me sleeping (I didn't) and trying to to be caught sleepy by the riders behind (I wasn't).
It was my first solo Cat 3 race, and I finished 23rd out of about 100 entrants and 94 finishers. Despite the very wet and muddy conditions I ran fast (as verified by an independent observer and being spread as a rumor) and did not wipe out once (knock on wood). I hit almost all of my dismounts and remounts cleanly (no bull wrestling and only one 6 step remount). I finished in the top 25 and felt pretty good for the effort. I knew that I finished in front of a lot of guys who finished in front of me a lot of races last year. All in all, it went well. I stayed around for the Women's 4 race, the men's 1-2-3 race, and the start of the 4A race taking pictures and socializing. However, the rain was starting to get heavier, and Chernoh wanted to ride home, so we set off before the end of the 4A race. (A shout out to my friend Chernoh who A) road to the race from Foster and Clark, B) Raced in the Master's 40+, C) Raced in the Cat 3s, and D) Then rode home. He's one to watch for this year). We took the Lake Shore Path and enjoyed a favorable tailwind. We were both overloaded with gear and on fat-tire cross bikes. The rain continued to fall, but with the wind and a good day of racing us behind us our spirits remained warm and dry all the way home.
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