Race: Dunnigan Hills
8/14/2010
45+ Cat 5 group.
Rider: Mark D.
Steve McQueen said, “Racing is life. Everything else, is just waiting”.
Well, in Dunnigan, there was a lot of “everything else” going on.
The racing was, shall we say, limited, and when it did happen, it was over in about three minutes.
Let me begin with the waiting.
This was to be a racing double header for myself and my daughter who would accompany me to the aforesaid bicycle road race, and co-author a relay team effort at the Folsom Olympic Distance Triathlon on Sunday. The plan was to leave early by noon on Friday to beat traffic on the drive up to Woodland where we would spend the night before the Saturday morning race in nearby Yolo. (Why this isn’t called the “Yolo race” escapes me, and I’ll explain the thin connection to Dunnigan later). The “waiting” began in earnest on I-80 when I suspect an obligatory summons was sent out to every Contra Costa County goof with an automobile advising them that I was approaching Fairfield and that they should immediately flood the freeway with SUV’s going 5 mph so that my forward progress would be impeded to a crawl. The good citizens of CoCo County were attentive to their duties, and successfully extracted two hours from my life, which tragically will never be recovered.
Arriving in Woodland, further delay was threatened when the motel clerk advised that my online reservation was made for a smoking room (they still have those?) and that no non-smoking rooms were available on the ground floor. As it happened we were in luck per the clerk, as a baseball team had just cancelled, opening up a second floor non-smoker. Fine, we’ll haul the bikes to the second floor. Gimme the key.
After checking in we drove the five minutes to the Yolo exit off I-5 to reconnoiter the race course. This a 43 mile, clockwise circuit of county roads, along the flat farmland of the Woodland area. The roads are mostly dead straight, set at right angles to each other, in giant grids that are reflective of the square mile farm plots that typify rural areas. Occasionally, hilly topography presents the anomaly to this pattern, and some curves and climbing opportunities appear on the course. John Pauley has cautioned that there is a crucial left turn crossing Highway 505 that will turn into a fierce, pelaton splitting wind. Those who are lagging behind the leaders at this juncture he advises, will be subjugated to playing catch up and will likely fail. We find the aforementioned turn along a frontage road that has been following 505 for five and a half miles. At the juncture of Road 14, the frontage road rises gently to the freeway overpass level wherein the left turn lies. Across 505 road 14 winds and twist with ups and downs before falling back down to the valley floor for a dead straight run due West to a right turn at Road 85. Pauley advises that this entire segment is critical. Stick to the leaders or you’re done here. Several miles down 14 I pull over and get out of the car to test the wind. It’s not a head wind but is coming from the side and behind, a three-quarter tail wind. I wonder if the time of day is the difference. I also note its 92 degrees out. We complete the reconnaissance of the route arriving at the final leg, a right turn at the “town” of Dunnigan (a cross road junction with a couple of buildings) , and a flat 10.9 mile straightaway South on Road 99W. I think in automotive terms a lot, and this section screams out for high speed, the kind of triple digit mile per hour blast one might due if a Ferrari was nosed down this stretch of asphalt. I don’t know why but I’m thinking huge pulls by organized teams and breaks are going to go down here.
The race finish is just off 99W on a cross street that crosses the adjacent I-5 Freeway on Road 96. We make the turn and explore the road. It ends in a “T” a half mile after the overpass. Somewhere along here the finish line will be. Andrew has advised that the decision in the race will likely be made on the sprint up and down this overpass. I’m not entirely comfortable with letting this go down to a holeshot on an uphill stretch. The 96 cross street is almost imperceptible from the rest of the landscape along the vast length of Road 99W. We return to identify some landmarks. Several large silos are on either side of the road just before the turn. Those will be my markers. I decide, somewhere before the silos, I’m going to launch.
The race website advises that race registration will close at 7:45 am with race waves starting thereafter. The next morning I’m there by 6:30, I get my number, and park. Andrew, Mark F. and John H. show up. Gregg S. is in route but has to wait in a crowd that is competing for limited registration resources. We wait. The start time gets pushed back 15 minutes. We wait some more. The start is on a side road leading to Road 17, and the 43 mile loop. Hundreds of racers are here. I note numerous teams, Taleo, Wells Fargo, Smith Barney, Webcor, and many others. The organizers line up the waves, give brief instruction about staying on the right side of the road, and send them off. One wave seems to have over a hundred people. Andrew and John P go off. Finally it’s the 45+ cat 5 group turn. Mark Foster, Gregg Shores and myself are lined up. I recognize several guys from the Copper Town race, including Thor Hushovd’s lookalike and his teammate. Taleo has three riders in our group. They’re rail thin and look like bike racers. I expect them to be a force. One guy joining the lineup gives cause for concern. He’s wearing a motorcycle helmet with a face guard, the kind you see dirt bike guys wearing. The helmet only partially contains a long beard and wild frizzed hair which seems to explode out the back. He looks like a helmeted Hagrid from the Harry Potter movies. I guess that this chap regards bike racing as a contact sport. Hmmm. I’ll keep my distance. The Coretechs trio poses for a photo shot taken by Gregg’s wife Susan. Having memorialized his appearance, Gregg’s rear tire then blows out, just as we are sitting on the starting line. He offers his apologies for having to withdraw without a sweat and promptly makes lunch reservations. No goo packs for him today.
At 9:30, the race starts and a pack of about 35 riders is off. I try to stay near the front, about 10 riders back. Mark F. does better and is generally in the first 5. The roads are narrow and we’ve been advised that if we cross the center line we’ll be disqualified. There is a race referee following our wave on a motorcycle to enforce the sanction. This makes positioning in the pack a bit dicey. There are large tractors and other pieces of farm equipment that lumber along these roads which make excursions into the opposite lane inadvisable. Within the first ten miles a solo break goes off the front. He gets out several hundred yards and hovers there looking back to see if anyone will join him. No one does. He gets swallowed up within minutes. I am nervous about getting gapped. I stay close to the wheels in front. They are going to provide me shelter from the Pauley promised hurricane winds that are coming up. I have a business card sized race map zip-tied to my handle bars. I glance down to check the mileage on each segment to compare with my bike computer. I want to be ready for every turn. During one of my map checks I nearly run into a rider in front of me. I decide not to do that again. As we approach mile 13.8, the critical turn to Road 14, the group seems to get antsy and starts to crowd forward on the run up to the overpass. Hagrid is off the pavement passing people on the gravel. I believe something is going to happen. I accelerate to the front.. We are up and around the turn and I tuck in behind the leaders. We roll into the hills at a brisk pace. People are up out of the saddle keeping the pace high but there are no break away efforts. The feared split in the pelaton hasn’t yet occurred. When we flatten out onto the valley floor I expect a huge push at high speed to split the group. It doesn’t happen. I keep to the left side of the pack to avoid what I perceive is wind coming from the right. The wind appears moderate. No gales are blowing out here today. We get all the way to the Northbound right turn at 19 miles without event. Now undulating hills take us up and down numerous rises. The schizophrenic leaders accelerate up hills, then slow on the downhills, sometimes threatening to crash the too-fast approaching rear of the group. An hour into the “race” and we’ve passed the selection point, I’m not tired, not even working hard. I start to think I could make it to the finale. I expected a sustained hammer-fest attempt by the leaders to thin out the crowd, but this group appears to have no such ambitions. We turn right on Road six, a section with more undulating hills and several miles along the pelaton suddenly slows. Dismounted riders from a previous wave are out in the middle of the road waving us into the other lane. We come upon a bike crash with a victim lying prone on the pavement. As we pass the scene the front end starts to accelerate. It’s a little more than a get-back-up-to speed acceleration. Maybe this will be the attempt to split the pack. It doesn’t come to pass. The entire pack reforms.
We come out of the hills and pass over I-5 for the right turn South on 99W and the 10.9 mile straightway. I wait for a team to try and pull away. I wait in vain. No one goes. After a while I see silos in the distance but they are only on one side of the road, not the silo landmarks that straddle 99W on both sides at the final Road 96 intersection. We move past at a methodical pace which is slowing. Miles go by. Instead of the usual two-across single file lines, guys are arrayed across the entire lane and are dogging it at 20-23 mph. They are blocking any movement up. I’m boxed in at the back. The pelaton seems content to dawdle along in anticipation of the final sprint. I’m not game for that. I try to get around on the dirt side of the road. No one is moving to let me through. One guy comments “I want this wheel” meaning he doesn’t want me to impede his draft of the guy immediately in front. Geez, I just want to go around ALL you guys, Get out of my way! I try and move left to the center line. There’s no room there without violating the center line rule. Minutes drag by. Even Hagrid makes no move. A crease finally opens up on the left side of the pelaton. I look at my odometer. We’re at 41 miles and change. My google maps route has calculated the route total to be only 42 miles and change. The twin silos are less than 1 mile off now. We are still at parade pace. We need some chaos. I decide to take off.
Up the left side I go head down and pumping. As usual Mark F. is near the front when I go. The speedometer goes to 30 mph. I know at least one guy has jumped on my tail but I keep going. I hope that Mark F. is being attentive but I can’t look back. This is it. This is my two minutes of glory. I imagine Phil Liggett screaming “Dames has gone, Dames has gone!” I’m out in front with less than a mile to go. My jersey is zipped up in anticipation of the finish. Somewhere up there the helicopter cameras must be following my every pedal stroke. No doubt now the sponsor is going to renew my contract for next year. Time and distance seem to compress. All the oxygen goes to the leg muscles and my brain goes dormant. I can usually hold a time trial tempo on a dead flat in the 25-27 mph range for a while, but now 30 looks like a nice number on my speedo, and this is pure adrenaline rush so I decide to stick with 30. Hey, why not? It seems like I’m leading for an eternity. In reality its probably a minute plus of red lining effort. This feels good. I have control of my own destiny now. Thoughts of amortizing my effort are dismissed and I keep the pedal to the metal. All my chips are in. There don’t appear to be any other contenders for the front. They’re probably all back there huddled in the draft debating why I didn’t get the dawdle message.
