Mixed weekend caps off a mixed season

 

Astoria.  For those outside of the racing community, this small coastal town in Northwest corner of Oregon may only be known as the filming location of the 80’s movie “The Goonies”, but for the last few years its hosted a 2 day sufferfest/party of Cyclecross racing at the Clatsop County Fairgrounds.  Last year we had a great time and we were looking forward to this years event since the start of the CX season.

Unfortunately building something up in your mind often leads to letdown.

I took the day off on Friday to allow for plenty of time to clean the house and pack our stuff.  Traci’s workday just got more and more hectic as it progressed, but we still managed to leave the house exactly at the time I wanted to.  Her small-car Tetris packing ability never ceases to amaze me.  In the end, the Mini was stuffed to the gills with 2 days worth of racing gear for both of us, our mud bin, beer, food, 1 spare wheel, and 15 costumes for the team.  We both agreed that we were going to try and enjoy the weekend rather than race hardcore so the trainer / trainer wheel, and spare front wheel all stayed home.

A few of us booked reservations this year at a condo in downtown Astoria.  Traci and I were the first to arrive at 4pm.  The accommodations were beautiful albeit a bit cramped as 15 of us bunked down in a condo with beds for 8.  (There were a few very sore housemates in the morning.)

Over the next few hours the rest of the folks staying started to show up, and the weather progressively got worse.  Weather reports were continuously being updated on iPhones until at about 11pm a full blown storm was battering Astoria.  Sustained 20-30mph winds with gusts of 50mph we recorded, and our small condo perched on one of Astoria’s many piers was taking the full brunt of it.  The wind howled and whipped rain against the building.  Gusts slammed nearby doors and rattled the windows.  Every time I started to doze off another noise woke me up.  Eventually around 1:30am, the storm blew through and I fell asleep.

The next morning our weary crew departed to the fairgrounds for Day 1 of racing.  We hauled the first trip of our gear up from the parking lot to find someone had decided to pitch a quarter of their camping tent under one of the team shelters next to the course.   No amount of polite asking, dirty looks, or obviously directed “who the fuck put their campsite in the middle of our tent?” like comments prompted them move their stuff.  Srsly?

Since we arrived later that normal, race time crept up on me.  Before I knew it, I was on a borrowed trainer, doing a half hearted warm up.  Ok, I’ll admit really all I was doing was getting the embrocation on my back activated.  The course was super muddy, similar to how WashCo was last week.  Since the Fango’s had issues the previous week I decided to use Traci’s Bulldog front wheel and swap the rear cassette off my tubular to my Bulldog clincher so I would have better traction and not crash.. in theory.

The 8’s drew last position on Saturday which was good on a few levels.  First I didn’t have to put any “I’m in the front so I should at least try and race hard” pressure on myself.  Second, I got free beer for my effort.  Third, I wouldn’t get in anybodies way as we went through the course.  The whistle blew, and the race started.  For the next 42 minutes I played “lets see how muddy I can get without actually crashing.”  Answer, pretty muddy. 

At the end of the race I was bummed about how I was feeling because Astoria was a course I probably could have done well at if I was at 100%.  The climbs were hard, but not grinding like Rainer or Sherwood.  The sloppy mud sections I could probably power through, if I would have been able to put power into the drive train consistently.  At least I got some really good course recon that I was able to pass on to my friends and teammates who were racing later. 

A couple hours sitting around in the cold / damp made my legs and back hurt and by the time we made our way back to the condo, I wasn’t a happy camper.  A good hot shower, my SKINS and a nice beer did go a long way to improving my spirits though.

The group stayed in on Saturday night, choosing to have a big sit down dinner rather than going out on Halloween.  Traci and I cooked dinner for the team, and by 9pm the number of folks nodding off in the family room equaled those awake.  By 10 we were all in bed.

Sunday we awoke to a thin fog hanging over the shoreline.  We ate and packed the cars and cleaned the condo for our departure.  Sunday was a new day with a new race.  Costumes where the theme and many of us decided to ride as “Guy Fawkes” aka “The V for Vendetta Guy”.  It was a clever costume and had a great impact when there were a number of us all together.  Next year however, no masks. :P

Today was about fun for me.  I carried with me to the start line a bag of treats (candy) and tricks (plastic mice and skull rings and severed fingers).  Also included in the bag was a hand-down of epic proportions. I had tipped Cap’n Dave off earlier to be ready for it.   The whistle blew and I stayed with the front of the race until the first set of barriers.. where I promptly found Dave, pulled over and unzipped the bag.  Inside was a 4 foot Skull and Spine Halloween beer funnel and a 22 of Rogue “Dead Guy” ale.  The crowd erupted in cheers but sadly at this point no photos have surfaced of the hand-down.

I remounted my bike and sprinted off, quickly catching Javad and Mike who were waiting for me.  The three of us rode easy together in identical costume’s getting a great deal of cheers from spectators.  In the orchard I bit it on the off camber section and ran my bike to the next set of people, tossing out candy and prizes to those cheering.  We rode on, over the barriers and up the road, next stop was going to be the OBRA tent.

My chain didn’t make it that far.  With an audible snap and rattle of metal on pavement, my chain exploded into 3 pieces.  I passed the bag off to Javad and Mike with the instructions to “carry on the mission”.  I’m happy to report they did to the joy of the crowd.

I shoulder my crippled bike for the fourth time this season and set off at a run.  Terry Camp saw me from the bridge and yelled down that she’d radio ahead to the Shimano pits to be ready for me.  Through the Start / Finish I ran, barely able to see through my skewed mask.  You know you’ve had a lot of mechanicals this season when Splinter actually singles you out.

Eventually I make it to the pits where the tech is waiting.  Three minutes later I’m back in business rolling to the barriers for the second time.  There are coffins now, and a pumpkin.  I run through the barriers and b-line for the pumpkin where I jump on it and smash it to bits.  More crowd cheering and I’m laughing along with them.  The course is slick and slow through the stables and orchard, and I practice corning with a foot out of the pedals in these areas.  It’s something I had never done and will be adding to my skill set next year hopefully.

The crowd continues to go nuts by the barriers, and I try to entertain them.  Iron cross bike carries, dances on top of the coffins, its all in the name of fun.

My race ends early since I’m a lap down and in dead last. I roll directly to the bike wash.  There isn’t a line, one of the few benefits of having a really bad race from a placing perspective.

I have a lot of time the remainder of the day and on the long drive home to reflect upon the weekend and the CX season as a whole.  I had a lot of anticipation leading up to both, and in the end there was some moments of brilliance and delight in a series of unfortunate events, disappointments, and mishaps.   It could be the reality of it all or it could be my tired attitude and sore body after a very long racing season. Time will tell.

Recovery and reflection this week.  Plans are being made, goals being set, announcements are starting to leak out.  Next season is right around the corner.

Where did this week go?

 

It's Thursday night, a mere 16 hours before we head to Astoria and I'm just now getting to my write up of this last weekend.  It's been a busy hectic week at work and when I get home I'm content to stretch and work the soreness out of my legs and lower back.  My cross season will be over in a few days due to work, but this weekend should be a great way to put a wrap on things.  But first, back to this past weekend.

Saturday we get up bright and early to head south down to Salem.  The second event in the Willamette Valley Cross Series was held at the old Battle Creek golf course which was as cool as it sounds.  The day was cool, but bright and sunny at the same time.  The early morning damp fog and sog made for a chilly and messy pre-ride with the thick grass course creating mini moss monsters on people's bikes.

I had an 11am start time so after a few pre-ride laps it was time to get ready for my race.  I got a good warm-up in, but my body was still feeling the effects of the Sherwood race the previous weekend.  Mainly my lower back.  Jeff B arrived right as I was finishing my warm-up and with him came my newly mounted rear tire.  The Fango that flatted at Rainer had another, different flat at Sherwood which Stan's wonder-goo couldn't plug.  Ah well.