I’m not yet at the silos when the leg muscles start to mutiny. I send down orders for more engines but the glycogen and oxygen stores have been exhausted, and the speedometer is falling off precipitously. I’m desperate for more speed and downshift to get my cadence back up. If I can just make it to the turn I can practically coast home. I’m down to 25 mph when the pelaton hammers by me. Not just a few of them, but everyone. I attempt to latch on to their draft but to no avail. They are like greased telfon, and I can’t grab them. I need a rope and a grappling hook, anything. It’s no use. I’m going backwards. I’ve gone from 30 mph missile to torpedoed barge in less than a minute. A Cancellara seat-tube motor (ask Laura about this) would be nice about now but I’ve failed to plan in that regard. There’s no pity in the pelaton. No words of encouragement, no thanks for the lead out, are uttered as they fly by. They shed me like a used candy wrapper to the curb and move on. We pass the silos and turn onto 96. The overpass looms large, and I get out of the saddle to struggle up the hill. Somewhere up there the race is being decided without me. I summon the spirits of Old La Honda, and surprisingly my legs respond. I crest the hill still at a modicum of speed and spin down the other side, up shifting again and again, gasping for more O2. Two targets appear in front of me. One guy looks spent, the other guy is sitting up as if confused about the finish. Ha! Ducks in a barrel. I claw my way past them both ---finish line ! I barely make it out of the cellar. At the front Mark Foster has made his way to fourth place! Congratulations to him for back to back finishes in the points.
After 42 miles of riding, this turns out to be a one mile race.
Lessons learned:
I’m glad I drove the course before hand. Knowing what was ahead gave me more confidence. The finish line, and last turn landmarks were also good to know.
Now that I’m figuring out how these races go it occurs to me that one’s sprint time and speed over given distance should be a known quantity like a 40 or 100 yrd dash time is for a football player.
I could see a benefit to practicing maximum effort pulls to see exactly how long time-wise and over what distance one could maintain a solo pull at a given speed before blowing up (example: 30 mph for 1 minute and ½ mile). On race morning I’d then backtrack that distance from the finish line and find a landmark for my launch. My idea of what I could do, and reality turned out to be at least a quarter mile off.
All in all a great learning experience.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Dunnigan Hills RR-2010-45+ Cat 5-Mark Foster
Race: Dunnigan Hills Road Race
Race Date: 8-14-10
Distance: 43 miles
Class: 45+ Cat 5
Rider: Mark C. Foster
So here I am again writing up a race report for my third weekend racing in a row, and the fifth bicycle race in my life. Now although I’m a newby bicycle racer, I have literally hundreds of motorcycle races logged over a twenty year period. So I definitely have a lot of racing experience in leather, but not in spandex.
I have numerous accomplished bicycle racing friends that told me Dunnigan Hills can be a tough race. I have a lot of respect for these riders so I took it seriously and prepared for another sufferfest equal to the likes of Patterson Pass. I knew it probably wouldn’t be as painful, but there was only one way to find out…ride the race.
The week before Patterson I felt crappy, but the week before Dunnigan I felt good. I have no idea why the difference, but I was glad ‘cause good is always better than crappy.
Andrew, John and I met in Portola Valley at 0 dark thirty and loaded up his car for a morning blitz up to the race. Dunnigan is in Woodland, Yolo County and does a 43 mile loop around hwy 505 and hwy 99 just north of Hwy 80. It took us an hour and a half to get there. I hard boiled some eggs the night before and had a leisurely breakfast on the way up. It was an easy drive and I was looking forward to a nice Saturday ride in the rolling hills of Yolo county.
Registration was fairly painless. I did notice that the longest lines are for the old guy classes. Apparently as we age and go through our midlife crisis we all decide that bicycle racing will keep us youthful and fit; or maybe it’s a way to make the everyday pain of life seem downright pleasant when compared to the suffering we endure during a bicycle race. Either way, it seems the majority of racers at these events are over 45. So relatively speaking, at 48, I’m just a kid…..nice!
Since the start of our different class races was over a half an hour apart, my car mates warmed up with out me; and when I got out there to warm up, I decided to go check out the finish which was a couple of miles from the starting area. I saw on the course map (that Mark D. handed out), there was a right turn to a short straight over a freeway overpass then a short blast to the finish. They were closing the road to through traffic and letting us use the whole road. That’ll be pretty crazy, sort of like the pros we watch on TV….cool. I rode over the freeway and saw that it was not a short blast to the finish at all, but a 700 meter straight shot after the overpass. Way too long for me to sprint. Note to self,”Don’t lead into the last turn or over the freeway”.
Mark Dames, Greg Shores and I lined up for our race at about 9:30. As we were waiting for our start, a tire popped and the sound of 120 psi leaking to zero ripped at our eardrums. We all looked down at our bikes to see if we were the unlucky bloke who flatted at the starting line. After squeezing my tires I was relieved to find it wasn’t me. Greg wasn’t so lucky. His rear tire died at the line, and with sew-ups and no time, he was screwed. Race over. Yes we were all lucky Greg couldn’t inflict his can of industrial strength woop-ass on us. Even though it was one more person I didn’t have to race, I was bummed for him ‘cause I knew how excited he was to ride;as this was his first race…Damn!
The race started at around 9:35 or so and had 39 riders signed up to race. I knew one was out and that left 38. I never counted to verify the number but it didn’t matter anyway because I was going to ride the whole race at the front. I was told to do that, because Dunnigan has a couple spots where a break will work; so if you’re not prepared to go with them, then you’ll finish behind them. I wasn’t going to miss that opportunity should it arise. The pace was very slow, so staying at the front required a little maneuvering around because I wasn’t the only one who wanted to make sure he didn’t miss a break. I wasn’t worried about a one man break, nor was anyone else…there were several of those. Sure enough they came right back to us. One guy took off a few times, I was curious as to where he’d be in the end…his doping regimen gave him confidence, but not brains. At this beginner level no one could or would get organized enough to try a real attempt at a break. So the race was super easy for 41miles. We were chatting and laughing and having a wonderful Saturday stroll through the rolling hills of Dunnigan. No pain other than having to take a leak…bummer. I didn’t need all that water at this pace. We did roll up on the aftermath of a bad crash. The ambulance and fire truck was there with some poor racer on the ground writhing in pain…not good. I didn’t wear a heart monitor, but other than the last couple of miles, that was probably the highest my pulse got during the ride, was from the sympathetic pain of watching the aftermath of that crash. I didn’t wear it ‘cause I figured it didn’t matter because I was going to hang on to whatever or whomever started to hammer, regardless of what my Garmin said. I wasn’t going to psych myself out by looking at the numbers…like at Patterson. I was hanging on or going up in big ball of lactic flames and coronary overload. Yep…a do or die….didn’t need a heart monitor for that; pain was my monitor. As it turned out there wasn’t much pain. In fact, climbing with our loyal Coretechs teammate Laura Sterns is much much harder than riding in this pack. I was starting to worry that this was just way too slow and this race was going to be won by the best sprinter and fitness was going to have very little to do with it. With about five miles to go, Mark D. told me the turn was at the two big white silos, so be ready. He had been leading the pack off and on and I had a feeling I knew what he meant. He pulled everyone a few times in the last few miles and then with about a mile or two to go before the turn, he took off like a scalded ape! It was beautiful. He was down low and hammering. The pack took off after him and I settled in to a comfortable fourth position or so and everybody’s pulse was going up and it was game on! That was exactly what I needed; a little suffering before the sprint to soften up some of the stronger guys. Thanks Mark! He pulled a long way and must have completely spent himself in a blaze of selfless glory, because I had no idea Mark was so strong and flat out mad, it was awesome. I like to think he did it for me, but I’m not sure. He may have just been feeling a deep dark anger inside that made him want to turn himself inside out due to sheer masochistic self destructive insanity that few of us ever experience. Whatever the reason, all I knew was: he threw himself on the grenade and lit off the beginning of two miles of fireworks not spent yet due to all of the extra powder we had left to burn from such a meandering pace.
The rest is sort of a blur so it’ll be interesting to hear Mark’s perspective, but what I remember is a big guy hammering by Mark and me jumping on to his rear wheel as he passed me and me not letting anyone in as they were trying to get over to grab his wheel too. I have no idea what happened to Mark after that, I’m assuming he locked up at some point and limped in to an agonizing finish.
It was perfect. I was second coming into the final turn. As the next guy passed me, I could grab that wheel and so on, for a glorious finish. Then the leader blew the corner and went straight into the dirt on the left side of the road…Damn. Now I was leading with too far to go before the finish. I backed off a hair so I wouldn’t lead over the overpass, and sure enough, two guys split me. One on each side, and they were flying! I lit my afterburner to stay with them and went after the wheel on my right and stuck to it like Velcro. I wasn’t giving up. After what Mark did, the least I could do is try 100% with everything in my soul to hang on…I did. I was in a great position to win this thing, when I looked up and saw a police car blocking the entire left lane and about a third of the right lane…Oh my God! This was not safe and a potentially really bad situation was forming in front of me… in fast motion. All of the sudden my mind went from, “I’m gonna win this thing!” to, “Holy Crap I really need to survive this thing” Now you couldn’t see the finish line and we all started moving to the far right, so to not smash into three tons of flashing steel. I thought about the other thiry-five riders right on my tail ready to pile drive me into the side of the car just in case I survive the first impact!. This was ridiculous. I had to back off a hair so I wouldn’t hit the guy in front of me and immediately there was someone on my right so I couldn’t go there. I missed the cop car by a few inches and was boxed in. I dug deep after passing the obstacle, but my drive had been thwarted by the dude on my right who had a better position. I powered through the finish in fourth place….Damn. Still good, but not what I thought it could have been if there was a clean unobstructed finish. Apparently, I seem to be a better sprinter than I thought and I gotta admit the adrenaline from that final sprint was up there with all of the other things I’ve raced. Now I’m starting to get addicted to racing and fully understand how the pros get hooked. It’s a lot of fun when you’re not suffering the entire time…go figure. Unfortunately that’s my last race of the year(I think). The next race the team is doing is full, unless I sign up for the open Masters class. That might take some of the fun out of it and put the pain back in. Either way, I’ll see you guys and gals on one of our team training rides!
Ciao, Mark F.
Race Date: 8-14-10
Distance: 43 miles
Class: 45+ Cat 5
Rider: Mark C. Foster
So here I am again writing up a race report for my third weekend racing in a row, and the fifth bicycle race in my life. Now although I’m a newby bicycle racer, I have literally hundreds of motorcycle races logged over a twenty year period. So I definitely have a lot of racing experience in leather, but not in spandex.
I have numerous accomplished bicycle racing friends that told me Dunnigan Hills can be a tough race. I have a lot of respect for these riders so I took it seriously and prepared for another sufferfest equal to the likes of Patterson Pass. I knew it probably wouldn’t be as painful, but there was only one way to find out…ride the race.
The week before Patterson I felt crappy, but the week before Dunnigan I felt good. I have no idea why the difference, but I was glad ‘cause good is always better than crappy.
Andrew, John and I met in Portola Valley at 0 dark thirty and loaded up his car for a morning blitz up to the race. Dunnigan is in Woodland, Yolo County and does a 43 mile loop around hwy 505 and hwy 99 just north of Hwy 80. It took us an hour and a half to get there. I hard boiled some eggs the night before and had a leisurely breakfast on the way up. It was an easy drive and I was looking forward to a nice Saturday ride in the rolling hills of Yolo county.
Registration was fairly painless. I did notice that the longest lines are for the old guy classes. Apparently as we age and go through our midlife crisis we all decide that bicycle racing will keep us youthful and fit; or maybe it’s a way to make the everyday pain of life seem downright pleasant when compared to the suffering we endure during a bicycle race. Either way, it seems the majority of racers at these events are over 45. So relatively speaking, at 48, I’m just a kid…..nice!
Since the start of our different class races was over a half an hour apart, my car mates warmed up with out me; and when I got out there to warm up, I decided to go check out the finish which was a couple of miles from the starting area. I saw on the course map (that Mark D. handed out), there was a right turn to a short straight over a freeway overpass then a short blast to the finish. They were closing the road to through traffic and letting us use the whole road. That’ll be pretty crazy, sort of like the pros we watch on TV….cool. I rode over the freeway and saw that it was not a short blast to the finish at all, but a 700 meter straight shot after the overpass. Way too long for me to sprint. Note to self,”Don’t lead into the last turn or over the freeway”.
Mark Dames, Greg Shores and I lined up for our race at about 9:30. As we were waiting for our start, a tire popped and the sound of 120 psi leaking to zero ripped at our eardrums. We all looked down at our bikes to see if we were the unlucky bloke who flatted at the starting line. After squeezing my tires I was relieved to find it wasn’t me. Greg wasn’t so lucky. His rear tire died at the line, and with sew-ups and no time, he was screwed. Race over. Yes we were all lucky Greg couldn’t inflict his can of industrial strength woop-ass on us. Even though it was one more person I didn’t have to race, I was bummed for him ‘cause I knew how excited he was to ride;as this was his first race…Damn!
The race started at around 9:35 or so and had 39 riders signed up to race. I knew one was out and that left 38. I never counted to verify the number but it didn’t matter anyway because I was going to ride the whole race at the front. I was told to do that, because Dunnigan has a couple spots where a break will work; so if you’re not prepared to go with them, then you’ll finish behind them. I wasn’t going to miss that opportunity should it arise. The pace was very slow, so staying at the front required a little maneuvering around because I wasn’t the only one who wanted to make sure he didn’t miss a break. I wasn’t worried about a one man break, nor was anyone else…there were several of those. Sure enough they came right back to us. One guy took off a few times, I was curious as to where he’d be in the end…his doping regimen gave him confidence, but not brains. At this beginner level no one could or would get organized enough to try a real attempt at a break. So the race was super easy for 41miles. We were chatting and laughing and having a wonderful Saturday stroll through the rolling hills of Dunnigan. No pain other than having to take a leak…bummer. I didn’t need all that water at this pace. We did roll up on the aftermath of a bad crash. The ambulance and fire truck was there with some poor racer on the ground writhing in pain…not good. I didn’t wear a heart monitor, but other than the last couple of miles, that was probably the highest my pulse got during the ride, was from the sympathetic pain of watching the aftermath of that crash. I didn’t wear it ‘cause I figured it didn’t matter because I was going to hang on to whatever or whomever started to hammer, regardless of what my Garmin said. I wasn’t going to psych myself out by looking at the numbers…like at Patterson. I was hanging on or going up in big ball of lactic flames and coronary overload. Yep…a do or die….didn’t need a heart monitor for that; pain was my monitor. As it turned out there wasn’t much pain. In fact, climbing with our loyal Coretechs teammate Laura Sterns is much much harder than riding in this pack. I was starting to worry that this was just way too slow and this race was going to be won by the best sprinter and fitness was going to have very little to do with it. With about five miles to go, Mark D. told me the turn was at the two big white silos, so be ready. He had been leading the pack off and on and I had a feeling I knew what he meant. He pulled everyone a few times in the last few miles and then with about a mile or two to go before the turn, he took off like a scalded ape! It was beautiful. He was down low and hammering. The pack took off after him and I settled in to a comfortable fourth position or so and everybody’s pulse was going up and it was game on! That was exactly what I needed; a little suffering before the sprint to soften up some of the stronger guys. Thanks Mark! He pulled a long way and must have completely spent himself in a blaze of selfless glory, because I had no idea Mark was so strong and flat out mad, it was awesome. I like to think he did it for me, but I’m not sure. He may have just been feeling a deep dark anger inside that made him want to turn himself inside out due to sheer masochistic self destructive insanity that few of us ever experience. Whatever the reason, all I knew was: he threw himself on the grenade and lit off the beginning of two miles of fireworks not spent yet due to all of the extra powder we had left to burn from such a meandering pace.
The rest is sort of a blur so it’ll be interesting to hear Mark’s perspective, but what I remember is a big guy hammering by Mark and me jumping on to his rear wheel as he passed me and me not letting anyone in as they were trying to get over to grab his wheel too. I have no idea what happened to Mark after that, I’m assuming he locked up at some point and limped in to an agonizing finish.
It was perfect. I was second coming into the final turn. As the next guy passed me, I could grab that wheel and so on, for a glorious finish. Then the leader blew the corner and went straight into the dirt on the left side of the road…Damn. Now I was leading with too far to go before the finish. I backed off a hair so I wouldn’t lead over the overpass, and sure enough, two guys split me. One on each side, and they were flying! I lit my afterburner to stay with them and went after the wheel on my right and stuck to it like Velcro. I wasn’t giving up. After what Mark did, the least I could do is try 100% with everything in my soul to hang on…I did. I was in a great position to win this thing, when I looked up and saw a police car blocking the entire left lane and about a third of the right lane…Oh my God! This was not safe and a potentially really bad situation was forming in front of me… in fast motion. All of the sudden my mind went from, “I’m gonna win this thing!” to, “Holy Crap I really need to survive this thing” Now you couldn’t see the finish line and we all started moving to the far right, so to not smash into three tons of flashing steel. I thought about the other thiry-five riders right on my tail ready to pile drive me into the side of the car just in case I survive the first impact!. This was ridiculous. I had to back off a hair so I wouldn’t hit the guy in front of me and immediately there was someone on my right so I couldn’t go there. I missed the cop car by a few inches and was boxed in. I dug deep after passing the obstacle, but my drive had been thwarted by the dude on my right who had a better position. I powered through the finish in fourth place….Damn. Still good, but not what I thought it could have been if there was a clean unobstructed finish. Apparently, I seem to be a better sprinter than I thought and I gotta admit the adrenaline from that final sprint was up there with all of the other things I’ve raced. Now I’m starting to get addicted to racing and fully understand how the pros get hooked. It’s a lot of fun when you’re not suffering the entire time…go figure. Unfortunately that’s my last race of the year(I think). The next race the team is doing is full, unless I sign up for the open Masters class. That might take some of the fun out of it and put the pain back in. Either way, I’ll see you guys and gals on one of our team training rides!
Ciao, Mark F.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Patterson Pass RR- Mark Foster - 35+ Cat 5 Report
Race: Patterson Pass 8-8-10
Course: 2 Loops for a total of 46 miles and 4400 ft of climbing
Conditions: Windy and around 70 degrees F
Class: Masters 35+ Cat 5
Coretechs racer: Mark C. Foster
Patterson Pass Road Race is not one you do for fun….it’s not fun. If you’re not a good climber you probably won’t do very well, but you’ll suffer either way. My first ever bicycle race was Patterson in 09’ and I swore I’d never race a bicycle again for the rest of my life. Meeting Andrew and joining the Coretechs team made me break my promise. He convinced me racing can be fun and after Copper Town, I will agree that he’s right. I felt I had to ride Patterson again though, to redeem myself after last year’s miserably painful failure. Last year I made a lot of mistakes, but basically suffered in the battle for fifth place for two hours and then cramped up so profusely with only four miles to go that I was reduced to first gear and eight miles per hour on the flat. People were passing me at the end like I was chained to a post. I finished 15th in 09’. It took me a long time to fully recover because obviously I twisted myself completely inside out.
Now here I was a year later, smarter and better trained. The weather was twenty-five degrees cooler this year and you could tell by the windmills that the wind was howling over the top of the first climb….Yipee! I needed to be able to keep up with the leaders over the pass and try to recover and have something for the finish. The fear of cramping was etched into my brain so I bought “enduralites” to try to get through this miserable race without locking up somewhere before the finish. I also carried other food which I was going to force myself to ingest. Water was critical last year, so I was going to force myself to drink both bottles before the neutral feed zone so I could grab two more and be hydrated for a strong finish…I didn’t do that last year…to my demise.
I’m not a great climber by any stretch, but would classify myself as pretty good for a Cat 5 guy my age(48). To put it in perspective for you bay area riders, I can break 19 minutes up Old La Honda but not back to back. I’d been trying to climb recently, but seemed to have worked too hard the week before Patterson, ‘cause I was feeling kind of blown out and “bonky”. So I rode super easy Thursday, nothing Friday, and an easy spin Saturday before the race. By Sunday morning I felt OK, not great, but not bad either. I spent the night in Livermore at a friends house, Craig Ayers, who I shamefully convinced should ride the race with me…he did. It was his first race and I did warn him that he would feel more pain than he’s ever experienced cycling and might in fact cramp up. He said that he had done plenty of centuries and has never cramped, so seriously doubted my premonition of him cramping… he put a bunch of my “enduralites” in his jersey just in case. Yea, OK, we’ll see.