I got to the line early enough to scout the first straightaway and corner.  The previous races had carved some lines in the course and things were soggy, but not horrifically slick.  The field is a good size, about 30 riders, so start position wasn't as crucial.  I tucked into the back row on the left side and we were off a few moments later.

My start was good, much like its been all season.  Going into the first turn I was sitting in 6th or 7th place, and maintained that position all the way to the first barriers.  Unfortunately I tried to remount in the sand pit, failed and ended up duck walking my bike through traffic back to the next flat area.  Lost contact with the front group and another few positions.  Noob. :)

A small chase group formed behind, only a second or so off the first group.  We stayed that way for the first lap and a half when my back started to tighten up on me.  My pace dropped and soon I lost contact with the second chasing group. Ah well.

The course itself was deceptively hard.  The wet grass smooth, but thick and soft.  Riding on a wet sponge was the best way I can describe it.  There was no place to recover on course.  No small downhill to coast down, no flat section you could just spin through.  I found myself flipping between front rings for the first time all season on a flat course.  My back hurt too much to power the 46, but I was spinning out the 36.  After two laps of toying with the gears, I mentally flipped off the "this hurts" and just rode the 46.

With a lap to go I really wanted to be done.  I wanted to pull off the course and jump on the HPChiro table and have Seth and Laura beat my back until submission instead of it doing it to me.  I took solace in the fact that I was maintaining distance to the riders behind me and steadily reeling in a trio of riders in front of me.  I made it my goal to catch them before the lap was up and dug deep.

With half a lap to go I came to the first of the two bridge crossings each lap.  These golf cart wide bridges spanned a small creek that ran through the middle of the course, and were slick with mud.  I made sure to cross them cautiously, but in my desire to make the catch I put effort into the drivetrain too soon, spinning my rear tire and washing the bike out from under me.

I hit the deck of the bridge.  Hard.  Body and bike literally bouncing with the impact.  I was fortunate enough to stay compact during the fall, landing on my shoulder, forearm, and hip all at the same time.  (Yay for years of Karate and Hapkido!)  I was more fortunate to land ON the bridge and not fall over the side.  I was dazed by the impact and it took a moment for me to collect myself and get my bike and body out of the way of the riders bearing down on me.  A dropped chain and bent brifter were all I could see as far as damage.  Two riders pass me as I remount my bike and slowly get back to speed.  The first few corners are hesitant as the body and mind replay what went wrong and anticipate the worst.

My chase begins a new, but now to try and regain lost spots.  I make an aggressive pass on the inside of a 270 degree turn to pick one spot back up, but I'm unable to catch the other rider.  I finish 19th.

While the race might not have gone the best, Seth was able to work on my back shortly after.  The S-I joint is not happy.  I'm thrilled to get the Hand Down (even if it was Budweiser) from Dave as he speeds through the first lap of his race, and Jose Sandoval  is in the right place at the right time to capture it.  Jeff B, Alex, and B-Rat crush the B race with Jeff and Alex taking first and third. 

Unfortunately the day ends with a bit more trouble as Traci is forced to pull out of her race.  Seth and Laura along with B squad show their true colors and help me take care of Traci while I get the car packed.  We get home late and get the bikes cleaned off.  8pm and I'm exhausted.  Fortunately the next race is 2 miles for our house.

Sunday is CC4 at Hillsboro Fairgrounds.  We wake up later than normal and take our time getting ready.  No hour drive to this venue!  We load up the car and leave the house at 7:30, and roll into the parking lot at 7:38.  My kind of commute!

Sal and Heidi get us a primo spot and we unload the car.  The pre-ride is fun and I get to see the course for the first time as I was injured for this race last year.  The sun is out, but a front is moving in.  The temp drops by 10 degrees in the first hour we are there and it starts to drizzle on and off.  Spirits are high.

PV turns out in force today, with the tent overflowing with racers and teammates here to watch the final Crusade race of Matt Couzens.  Cuz is moving back to Denver soon and we picked this day to be his going away party.  The wall of sound is deafening every time he rolls by the tent during his race, and he smiles through the pain reflects the joy of the sport and those that bear witness to it.