I was running late and didn’t get much warm up before the start and unfortunately knew the pace was going to hurt, seeing as the race starts with a 1500 foot climb in five miles. I’d be warmed up soon enough. The race started and didn’t seem too bad. It was super windy so I tried to hide in about forth or fifth up the hill. The pain level was tolerable, I looked at my Garmin as the front group crested the first hill, we had been racing for 25 minutes, with a long way to go. I led the fast decent down to north Flynn Rd and was wishing there were some technical sections so to use my twenty years of motorcycle racing experience. Unfortunately it’s basically just a straight shot until it flattens out. I soft pedaled hoping I’d get passed so I wouldn’t lead into the next section. Sure enough, I dropped back and was in a great place to endure the next small climb. It seemed the pace quickened up the short 500 foot climb on N. Flynn or maybe I was feeling fatigue, either way my pulse was climbing and I was slipping back in the pack of what was now 15 or so riders. I couldn’t believe there were so many guys that hung on during those ascents…damn! The grade leveled out and the wind seemed to back off a bit and I was able to hide in the pack and force myself to eat and drink. I got through one bottle by the time we crossed over 580 at Altamont Pass and was actually starting to feel a little better. I was near the rear feeling pretty good and we came into a fast chicane(right – left) through a stop sign that the cops were controlling to allow the racers to bomb through it. The guy I was following checked up and parked it through the corner so a ten to fifteen bike length gap formed in front of him as the pack started to hammer. Damn it! So I had to sprint to close the gap and it took way too long to catch back up. By the time we caught back my pulse had nearly redlined again as I expended way too much energy for following a strong rider afraid to go fast through the corner. We dropped three guys in that little mishap. The pace was brisk all the way to the right turn on to Midway where the pace slowed. It remained slow all the way back to the start/finish area, so it was at this point that I finished my second bottle of water and forced down some more food. I felt really full but was going to grab more water at the neutral feed zone anyway to prepare for the final loop from hell.
After grabbing two full water bottles at the feed zone, I got in front to try and slow the pace. The wind was horrendous. I don’t like leading, especially on a climb in a headwind! That worked for a couple of minutes but then the climbers decided to have none of that tactic…the pace quickened and I dropped to the back of the pack. I was still OK, but my pulse was reaching the high 160’s and I thought about tossing my water to lighten the load. Then came Satan and his band of devils… The young leaders of a different race caught and passed us about halfway up the climb. The climbers from our group wanted none of that humiliation, so our pace picked up to match theirs. I tossed one of my waters as my pulse passed 175 and climbing. The pain worsened…180. Do I toss my last water? I stood up and hung on for another few minutes, but then it happened…a gap. S**T! The wind started howling again…the gap widened…pulse 183. I pushed harder. The pain was more than I could handle, I just couldn’t get it out of my mind, I couldn’t hang on any further, If only I felt better…I CAN”T TAKE IT ANYMORE!! I was suddenly alone in the raging wind….alone watching the pack pull away. I can’t catch up. So the wheels basically came off the cart right then…I got dropped and there was no way to get back on because I still had over a mile to go of climbing with a 20% grade at the end. So at that point I pretty much knew that as far as getting a good finish, it was over. For the rest of the hill I passed other suffering loners from other classes who long ago lost their race as well. We were racing against the demons in our mind now. I finally reach the top…too tired to be angry. The decent wasn’t technical enough for me to catch up and there were too many guys to reel them in on the flat….game over. So I decided not to blow myself out for this week and just finish. I slowed and let my pulse drop to a less painful level. A couple of other guys got dropped on the next hill and I kept them in sight the entire rest of the lap until the finish. No one else caught me and I caught and passed a few solo riders from other classes who were also blown up, dejected and just trying to get home. Yes, we were all doing the ride of shame. At least I wasn’t reduced to pile of drooling goo, cringing in pain, going eight miles an hour on the flat like last year. This year was different…still lonely, but different. I had recovered from my climbing debacle and there was power left in the motor, but no sprint finish. No chatting after the race. I ended up five minutes behind the leaders at the finish. 2:19:00 according to my Garmin. 11th place. I felt like I had a bad day, but life has a lot of those and this was just another one. No big deal. I rode Patterson because I knew it’d be really hard for me. As we all know, pain seems to be a big part of this sport and there are times when you can break through and keep going and times when you can’t. If one of those insecure thoughts hit you at the wrong time, it’s over…you get dropped. Unfortunately I couldn’t push through the pain. I still like the sport, but it is very humbling for an old novice like me.
Oh, I almost forgot. My buddy, Craig, finished the race…barely. He started cramping on the big climb of the second lap and suffered through the entire lap…but finished. He had never cramped at all before and couldn’t believe it and how brutal it is. It took him three hours to finish, but I was proud of him for not giving up! Apparently we all face our own demons at Patterson Pass.
-Mark F.
Course: 2 Loops for a total of 46 miles and 4400 ft of climbing
Conditions: Windy and around 70 degrees F
Class: Masters 35+ Cat 5
Coretechs racer: Mark C. Foster
Patterson Pass Road Race is not one you do for fun….it’s not fun. If you’re not a good climber you probably won’t do very well, but you’ll suffer either way. My first ever bicycle race was Patterson in 09’ and I swore I’d never race a bicycle again for the rest of my life. Meeting Andrew and joining the Coretechs team made me break my promise. He convinced me racing can be fun and after Copper Town, I will agree that he’s right. I felt I had to ride Patterson again though, to redeem myself after last year’s miserably painful failure. Last year I made a lot of mistakes, but basically suffered in the battle for fifth place for two hours and then cramped up so profusely with only four miles to go that I was reduced to first gear and eight miles per hour on the flat. People were passing me at the end like I was chained to a post. I finished 15th in 09’. It took me a long time to fully recover because obviously I twisted myself completely inside out.
Now here I was a year later, smarter and better trained. The weather was twenty-five degrees cooler this year and you could tell by the windmills that the wind was howling over the top of the first climb….Yipee! I needed to be able to keep up with the leaders over the pass and try to recover and have something for the finish. The fear of cramping was etched into my brain so I bought “enduralites” to try to get through this miserable race without locking up somewhere before the finish. I also carried other food which I was going to force myself to ingest. Water was critical last year, so I was going to force myself to drink both bottles before the neutral feed zone so I could grab two more and be hydrated for a strong finish…I didn’t do that last year…to my demise.
I’m not a great climber by any stretch, but would classify myself as pretty good for a Cat 5 guy my age(48). To put it in perspective for you bay area riders, I can break 19 minutes up Old La Honda but not back to back. I’d been trying to climb recently, but seemed to have worked too hard the week before Patterson, ‘cause I was feeling kind of blown out and “bonky”. So I rode super easy Thursday, nothing Friday, and an easy spin Saturday before the race. By Sunday morning I felt OK, not great, but not bad either. I spent the night in Livermore at a friends house, Craig Ayers, who I shamefully convinced should ride the race with me…he did. It was his first race and I did warn him that he would feel more pain than he’s ever experienced cycling and might in fact cramp up. He said that he had done plenty of centuries and has never cramped, so seriously doubted my premonition of him cramping… he put a bunch of my “enduralites” in his jersey just in case. Yea, OK, we’ll see.
I was running late and didn’t get much warm up before the start and unfortunately knew the pace was going to hurt, seeing as the race starts with a 1500 foot climb in five miles. I’d be warmed up soon enough. The race started and didn’t seem too bad. It was super windy so I tried to hide in about forth or fifth up the hill. The pain level was tolerable, I looked at my Garmin as the front group crested the first hill, we had been racing for 25 minutes, with a long way to go. I led the fast decent down to north Flynn Rd and was wishing there were some technical sections so to use my twenty years of motorcycle racing experience. Unfortunately it’s basically just a straight shot until it flattens out. I soft pedaled hoping I’d get passed so I wouldn’t lead into the next section. Sure enough, I dropped back and was in a great place to endure the next small climb. It seemed the pace quickened up the short 500 foot climb on N. Flynn or maybe I was feeling fatigue, either way my pulse was climbing and I was slipping back in the pack of what was now 15 or so riders. I couldn’t believe there were so many guys that hung on during those ascents…damn! The grade leveled out and the wind seemed to back off a bit and I was able to hide in the pack and force myself to eat and drink. I got through one bottle by the time we crossed over 580 at Altamont Pass and was actually starting to feel a little better. I was near the rear feeling pretty good and we came into a fast chicane(right – left) through a stop sign that the cops were controlling to allow the racers to bomb through it. The guy I was following checked up and parked it through the corner so a ten to fifteen bike length gap formed in front of him as the pack started to hammer. Damn it! So I had to sprint to close the gap and it took way too long to catch back up. By the time we caught back my pulse had nearly redlined again as I expended way too much energy for following a strong rider afraid to go fast through the corner. We dropped three guys in that little mishap. The pace was brisk all the way to the right turn on to Midway where the pace slowed. It remained slow all the way back to the start/finish area, so it was at this point that I finished my second bottle of water and forced down some more food. I felt really full but was going to grab more water at the neutral feed zone anyway to prepare for the final loop from hell.
After grabbing two full water bottles at the feed zone, I got in front to try and slow the pace. The wind was horrendous. I don’t like leading, especially on a climb in a headwind! That worked for a couple of minutes but then the climbers decided to have none of that tactic…the pace quickened and I dropped to the back of the pack. I was still OK, but my pulse was reaching the high 160’s and I thought about tossing my water to lighten the load. Then came Satan and his band of devils… The young leaders of a different race caught and passed us about halfway up the climb. The climbers from our group wanted none of that humiliation, so our pace picked up to match theirs. I tossed one of my waters as my pulse passed 175 and climbing. The pain worsened…180. Do I toss my last water? I stood up and hung on for another few minutes, but then it happened…a gap. S**T! The wind started howling again…the gap widened…pulse 183. I pushed harder. The pain was more than I could handle, I just couldn’t get it out of my mind, I couldn’t hang on any further, If only I felt better…I CAN”T TAKE IT ANYMORE!! I was suddenly alone in the raging wind….alone watching the pack pull away. I can’t catch up. So the wheels basically came off the cart right then…I got dropped and there was no way to get back on because I still had over a mile to go of climbing with a 20% grade at the end. So at that point I pretty much knew that as far as getting a good finish, it was over. For the rest of the hill I passed other suffering loners from other classes who long ago lost their race as well. We were racing against the demons in our mind now. I finally reach the top…too tired to be angry. The decent wasn’t technical enough for me to catch up and there were too many guys to reel them in on the flat….game over. So I decided not to blow myself out for this week and just finish. I slowed and let my pulse drop to a less painful level. A couple of other guys got dropped on the next hill and I kept them in sight the entire rest of the lap until the finish. No one else caught me and I caught and passed a few solo riders from other classes who were also blown up, dejected and just trying to get home. Yes, we were all doing the ride of shame. At least I wasn’t reduced to pile of drooling goo, cringing in pain, going eight miles an hour on the flat like last year. This year was different…still lonely, but different. I had recovered from my climbing debacle and there was power left in the motor, but no sprint finish. No chatting after the race. I ended up five minutes behind the leaders at the finish. 2:19:00 according to my Garmin. 11th place. I felt like I had a bad day, but life has a lot of those and this was just another one. No big deal. I rode Patterson because I knew it’d be really hard for me. As we all know, pain seems to be a big part of this sport and there are times when you can break through and keep going and times when you can’t. If one of those insecure thoughts hit you at the wrong time, it’s over…you get dropped. Unfortunately I couldn’t push through the pain. I still like the sport, but it is very humbling for an old novice like me.
Oh, I almost forgot. My buddy, Craig, finished the race…barely. He started cramping on the big climb of the second lap and suffered through the entire lap…but finished. He had never cramped at all before and couldn’t believe it and how brutal it is. It took him three hours to finish, but I was proud of him for not giving up! Apparently we all face our own demons at Patterson Pass.
-Mark F.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
VERY FUNNY Race Report: Mark Dames-45+ Cat 5
Race Report: Copper Town 7-31-2010
Mens : 45+ Cat 5
Filed by: Mark D.
The morning of July 31st started for me in the deepest woods of Arnold, California, where I had been in training retreat for the past week. I was swimming, biking and running at 4500 feet, amidst the fresh air, pine trees and splendor of the mountains. The preparation had included several bike rides with several thousand feet of climbing and several runs up and down the hills of Blue Lake Springs. I figured my altitude embellished red blood cell count was now rivaling any EPO enhanced TDF contestant. I had allowed myself a generous two day taper, going into Saturday morning. I was ready for this pivotal moment in my racing career. 5:00 am my alarm went off and I suited up in the CT gear, had breakfast, loaded a cup of coffee, and set off down the hill to Copperopolis.
If Arnold is, as my wife describes “Heaven on earth”, the race site of Copperopolis could best be described as Dante’s Inferno. 3000’ lower, in the rolling foot hills of the Central Valley, its featureless landscape is vacant of any shade, and the subject of regular 100+ degree heat during the Summer. The actual town, a backwater stop off Highway 4, looks to be a hodgepodge of tattered structures whose purpose seemed to have passed somewhere in the early part of the prior century. I had driven by this town many times before, but never dared to stop. It seemed the type of place where vultures might circle in anticipation of any living thing which might attempt to cross the desolate landscape. As I approach, I am mindful that the CHP has a station here, and regularly crawl the adjacent highway in search of inattentive speeders. I slow for Copperopolis, but continue on the highway for about a mile to what my youngest daughter refers to as “Mickey’s Toon Town”, a reference to the Disneyland theme area. “Copper Town”, as it was named by it’s developer, is a surreal apparition, rising off the highway, like a Hollywood Western set, about a mile from the original town of Copperopolis. A replica of a Western main street, with a city hall like structure, quaint storefronts, city square, and meandering side walks, it appears brand new and sporting freshly painted exteriors. Built by the Dole Corporation to augment their golf resort and residential development 4 miles away, Copper Town, stands almost completely vacant, as if waiting for a play or movie filming to start. Fully, four-fifths of the shops are empty. If Copper Town has one significant attribute, it’s free and bountiful parking. All around the “town” are vacant parking lots waiting for tourists who never arrive. I select a spot, park, and make my way to a cabana in the picturesque town square where race registration is set up. They ask for my license. Ha! I’m prepared for this. I’ve got one. I hand it over with casual confidence. I’m part of the “in” crowd, I’ve got a team, I belong, I’m here to take home some prize money, where do I sign for it? They give me a number and tell me it goes on my right, backside, but sideways. I have no idea what they are talking about. I ask them to explain. (They don’t have electronic timing chips, there’s a video camera at the finish line to record finishing places) My cover is blown. This is my first bike race.
The day before I had driven down with my oldest daughter to reconnoiter the route. She blocked behind in the car while I road the 5.5 mile loop on my bike. I recorded about 18.5 mph in 19 minutes to complete it. I wasn’t trying to go really fast, but I was attempting a brisk pace. Andrew had advised to expect 22-23 mph average speed. This concerns me as I perceive a fair headwind on the way out, and an extra 4 mph in pace would have cost me a lot. I estimate I have to last four laps to complete the one hour race.
Race morning I am confident and feeling good. My bike is stripped per Andrew’s advice, sans aero bars, tool kit, and extra water. He asked me if I was kidding when I asked him about any proscriptions against aero equipment. His admonition that they’re banned brought a similar “Is he kidding?” query from my wife. Cultures collide. I am a triathloner, where drafting is banned and draws four minute time penalties from the race referees, where it is man and aero machine in the race of truth against the clock. This is new territory for me. Some sort of Neanderthal purism, that frowns, nay banishes aero technology. I wonder how serious can they be. I’ve forgotten getting blown off the back of the Spectrum ride at the first ascent some months ago. I am Samson, ready to enter the Lions’ den.
John P. arrives and parks. I recognize the Leopard bike on top of his car before I recognize him. There is a stern countenance about the fellow which suggests he is deep in thought, or committed to the task at hand to the exclusion of other worldly influence. He emerges from his vehicle and takes off for race registration. Andrew, Mark and Christian arrive. Each has a similar grim determination that seems to smolder beneath an apparent unconcerned façade. We go out for a warm up ride. Andrew counsels to “be near the front on the turn arounds”, “don’t lead the pack, let someone else do the work” , “don’t chase down breaks”, “get third wheel for the best draft”, “keep the heart rate low” , “conserve for the final sprint.” He’s broken this down into a game plan formula. Probably an adaption of his old Marine Corps play book. These are serious guys.
I believe I’m going to get dropped on the first lap.
Race start comes. It all seems surprisingly informal. No loudspeaker, no national anthem, a single guy with a couple of words about “British style” riding (the opposite side of the road) and a whistle. It blows and we’re off. The initial couple of turns in town take us out to Little John Road, a new wide stretch of road with a center divider that’s been built to access the golf resort of Saddle Creek four miles away. It hasn’t begun to show the degradation of 100 degree heat and blistered asphalt. It’s smooth with gentle rolling hills. I take the 3rd wheel thing seriously and sprint after the second turn in town to get it. To my surprise it’s uncontested. We hit the main road and the pace gradually increases to 18, 19, 20 mph. Number 1 starts to lift the pace, 21, 22 mph. He holds the pace, I hold #3. This is easy in the draft, I’m not seeing how this is racing. Our pack leader looks intent on setting the pace. I’m enjoying the benefits. After several minutes number 1 breaks right to stop pace making and number two immediately drops back in response. I’m suddenly in my first bike race and in the lead! Well then. I can lead this pack. I drop down and hang my forearms off the front to get aero and start to pump. We’re going 23, 24 mph. I’m a minute into this and remember Andrew’s admonition “stay third”. I’m working too hard. I hear Phil and Paul in the back of my head talking about the “tremendous amount of work being done at the front of the pelaton”. I complete the thought, “by the dummies with big egos”. I pull off to the right and yield the lead. I get along side teammate Mark Foster. He comments about the speed (or lack thereof) and that his heart rate is only 110. I confess that I didn’t bring a heart rate monitor. He’s got some max heart rate that’s way above what I once had five years ago. He’s a contender. I try to chat him up for race strategy and sprinting experience. It’s his third race and his sprint experience is going up Old La Honda in 19 minutes. I disclose I’m a bit off that pace ( by 10 minutes ) and this is my first race. He moves up to toy with the folks at the front.
Coming back on the other side of the road is the 35+ Cat 4, pack who started 3 minutes before us. I see Andrew and John near the front of the group. Andrew is 2nd or 3rd. John lurks close by. I wonder what they’ve got planned. They fly by.
We get to the turn around. This is mission critical per Andrew. Be in the front going in or get relegated to the accordion effect and have to catch up. I get it done reasonably efficiently and don’t have to accelerate very hard to stay with the front. A couple of miles more and we’re back in town snaking our way around the town square. There are spectators sitting along the square on benches observing the race. Tourists in the vacant town built for them to come. Non-racers. The emptiness of these lives shocks me.
(OK, OK, I plagiarized that last part from Tim Krabbe)
Back to the race. I complete lap one. I haven’t been dropped. The pace is actually easy. Lap two is much the same. An easy pack ride. Is this just about guys with big thighs trying to snap the cranks off in the last 200 yards? I think about trying to go off the front, but the third wheel admonition keeps coming back to me. The situation changes on lap three. Folks are starting to move forward. Foster is being a complete insubordinate and is leading the pack for significant periods. He’s surging up hills then backing off on the downhill, testing the group. I find this difficult to keep pace with. I’d much rather surge downhill, or on the flats. A slight hill takes us past the finish line where they are ringing a cow bell to signal the final lap. We sweep through the town square at the end of lap three and I have to get out of the saddle to maintain contact with the group as we settle in for the fourth and final lap. We’re heading out on the last lap at a higher pace. I try to key on two guys from my age group who are wearing the same team jersey. One small guy leads and a huge guy trails him. I follow the big fellow. He has the look of a Thor Hushovd who may attack in the final sprint. I envision a huge vacuum behind this chap, sucking me forward. Riders are jockeying for position who hadn’t before as we approach the turn around. I’m no longer in third position and have slipped back in the pack as we go through the turn around. Somewhere there must be polka music playing. As we emerge from the turn I’m doing that accordion thing and sprinting to catch up (a violation of Captain’s position rule for turn arounds ). This gets my heart rate up which I try but fail to get back down after catching the group. The herd is accelerating for the barn. I struggle to stay with them. I’m looking for Thor, but he’s gone up the pack. Trying to approach the front now involves moving around and out of the draft, a seemingly diminishing return exercise. Next hill and the group really surges, I’m off the back now , and it’s a sprint to the finish, down a slight hill and up the final hill to the line. The elastic hasn’t snapped but it’s stretched to the limit. I have incrementally gone redline over the course of the final mile. Not hammering into it like stabbing the accelerator to the floorboard, but a slow drawn out climb into oxygen debt that has my lungs burning and legs looking for more power. I’m 50 yards back before I realize what’s happened. The dashboard light for lactate acid threshold is blinking wildly. I get aero and spin for dear life trying to catch the group. The VO2 max light goes off, the computer is warning, “shut down imminent!” I keep it floored. I haul in one straggler and pass him but he catches my draft. Where’s the race ref when you need him? I close to within twenty yards of the pack but can’t get any closer. I completely miss the show of Mark F. at the front puttin’ the hurt on the rest of the pelaton. Draft boy speeds past me. We cross the finish line and I’m too spent to think to glance back and see if anyone else is behind me. I suspect I’m the Lantern Rouge of the pack.