The time draws near for me to start my warm up and suddenly the PV tent is a flurry of activity.   The 11:40 race has Mstr B's and 50+ racers, and with 7 racers in the Mstr B and 5 racers in the 50+ field we attract some attention.  Jonathon Maus from  BikePortland comes by and shoots a bunch of photo's for a great article about the event.  He really has the pulse of the scene in PDX.  I warm up easy, sore and tired from the previous day.

Eventually its time to race.  We roll to the starting line and this race I was fortunate enough to get the third starting grid.  I hope for a fast start and to hold on.  The rain starts to fall lightly as the whistle blows.  The front of the race accelerates away as the remaining riders file out of the chute.  Such a difference from the previous days race.

Javad catches up to me quickly and tells me to latch on.  The two of us ride together, the familiar comfort of riding on the road for the past 3 years transitioning quickly to the race.  He picks out fast lines as I direct traffic and call out obstacles in the course.  We steadily move up the field together, passing the team tent in tandem.  The team cheers loudly urging us on.  All through out the course members of PV are there, shooting photos and cheering like maniacs.  I hear the booming voice of KRhea behind his massive camera lens, Dean and Barb Lee by the huge mud puddle, Tom with his dual cowbells and crazy grin pops up everywhere, Brad Sigler in the barn.  We ride with wings.

Sasha catches us during the first half of lap 2 and the tandem becomes a trio.  The aches and pains of yesterday are gone, filled with need to stay on Javad and Sasha's wheel.  We fly towards the backside pit entrace for the second time when disaster strikes. 

A racer from the Filth and Fury team moving up through the field suddenly crashes into me from behind on the right side, his front wheel doing its best to intimate the chariot race from Ben Hur on my right leg (see 6:30 in the clip).  The rider managed to pull out of the collision, but in the process hooked my right arm and handlebars with his left arm and yanked the bike out from under me.  I crashed hard on my left side again while he managed to stay upright and rode away. 

The race as it was for me ended at that point.  My teammates made it through the melee and continued on.  My left brifter once again had been bent inward making braking difficult, not to mention the toll the spill had on my mental attitude.  I was mad about being wrecked, and managed to crash once again in that same lap in some very slick mud.  Battered and mentally beaten, I work on staying upright in the rapidly deteriorating course.  I crash once more right in front of team tent at the "killer corner".  At least there was a smile on my face then.

Four laps later, the race mercifully ends and I immediately head towards the bike wash.  

My body and bike are filthy and my leg is bleeding freely.  I'm angry.  I'm also angry I wasn't able to ride angry.  Traci offers to take my rig so I can get to the medical tent to have them look me over.  Under the caked mud and congealed blood hides a 6" by 15" pattern of curved gouges and tireburn.  My leg becomes photography fodder for a number of folks standing nearby.  The scene is almost comical and quickly lifts my spirits.  Beer awaits at the tents.

The day caps off beer, burgers, beer, a great race by Traci, and more beer.  We scream our voices hoarse for Molly and Tina, and cheer wildly for all those putting it out there for the beauty of it all.  A slice of heaven right in our back yard.

Bring on Astoria.

Meh.

 

So I’ll state right up front that I was not a big fan of the Sherwood venue.  The first part of this post is going to be a bit of a rant, so skip down if you don’t want to read it. 

Just about everyone I’ve talked to today is battered and bruised, including those who didn’t go down.  You are going to hurt after a cross race but today my hands feel like I repeated punched someone, and Dave Aldersabaes thinks it was him.

We arrived early, like normal, to help get our team’s tent setup.  Upon arriving at the venue we were told the North parking lot will not be opened due to the conditions of the field, so we went down to the south lot where we were probably the 5th or 6th car there.

The course was no where near the south lot.  In fact the course only popped near the north lot, which was opened after the south turned into a total fluster cluck of cars.  (Hint, get people to organize parking if you don’t want that to happen.  Don’t come through after the fact complaining at the people who are trying to get ready for your race.) Viewing was pretty limited to the starting area, and small on-course section after the starting area.  By the end of the day our team’s tent stood near the Hammer Velo fortress and a fairly empty and quiet lot.  Boo.