Mark Foster takes first. Congratulations to him for a great race.
My fifth place (out of five 45+ ‘ers) is good enough for a t-shirt.
Hey, I showed up !
All in all, a good time, on a nice course. And we finished before the temp’s hit 90.
Next time I’d pay more attention to maintaining forward turn around position especially on the final turn.
I’d also practice more hill sprints.
Congratulations to everyone competing this weekend, and especially John & Mark F for their top finishes and Andrew for placing in two races.
Heroic deeds indeed.
Mens : 45+ Cat 5
Filed by: Mark D.
The morning of July 31st started for me in the deepest woods of Arnold, California, where I had been in training retreat for the past week. I was swimming, biking and running at 4500 feet, amidst the fresh air, pine trees and splendor of the mountains. The preparation had included several bike rides with several thousand feet of climbing and several runs up and down the hills of Blue Lake Springs. I figured my altitude embellished red blood cell count was now rivaling any EPO enhanced TDF contestant. I had allowed myself a generous two day taper, going into Saturday morning. I was ready for this pivotal moment in my racing career. 5:00 am my alarm went off and I suited up in the CT gear, had breakfast, loaded a cup of coffee, and set off down the hill to Copperopolis.
If Arnold is, as my wife describes “Heaven on earth”, the race site of Copperopolis could best be described as Dante’s Inferno. 3000’ lower, in the rolling foot hills of the Central Valley, its featureless landscape is vacant of any shade, and the subject of regular 100+ degree heat during the Summer. The actual town, a backwater stop off Highway 4, looks to be a hodgepodge of tattered structures whose purpose seemed to have passed somewhere in the early part of the prior century. I had driven by this town many times before, but never dared to stop. It seemed the type of place where vultures might circle in anticipation of any living thing which might attempt to cross the desolate landscape. As I approach, I am mindful that the CHP has a station here, and regularly crawl the adjacent highway in search of inattentive speeders. I slow for Copperopolis, but continue on the highway for about a mile to what my youngest daughter refers to as “Mickey’s Toon Town”, a reference to the Disneyland theme area. “Copper Town”, as it was named by it’s developer, is a surreal apparition, rising off the highway, like a Hollywood Western set, about a mile from the original town of Copperopolis. A replica of a Western main street, with a city hall like structure, quaint storefronts, city square, and meandering side walks, it appears brand new and sporting freshly painted exteriors. Built by the Dole Corporation to augment their golf resort and residential development 4 miles away, Copper Town, stands almost completely vacant, as if waiting for a play or movie filming to start. Fully, four-fifths of the shops are empty. If Copper Town has one significant attribute, it’s free and bountiful parking. All around the “town” are vacant parking lots waiting for tourists who never arrive. I select a spot, park, and make my way to a cabana in the picturesque town square where race registration is set up. They ask for my license. Ha! I’m prepared for this. I’ve got one. I hand it over with casual confidence. I’m part of the “in” crowd, I’ve got a team, I belong, I’m here to take home some prize money, where do I sign for it? They give me a number and tell me it goes on my right, backside, but sideways. I have no idea what they are talking about. I ask them to explain. (They don’t have electronic timing chips, there’s a video camera at the finish line to record finishing places) My cover is blown. This is my first bike race.
The day before I had driven down with my oldest daughter to reconnoiter the route. She blocked behind in the car while I road the 5.5 mile loop on my bike. I recorded about 18.5 mph in 19 minutes to complete it. I wasn’t trying to go really fast, but I was attempting a brisk pace. Andrew had advised to expect 22-23 mph average speed. This concerns me as I perceive a fair headwind on the way out, and an extra 4 mph in pace would have cost me a lot. I estimate I have to last four laps to complete the one hour race.
Race morning I am confident and feeling good. My bike is stripped per Andrew’s advice, sans aero bars, tool kit, and extra water. He asked me if I was kidding when I asked him about any proscriptions against aero equipment. His admonition that they’re banned brought a similar “Is he kidding?” query from my wife. Cultures collide. I am a triathloner, where drafting is banned and draws four minute time penalties from the race referees, where it is man and aero machine in the race of truth against the clock. This is new territory for me. Some sort of Neanderthal purism, that frowns, nay banishes aero technology. I wonder how serious can they be. I’ve forgotten getting blown off the back of the Spectrum ride at the first ascent some months ago. I am Samson, ready to enter the Lions’ den.
John P. arrives and parks. I recognize the Leopard bike on top of his car before I recognize him. There is a stern countenance about the fellow which suggests he is deep in thought, or committed to the task at hand to the exclusion of other worldly influence. He emerges from his vehicle and takes off for race registration. Andrew, Mark and Christian arrive. Each has a similar grim determination that seems to smolder beneath an apparent unconcerned façade. We go out for a warm up ride. Andrew counsels to “be near the front on the turn arounds”, “don’t lead the pack, let someone else do the work” , “don’t chase down breaks”, “get third wheel for the best draft”, “keep the heart rate low” , “conserve for the final sprint.” He’s broken this down into a game plan formula. Probably an adaption of his old Marine Corps play book. These are serious guys.
I believe I’m going to get dropped on the first lap.
Race start comes. It all seems surprisingly informal. No loudspeaker, no national anthem, a single guy with a couple of words about “British style” riding (the opposite side of the road) and a whistle. It blows and we’re off. The initial couple of turns in town take us out to Little John Road, a new wide stretch of road with a center divider that’s been built to access the golf resort of Saddle Creek four miles away. It hasn’t begun to show the degradation of 100 degree heat and blistered asphalt. It’s smooth with gentle rolling hills. I take the 3rd wheel thing seriously and sprint after the second turn in town to get it. To my surprise it’s uncontested. We hit the main road and the pace gradually increases to 18, 19, 20 mph. Number 1 starts to lift the pace, 21, 22 mph. He holds the pace, I hold #3. This is easy in the draft, I’m not seeing how this is racing. Our pack leader looks intent on setting the pace. I’m enjoying the benefits. After several minutes number 1 breaks right to stop pace making and number two immediately drops back in response. I’m suddenly in my first bike race and in the lead! Well then. I can lead this pack. I drop down and hang my forearms off the front to get aero and start to pump. We’re going 23, 24 mph. I’m a minute into this and remember Andrew’s admonition “stay third”. I’m working too hard. I hear Phil and Paul in the back of my head talking about the “tremendous amount of work being done at the front of the pelaton”. I complete the thought, “by the dummies with big egos”. I pull off to the right and yield the lead. I get along side teammate Mark Foster. He comments about the speed (or lack thereof) and that his heart rate is only 110. I confess that I didn’t bring a heart rate monitor. He’s got some max heart rate that’s way above what I once had five years ago. He’s a contender. I try to chat him up for race strategy and sprinting experience. It’s his third race and his sprint experience is going up Old La Honda in 19 minutes. I disclose I’m a bit off that pace ( by 10 minutes ) and this is my first race. He moves up to toy with the folks at the front.
Coming back on the other side of the road is the 35+ Cat 4, pack who started 3 minutes before us. I see Andrew and John near the front of the group. Andrew is 2nd or 3rd. John lurks close by. I wonder what they’ve got planned. They fly by.
We get to the turn around. This is mission critical per Andrew. Be in the front going in or get relegated to the accordion effect and have to catch up. I get it done reasonably efficiently and don’t have to accelerate very hard to stay with the front. A couple of miles more and we’re back in town snaking our way around the town square. There are spectators sitting along the square on benches observing the race. Tourists in the vacant town built for them to come. Non-racers. The emptiness of these lives shocks me.
(OK, OK, I plagiarized that last part from Tim Krabbe)
Back to the race. I complete lap one. I haven’t been dropped. The pace is actually easy. Lap two is much the same. An easy pack ride. Is this just about guys with big thighs trying to snap the cranks off in the last 200 yards? I think about trying to go off the front, but the third wheel admonition keeps coming back to me. The situation changes on lap three. Folks are starting to move forward. Foster is being a complete insubordinate and is leading the pack for significant periods. He’s surging up hills then backing off on the downhill, testing the group. I find this difficult to keep pace with. I’d much rather surge downhill, or on the flats. A slight hill takes us past the finish line where they are ringing a cow bell to signal the final lap. We sweep through the town square at the end of lap three and I have to get out of the saddle to maintain contact with the group as we settle in for the fourth and final lap. We’re heading out on the last lap at a higher pace. I try to key on two guys from my age group who are wearing the same team jersey. One small guy leads and a huge guy trails him. I follow the big fellow. He has the look of a Thor Hushovd who may attack in the final sprint. I envision a huge vacuum behind this chap, sucking me forward. Riders are jockeying for position who hadn’t before as we approach the turn around. I’m no longer in third position and have slipped back in the pack as we go through the turn around. Somewhere there must be polka music playing. As we emerge from the turn I’m doing that accordion thing and sprinting to catch up (a violation of Captain’s position rule for turn arounds ). This gets my heart rate up which I try but fail to get back down after catching the group. The herd is accelerating for the barn. I struggle to stay with them. I’m looking for Thor, but he’s gone up the pack. Trying to approach the front now involves moving around and out of the draft, a seemingly diminishing return exercise. Next hill and the group really surges, I’m off the back now , and it’s a sprint to the finish, down a slight hill and up the final hill to the line. The elastic hasn’t snapped but it’s stretched to the limit. I have incrementally gone redline over the course of the final mile. Not hammering into it like stabbing the accelerator to the floorboard, but a slow drawn out climb into oxygen debt that has my lungs burning and legs looking for more power. I’m 50 yards back before I realize what’s happened. The dashboard light for lactate acid threshold is blinking wildly. I get aero and spin for dear life trying to catch the group. The VO2 max light goes off, the computer is warning, “shut down imminent!” I keep it floored. I haul in one straggler and pass him but he catches my draft. Where’s the race ref when you need him? I close to within twenty yards of the pack but can’t get any closer. I completely miss the show of Mark F. at the front puttin’ the hurt on the rest of the pelaton. Draft boy speeds past me. We cross the finish line and I’m too spent to think to glance back and see if anyone else is behind me. I suspect I’m the Lantern Rouge of the pack.
Mark Foster takes first. Congratulations to him for a great race.
My fifth place (out of five 45+ ‘ers) is good enough for a t-shirt.
Hey, I showed up !
All in all, a good time, on a nice course. And we finished before the temp’s hit 90.
Next time I’d pay more attention to maintaining forward turn around position especially on the final turn.
I’d also practice more hill sprints.
Congratulations to everyone competing this weekend, and especially John & Mark F for their top finishes and Andrew for placing in two races.
Heroic deeds indeed.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Timpani Crit- Chris Scheetz - 45+
Race - Timpani Crit
Course - 0.9 miles per lap, course is four corners and flat, on good, clean pavement.
Temperature - Mid 70's
Wind - light
Category - Masters 45/55 (staggered start)
Primes - None
Race started at a very reasonable 12:50pm. As noted, this was to be a combined race for both masters 45 and 55 racers with a staggered start. I was in the first wave of 51 riders for the 45's, there were 16 at the line for the 55's. The course was just short of 1 mile in length, so we had four good straights to move around, and the peloton really did.
We were only into the second lap and heading into turn one in a tight formation when a couple riders in front of me crossed wheels and hit the deck, hard, the sound is kinda sickening. There was the typical mayhem that follows a crash, riders taking evasive actions, I had to lock em' up and swing hard left to avoided a few riders. (Just before the race began, I clearly heard the race director say, "do not become complacent on an otherwise easy course"). Anyway, the race moved on for another couple laps and I made an early 5 man brake. As we rounded turn 4 heading for the start/finish I looked up and saw the race directors in the middle of the road, waving flags. They brought the entire peloton to a stop. Emergency vehicles had entered the course to assist one of the riders who crashed on lap two. (My wife and kids were on the corner when it happened and told me the word was they guy damaged his hip).
With emergency vehicles on course, were proceeded at a neutral pace for two laps. When the course was clear, the directors stopped us again, gave us some instructions and the race was on again. This time, the peloton had grown due to the inclusion of the Masters 55 group. With a larger group now and more teams, team tactics were clear. There was rarely time to recover in the group as one team after another launched attacks. The group would ultimately respond and chase them down, then another team would launch.
With two laps to go, the pressure was increased and the peloton really got strung out. I started working the inside line (not always the safest place to be on a corner) but knew I could improve my position after each corner. The strategy did work and as we came into turn three, I actually had a better than average line (meaning I did not have to go in the gutter), shot out and passed several riders. At that point, there was not much change in positioning as we made turn four. From there, it was a drag race to the line, some 250 meters. At that point I got tunnel vision and made it my race to beat the one guy in front of me, which I did my a slight margin.
All said, I finished 6th in my category, time on course was 50 minutes (included two neutral laps) averaging 24 mph.
Course - 0.9 miles per lap, course is four corners and flat, on good, clean pavement.
Temperature - Mid 70's
Wind - light
Category - Masters 45/55 (staggered start)
Primes - None
Race started at a very reasonable 12:50pm. As noted, this was to be a combined race for both masters 45 and 55 racers with a staggered start. I was in the first wave of 51 riders for the 45's, there were 16 at the line for the 55's. The course was just short of 1 mile in length, so we had four good straights to move around, and the peloton really did.
We were only into the second lap and heading into turn one in a tight formation when a couple riders in front of me crossed wheels and hit the deck, hard, the sound is kinda sickening. There was the typical mayhem that follows a crash, riders taking evasive actions, I had to lock em' up and swing hard left to avoided a few riders. (Just before the race began, I clearly heard the race director say, "do not become complacent on an otherwise easy course"). Anyway, the race moved on for another couple laps and I made an early 5 man brake. As we rounded turn 4 heading for the start/finish I looked up and saw the race directors in the middle of the road, waving flags. They brought the entire peloton to a stop. Emergency vehicles had entered the course to assist one of the riders who crashed on lap two. (My wife and kids were on the corner when it happened and told me the word was they guy damaged his hip).
With emergency vehicles on course, were proceeded at a neutral pace for two laps. When the course was clear, the directors stopped us again, gave us some instructions and the race was on again. This time, the peloton had grown due to the inclusion of the Masters 55 group. With a larger group now and more teams, team tactics were clear. There was rarely time to recover in the group as one team after another launched attacks. The group would ultimately respond and chase them down, then another team would launch.
With two laps to go, the pressure was increased and the peloton really got strung out. I started working the inside line (not always the safest place to be on a corner) but knew I could improve my position after each corner. The strategy did work and as we came into turn three, I actually had a better than average line (meaning I did not have to go in the gutter), shot out and passed several riders. At that point, there was not much change in positioning as we made turn four. From there, it was a drag race to the line, some 250 meters. At that point I got tunnel vision and made it my race to beat the one guy in front of me, which I did my a slight margin.
All said, I finished 6th in my category, time on course was 50 minutes (included two neutral laps) averaging 24 mph.
Timpani Crit- Jon Hallam - Cat 5 35+
Race: Timpani Criterium, Santa Clara, CA (sunny, dry roads, around 70 degrees)
Date: Sunday, August 1, 2010
Category: Open Cat. 5 (44 riders started, 42 finished)
Duration: 35 minutes
Course: 0.9 miles per lap, four corners and flat, on good, clean pavement
Yesterday was my 2nd race ever, and my first criterium. It was quite a luxury to
do a race 30 minutes from home, and with a start time of 10:10am. I arrived
early to warm-up and to watch some of the Cat 4 race. The course was exactly as
advertised. Flat, good pavement, and we had two full lanes all the way
around. The only obstacles were a few small potholes (all marked with spray
paint) and about a thousand Botts' dots
(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Botts'_dots).
Just before our start, we had a quick talk from the two USA Cycling mentors who
would be tagging along to keep an eye on us. I don't remember the exact wording,
but the key take-away was: you're not good enough to pedal through the corners
and if you do you will most-likely bounce a pedal, cause a crash and everyone
will be mad at you. I thought this advice unnecessary until we got underway and
I saw some of the other riders. There were definitely a few who hit the brakes
in the turns and took unpredictable lines. Luckily, I quickly identified them
and managed to steer clear. Afterward, I heard that two riders had bumped wheels
and gone down, but they were in the back and I didn't see the crash.
There were no primes in our race and the 35 minutes passed quickly without much
excitement. There were a few break attempts which caused accelerations in the
pack, but no one got away. You experienced racers will say, "duh", but as a
newbie I was reminded that if you're not actively moving up in the pack, then
you're drifting back. Other riders are always coming up the outside and if you
sit on the same wheel too long you'll find yourself at the tail end, which means
you'll have to sprint harder out of the corners. I played it conservative and
didn't move up any farther than about 5th place and didn't fall back past the
middle.
Before I knew it the card showed 3 laps to go. The pace picked up a little, but
still no fireworks. This is where more experience and a modicum of strategy
would have helped me. I should have started moving up sooner than the last lap
so I could have had a quick recovery before the final sprint. Around the final
turn it was full gas and I managed to mostly hold my position to finish 20th.
Next time, I'll make a run at the top 10. My bike computer showed 15 miles in 35
minutes for an average speed of 25.7 mph. I suspect that's relatively slow for
such a fast course, but I'll count it as another success.
Oh, and I should mention that my new Leopard is awesome! Stiff, super quick, and
very confident in the turns. If you're thinking about a new bike, I'd highly
recommend it, and with the sweet deal we get on them, you can't go wrong.
I hope to see (or meet) many of you at the BBQ on Sunday.
Thanks!
-Jon
Date: Sunday, August 1, 2010
Category: Open Cat. 5 (44 riders started, 42 finished)
Duration: 35 minutes
Course: 0.9 miles per lap, four corners and flat, on good, clean pavement
Yesterday was my 2nd race ever, and my first criterium. It was quite a luxury to
do a race 30 minutes from home, and with a start time of 10:10am. I arrived
early to warm-up and to watch some of the Cat 4 race. The course was exactly as
advertised. Flat, good pavement, and we had two full lanes all the way
around. The only obstacles were a few small potholes (all marked with spray
paint) and about a thousand Botts' dots
(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Botts'_dots).
Just before our start, we had a quick talk from the two USA Cycling mentors who
would be tagging along to keep an eye on us. I don't remember the exact wording,
but the key take-away was: you're not good enough to pedal through the corners
and if you do you will most-likely bounce a pedal, cause a crash and everyone
will be mad at you. I thought this advice unnecessary until we got underway and
I saw some of the other riders. There were definitely a few who hit the brakes
in the turns and took unpredictable lines. Luckily, I quickly identified them
and managed to steer clear. Afterward, I heard that two riders had bumped wheels
and gone down, but they were in the back and I didn't see the crash.
There were no primes in our race and the 35 minutes passed quickly without much
excitement. There were a few break attempts which caused accelerations in the
pack, but no one got away. You experienced racers will say, "duh", but as a
newbie I was reminded that if you're not actively moving up in the pack, then
you're drifting back. Other riders are always coming up the outside and if you
sit on the same wheel too long you'll find yourself at the tail end, which means
you'll have to sprint harder out of the corners. I played it conservative and
didn't move up any farther than about 5th place and didn't fall back past the
middle.
Before I knew it the card showed 3 laps to go. The pace picked up a little, but
still no fireworks. This is where more experience and a modicum of strategy
would have helped me. I should have started moving up sooner than the last lap
so I could have had a quick recovery before the final sprint. Around the final
turn it was full gas and I managed to mostly hold my position to finish 20th.
Next time, I'll make a run at the top 10. My bike computer showed 15 miles in 35
minutes for an average speed of 25.7 mph. I suspect that's relatively slow for
such a fast course, but I'll count it as another success.
Oh, and I should mention that my new Leopard is awesome! Stiff, super quick, and
very confident in the turns. If you're thinking about a new bike, I'd highly
recommend it, and with the sweet deal we get on them, you can't go wrong.
I hope to see (or meet) many of you at the BBQ on Sunday.
Thanks!