The course itself was.. meh.  The elevation wasn’t really a problem, there was plenty of time to recover from the climbs.  The problem was the course was about 90% single track.   Yes, the course was 8 to 10 feet wide in most places, but it was really only ride worthy on the single track paths.  Attempts to ride the non-track were met with bone jarring, bike breaking impacts.  The gravel downhill section was filled with small fist size loose rocks.  There was blackberry bramble hanging into the course in a number of locations.  I saw a few people who looked like they had been slashed with razor blades, and Jeff B was picking thorns out of his arm when he finished.

Wheels were destroyed, chains busted, handlebars snapped, derailleurs ripped from bikes.  The Shimano neutral support guy said he ran out of wheels almost every race and saw more busted bikes come in on this race then the others combined.  Not a winner in my book.

Ok – I’m done ranting about the venue for this year.

I self upgraded to the Mstr B’s after enough goading from my friends and teammates.  I’ve been a top 10 finisher of my of my races this season in the C’s and the ones I finished outside of the top 10 in I either started in the back (Blind date #2 / #4) or had a mechanical.

PV has a ton of guys in the Mstr B’s and Mstr 50+ so seeing all the other kits on course is a great deal of fun.  I didn’t have big expectations for this race since A) it has climbing in it. B) I’m racing in a new, faster category and C) its not my style of course.

The pre-ride was muddy, and I seriously considered riding my Bulldog clinchers on the course rather than my Fango tubs.  After some insistence from Jeff and Ben, I tossed the tubs on and went to the starting line.  My new number (which can be worn right side up or up side down!) had me with a mid to back starting group.  I had a pretty descent start, but 4 corners in the first 200m’s of the course makes it really hard for anyone to pass. 

We had a new section of course to ride which was opened up starting at our race. It was an out and back winding route that went through the orchard.  By the time I hit the 2 way section, the leaders were already on their way back.  They were already 1m30s ahead of me after half a lap!  I felt sorry for anyone who expected to contend today and had a bad call up number.

I rode my race the best I could.  I used the power sections to pass people, the single track sections to recover since it was very risky to try and ride outside of them.  I suffered up the climb, happy that I had my 36x28 to climb on.  I wasn’t happy seeing the big black “3” on the lap counter after my second trip up that hill though. 

My own little race formed with Jeff Harwood of Ironclad, a top notch sprinter that I rode with and against for most of the year.  We traded positions for most of the second lap and the start of the third.

Murray caught me heading up the hill on the end of the second lap and I latched on to his wheel.  Shortly there after my rear tire started to flat.  Coincidence?  I think not.  Long time readers of this blog may remember that Murray ruthlessly ran me over at Rainer last year.  I hefted my bike on to my shoulder at the start of the orchard, and ran / walked the next mile to the neutral pit.  I got to see most of the field go by during that mile, and heard some very interesting remarks from some of the racers going by.

My favorite was “get out of the course” by a guy who tried passing me in the narrowest, most twisty part of the entire route.  Uh, hi, I’m actually part of this race, and I can’t jump off the course when its taped up.  You sir, are an idiot, and I can understand why people don’t think very highly of your team.

I eventually made it to the neutral pit after some very hairy sections of fast single track where I was fortunate enough to have some spectators letting me know when it was safe to run through.  A quick wheel change and I was back riding with relatively fresh legs.  I surged up the hill and was able to catch up with a couple of teammates whom I rode in with on that last lap.

The highlight of the day was probably watching the start of the women’s race, heckling our friends to make up for our lackluster performances.  Heidi, Kristin, Beth, and Lindsay all felt the wrath of being friends with PV while the PV ladies, Ellen, Ally, Cindy, and Traci all put huge efforts out on course and were cheered wildly for.  Afterwards the team rolled back to our fortress and fired up the grill.  Slabs of meat and sodium rockets sizzled and beer was shared.  The sun came out and we reminisced on the days events.  I don’t think any of us watched the elites race.  Kind of a shame.

All in all, I didn’t get much out of a race I wasn’t expecting much of.  The Fango that flatted appeared to get a small staple in it, or possibly a two pronged thorn.  The Stan’s that was in it didn’t seal it during the race or after as we were inspecting the damage, so it looks like a new tire is in the cards for me.  I also feel I need to run my tubs with a bit more air pressure as every race I’ve run sub 35 PSI on I’ve had problems.

With four more Cross races this season on the horizon for me (boo work schedule).  I’ll be doubling up the next two weekends.  This coming weekend looks to be a bit more suited to my racing style, and Astoria… well that’s just a craziness of its own.

“Thanks for the wheel.”

(Note: this post has nothing to do with the tire roll-off incident I had at Barlow, so if you are looking for a race report, sorry!) -m

In 2005, I worked in a very small building at our mammoth company.  While this had a number of bad aspects, it was nice to know just about everybody that worked in the building.  So when a group of guys around my age moved into the cubes around me, it wasn’t long before we got to know each other and found we had a lot of similar interests.

A few months later, another member of this group moved to Oregon.  Shortly after he arrived, I noticed a lot of bike gear in his cube and stopped by to say hello.  Jeremy introduced himself and we chatted for a while, talking mainly about cycling and what brought him to Oregon and parted with a “we should ride together some time.”  Little did I know…

My first attempt to ride with him was a dismal failure.  A combination of my (lack of) fitness, a lack of sleep due to some major blood sugar issues, and a horridly cold May day caused me to cut the planed 75mi RACC route short after just 15miles of riding with him.  A second friend who joined us reported back that Jeremy effortlessly pulled him along for the remainder of the ride and it was all he could do to hold Jeremy’s wheel.

Jeremy, as it turns out had a few years of racing in him back in AZ and was somewhat of a fitness nut.  (We used to joke that he ate “Cyborg Food” at lunch since he always had odd healthy snacks.) I on the other hand was just starting to get back into riding after a number of years of being out of the saddle and enjoyed Doritos.  My fitness was coming back, but it obvious I wasn’t anywhere near the level where he was at.  The good news though was that we had fun together and we continued to ride on Saturday PV rides throughout the summer when he could make it out.

At the end of 2006, the Portland Velo Race Team formed and I joined in on its inaugural season.  I became more dedicated in my riding and rode frequently with the fledgling team.  I was new to racing, and to race tactics and frequently asked Jeremy about things I saw or read.  We swapped weekend ride stories when we couldn’t get together, and shared routes that we had found.

In April of 2007, a friendly rival team invited PV down for a “social ride” of the Monster Cookie Event in Salem.  Ten of us, including Jeremy and I, traveled down to Salem for the event.  It was clear from the start that this “social ride” had “hammerfest” written all over it.  Jeremy towed my sorry ass back into the group on a number occasions, postponing my inevitable ejection from the speeding pack.  When I finally cracked for good, he selflessly pulled out of the paceline and waited for me so I had someone to ride with the rest of the way in.  It wouldn’t be the last time I limped home on his wheel.

Over the next two years we rode together frequently, my fitness improving by leaps and bounds due to dedicated training and racing until it got to the point where we were on about equal footing.  On the bike friendship spilled over to surround our wives and another couple whom we spent a great deal of time together with.  The six of us formed an extended family and enjoyed countless hours in each others company. 

Unfortunately for us, Jeremy and Kimberly found a beautiful house in Arizona and will be leaving the land of liquid sunshine this coming weekend.  We knew the day was approaching, but its always a shock when it arrives.

So this past Saturday, Jeremy and I rolled out one last time on a PV group ride.  I had no intentions of going hard since I had a race the following day and when the pace heated up, I drifted off the back.    And as it had happened so many times in the past, Jeremy waited for me and we rode together.   We picked up another group along the way and traded attacks, laughing at the pain we joyously lobbed at each other.   Ten miles from home we left the group and struck out on our own, determined to make it back before them.  We traded pulls into a howling headwind, wordlessly knowing when to pull through.  It was a fitting way to log the last miles of a great journey with a great friend.

So to Jeremy I say, “Thanks for the wheel.”