-Jon
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Copper Town Circuit Race Report- John Pauley-35+ 4
Race: Copper Town Circuit race in Copperopolis, CA (Sunny and about 70 degrees)
Date: July 31, 2010
Category: Master 35+ Cat. 4 (20 riders started, 15 finished)
Teammates: Andrew Adelman
Course: Four laps around a 5.5 mile out and back with a nice little section through town (crit style) as one of the turnarounds. The course is rolling, with one roller on the front side of the course that you could almost call a hill. The finish is a 1 mile downhill (2% grade so less than Alpine) to a 100+ yard uphill finish. (Quick side note, the race is run “British style”, meaning we stayed on the left side of the road the entire time. I’ve never done that before and it was an interesting little twist.)
Placings…. You will have to wait until the end of the recap to find out
Andrew, Christian and Mark drove up to the race on Friday and stayed in Arnold. I told Andrew that if I did this race, it would be a last minute decision. Well, it definitely was that. (For those of you that don’t know, my wife tore her hamstring three weeks ago and she has good days and bad days and this affects my ability to train and race) Well, Friday was a good day, so on Friday night at 10 p.m. I got the go ahead to do this race!
I got up at 5:00 a.m. and decided to make the two hour drive to Copperopolis and try out this course. The course itself sounded interested to me since there are no hills and it was a circuit race (I gave up doing criteriums when I separated my shoulder 8 years ago).
The race starts off in the town square and then turns out onto the main road. For the first mile or so, the race started fairly slowly. Andrew and I both rode at the front trying to keep the pace down, but on the first little hill, a couple of guys rolled off the front and started a breakaway which brought the pace up a little, but it stayed generally slow for the first couple of laps. The breakaway lasted about 10 miles and at one point they got a 20 to 30 second lead on the peloton. It’s amazing when you watch the Tour de France (or any other big bike race) how the peloton gauges just how far away the break will be allowed to get before they reel them back in. We all sat in cruising along at 20 to 25 mile per hour while the break was out there and no one panicked. With a lap and a half to go, the pace suddenly picked up and we brought back that 30 second lead in less the 2 miles. It was fun to watch and I felt like I was truly “racing like the pros”.
Anyway, the race for the first 20 miles was fairly uneventful; no crashes, everyone took their turns at the front, a break or two got away and then came back to us, and we dropped a couple of guys, etc. With about 2.5 miles to (at the last turnaround) the pace started to pick up and each team was trying to send guys off the front, but most of the attempts were too far from the finish and the pack was all over every move. As we headed up the last hill, with about a mile and a half to go, Andrew and another guy took off and got about 20 or 30 yards on the group. Instantly a few of the guys in the peloton panicked and chased them down. I was sitting in about 10th place watching to see if they got caught and with 1.1 miles to go (and more importantly at the top of the last roller) we caught Andrew. Surprisingly the whole group slowed down and I shot up the right side of the rode and flew past Andrew (who didn’t know I was coming and almost rode me into the gravel on the side of the rode). I was yelling “right side”, “right side” and fortunately Andrew moved enough for me to slide by and I was alone off the front. I heard one guy yelling that a break (me) was going on the right and another guy said “It’s too far!”.
Well, here is what I had ahead of me: one mile of rolling down hill broken down as follows; down 2% for 3/10 of a mile, flat for 3/10 and the down 1% for 4/10 of a mile and then the finish uphill which was just over 100 yards. I knew these distances, because I was measuring the finish each lap (and I confirmed them with my GPS afterwards). Back to the race… As I past Andrew, and the head of the peloton, I put my head down, got as arrow as I could, and quickly hit 34 mph. I held 33 or 34 all the way to the flat part and with ¾ of a mile still to go I was starting to hurt a little, so I backed off to 30 / 31 mph and tried to hold that for as long as I could. (I still haven’t looked back and for all I knew, they were all right behind me and this was all for not.) I hold my speed and make to the final “downhill” and I now I am really having a tough time holding my speed, but the slight downhill helps. I finally look back and I am shocked to see that I have 150 yards on the peloton. At this point, I decide to try to hold 28 mph or higher until I reach the uphill finish section and then take another look.
Quick side note, during the Tour de France, you hear things like “he is turning himself inside out” or you see Jens Voight on the front of a break and he looks like he is suffering, but somehow he is able to continue. The only times I have ever been in that situation is when I am climbing a big hill during a race and I can’t keep up. Today was different though and all I can think about is “if they can do it, so can I”, so, I pushed on.
I get to the bottom of the finish hill and I take a look back and I still have 100 yard lead with 100 yards to go! I’ve got this thing! So, I decide to settle into an easier pedaling rhythm because my legs are getting really tight and as I shift gears I mis-shift somehow and I do a couple of pedal turns where nothing happens, the legs spin with no power to the back wheel. Fortunately, the chain fell back into gear and I stood up and “sprinted” (maybe 18 mph). I look back with 10 yards to go and there is the peloton flying up the hill at 25 to 30 mph. I was hoping to do a little fist pump or something as I crossed the line, but now all I can think about is getting there before they do. Just to be certain I pick up the pace the best I can and lunge for the line. I get the win, but only by about 2 bike lengths. I look back and Andrew and another guy are crossing the line for second and Andrew ended up third by the width of a tire! (It is amazing how quickly a hungry pack can make up 150 yards when the legs are burning!)
It was a great day for CoreTechs Cycling and it was my first win in 17 years! (A few other CoreTechs guys did well, but I will let them tell you about it.)
Thanks for reading and I’ll see you out there.
Date: July 31, 2010
Category: Master 35+ Cat. 4 (20 riders started, 15 finished)
Teammates: Andrew Adelman
Course: Four laps around a 5.5 mile out and back with a nice little section through town (crit style) as one of the turnarounds. The course is rolling, with one roller on the front side of the course that you could almost call a hill. The finish is a 1 mile downhill (2% grade so less than Alpine) to a 100+ yard uphill finish. (Quick side note, the race is run “British style”, meaning we stayed on the left side of the road the entire time. I’ve never done that before and it was an interesting little twist.)
Placings…. You will have to wait until the end of the recap to find out
Andrew, Christian and Mark drove up to the race on Friday and stayed in Arnold. I told Andrew that if I did this race, it would be a last minute decision. Well, it definitely was that. (For those of you that don’t know, my wife tore her hamstring three weeks ago and she has good days and bad days and this affects my ability to train and race) Well, Friday was a good day, so on Friday night at 10 p.m. I got the go ahead to do this race!
I got up at 5:00 a.m. and decided to make the two hour drive to Copperopolis and try out this course. The course itself sounded interested to me since there are no hills and it was a circuit race (I gave up doing criteriums when I separated my shoulder 8 years ago).
The race starts off in the town square and then turns out onto the main road. For the first mile or so, the race started fairly slowly. Andrew and I both rode at the front trying to keep the pace down, but on the first little hill, a couple of guys rolled off the front and started a breakaway which brought the pace up a little, but it stayed generally slow for the first couple of laps. The breakaway lasted about 10 miles and at one point they got a 20 to 30 second lead on the peloton. It’s amazing when you watch the Tour de France (or any other big bike race) how the peloton gauges just how far away the break will be allowed to get before they reel them back in. We all sat in cruising along at 20 to 25 mile per hour while the break was out there and no one panicked. With a lap and a half to go, the pace suddenly picked up and we brought back that 30 second lead in less the 2 miles. It was fun to watch and I felt like I was truly “racing like the pros”.
Anyway, the race for the first 20 miles was fairly uneventful; no crashes, everyone took their turns at the front, a break or two got away and then came back to us, and we dropped a couple of guys, etc. With about 2.5 miles to (at the last turnaround) the pace started to pick up and each team was trying to send guys off the front, but most of the attempts were too far from the finish and the pack was all over every move. As we headed up the last hill, with about a mile and a half to go, Andrew and another guy took off and got about 20 or 30 yards on the group. Instantly a few of the guys in the peloton panicked and chased them down. I was sitting in about 10th place watching to see if they got caught and with 1.1 miles to go (and more importantly at the top of the last roller) we caught Andrew. Surprisingly the whole group slowed down and I shot up the right side of the rode and flew past Andrew (who didn’t know I was coming and almost rode me into the gravel on the side of the rode). I was yelling “right side”, “right side” and fortunately Andrew moved enough for me to slide by and I was alone off the front. I heard one guy yelling that a break (me) was going on the right and another guy said “It’s too far!”.
Well, here is what I had ahead of me: one mile of rolling down hill broken down as follows; down 2% for 3/10 of a mile, flat for 3/10 and the down 1% for 4/10 of a mile and then the finish uphill which was just over 100 yards. I knew these distances, because I was measuring the finish each lap (and I confirmed them with my GPS afterwards). Back to the race… As I past Andrew, and the head of the peloton, I put my head down, got as arrow as I could, and quickly hit 34 mph. I held 33 or 34 all the way to the flat part and with ¾ of a mile still to go I was starting to hurt a little, so I backed off to 30 / 31 mph and tried to hold that for as long as I could. (I still haven’t looked back and for all I knew, they were all right behind me and this was all for not.) I hold my speed and make to the final “downhill” and I now I am really having a tough time holding my speed, but the slight downhill helps. I finally look back and I am shocked to see that I have 150 yards on the peloton. At this point, I decide to try to hold 28 mph or higher until I reach the uphill finish section and then take another look.
Quick side note, during the Tour de France, you hear things like “he is turning himself inside out” or you see Jens Voight on the front of a break and he looks like he is suffering, but somehow he is able to continue. The only times I have ever been in that situation is when I am climbing a big hill during a race and I can’t keep up. Today was different though and all I can think about is “if they can do it, so can I”, so, I pushed on.
I get to the bottom of the finish hill and I take a look back and I still have 100 yard lead with 100 yards to go! I’ve got this thing! So, I decide to settle into an easier pedaling rhythm because my legs are getting really tight and as I shift gears I mis-shift somehow and I do a couple of pedal turns where nothing happens, the legs spin with no power to the back wheel. Fortunately, the chain fell back into gear and I stood up and “sprinted” (maybe 18 mph). I look back with 10 yards to go and there is the peloton flying up the hill at 25 to 30 mph. I was hoping to do a little fist pump or something as I crossed the line, but now all I can think about is getting there before they do. Just to be certain I pick up the pace the best I can and lunge for the line. I get the win, but only by about 2 bike lengths. I look back and Andrew and another guy are crossing the line for second and Andrew ended up third by the width of a tire! (It is amazing how quickly a hungry pack can make up 150 yards when the legs are burning!)
It was a great day for CoreTechs Cycling and it was my first win in 17 years! (A few other CoreTechs guys did well, but I will let them tell you about it.)
Thanks for reading and I’ll see you out there.
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