Turns of Death II

Saturday Night

We all took a little ride before dark and then Kyle and I headed over to Mi Casita while Wick waited on this kid Tyler to show up.

When we got back to the house Wick and Tyler were putting Tyler’s rebuilt Scott Addict together (Tyler wrecked the previous one). Apparently a few of the kids on his Hincapie Development Team got their pubes so by USCF ruling they were required to remove the training wheels. Tyler’s been crashing ever since…



Wick shows the proper way to remove a bottom bracket, with a hammer.

Tyler “I’m 17 but I race with PROs” Karnes stayed the night with us but I kept forgetting his name. Luckily it was on his tag…



Tyler asked what I was doing now that I’ve graduated. I went into my spiel about visiting my grandparents in Florida, then Chris in Boston, then—“So you’re like a gypsy now?” Yes, essentially.

Sunday 528 AM

“Yo, Jarbear, time to get up…”

I rolled over, finished my dream, and then got up. I went into the kitchen to find the guys up eating breakfast. Wick said he had gone out last night and didn’t get home until 2. He mentioned something about hoochies, an after-hours bar, and a little of the ol’ Tom Boonen. He said sleep is irrelevant so long as you’re awake for the race.

We were on the road by 6.



The first stop was at Pit Stop in King’s Dominion. While taking in the horizon I happened to notice Tyler’s bike on top of the car.



I guess they hadn’t got to the grip tape last night. Fortunately that didn’t stop Wick from positioning the bars against my frame. The clear coating is made to be scratched.

Along the way there was a toll road to Dulles. The kicker was that it was a 75 cent toll! Are they kidding? We literally stopped for a minute to pay a 75 cent toll, and THEN, there was another for 50 cents when we left the road! How insane is that? A toll road, with total collections of $1.25 per vehicle. Not only that, I believe toll roads are strictly legal loopholes to additional funding. So forget energy efficiency, or anything logical like that, we’re going to stop cars twice for $1.25 because LEGALLY that’s the only way we can get money for this road. What a system. That’s the east coast for you. Cali, you at least get to cross a large body of water for your toll. And, if you cross it with passengers, you get to do it for free via the HOV lane! No, not here, oh no you don’t! My apologies, I digest.

930 AM

We arrived in Reston to a crowded downtown with a nice course. It was essentially a figure 8 on a hill. The sky was a bit overcast though.



Wick and Tyler set up shop back at the car and finished putting together the bike.



1230 PM

An hour before the start of our race it begins raining. The course already has three turns of death without the rain. (I’d show the pics but they make it look decidedly undeadly.)

120PM

I roll up to the line on a soaked course. There’s a guy racing with one arm and he has two electronic Dura Ace shifters on the left side. He was wounded in Iraq.

130PM

The race begins. I try and get near the front in the line-up but there are too many guys. I get a good start but am still about 20th wheel. We ride 100m before the descent begins.

The first turn on the descent is probably the sketchiest so I go easy into it. The second and third turns are also tough because of the rain but we make it through unscathed.

On the second lap the wrecks begin. I’m caught behind the first wreck into this turn.



I know it looks really benign but this was taken when it dried up and doesn’t really show the grade. On the third lap there’s a crash in this turn.



After both crashes I get a bit excited by the prospects of moving up (without doing any work). I’m also happy to still be on two wheels. It’s like I’m always waiting for the crash and so when it comes, and I stay up, there’s a sense of relief.

However, these also split the pack up a lot. By the fifth lap or so I’m not even in “fodder hell,” I’m dangling off the back. I keep losing time on the descents and not making up enough on the ascents.

A few laps later it’s just me and another guy. We work together for about a lap, let me rephrase that, we ride in the same vicinity for about a lap. We were both hurting too much for any real concerted effort.

Eventually I’m off on my own. I start to give up once for a few seconds but then I get a grip on myself. I put my head down and pedal on.



I’m on my own for the next few laps. I hear the announcer when I come through the start/finish, “All the way from Berkeley, California...” I go a bit harder after that. I don’t want these good ol’ boys thinkin’ Cali is weak.

I go through the start/finish one last time and they blow the whistle. Done. I ride off the course and begin to catch my breath.

In the end I wasn’t too disappointed with the way it went. I went as hard as I could for as long as I could and when I got done I knew I had raced. I feel that more than anything it was the course that beat me. I definitely have a lot to learn skill wise but it’s okay because I really love racing. It takes years to be a good bike racer and I’ve only been racing a few months.

I rode around for a bit then got changed. An hour later I started asking around about burritos and found a Chipotle a mile from the course. The PRO race had begun but there were still like 3000 laps to go so I had plenty of time.

When I got back Tyler was still rocking near the front of the pack. By this point the pace had really picked up and he was spinning at about 120 rpm to keep up. Unfortunately, due to USCF rules he still has to ride junior gearing until he goes off to college. I called it "the Jank-set."



Toward the end the pack had gone from about 100 to maybe 25 and Tyler was still in there. Legit!

Dave Fuentes ended up sprinting for the win. I've seen him race twice now and he's won both races.

I think Tyler was happy to be done with this one.



The ride home was a lot of fun. Wick drove for a while, then attempted to Full Throttle it but couldn’t stay awake so I drove. Somewhere around King’s Dominion I got in the draft of a semi and he pulled us for the next hour. I think the fact that I was going 75 within 20 feet of the semi kind of irked Kyle. My b! (colloquial Jim/Wick-ism for “my bad” or “my fault” or "pardon monsieur")

We saw another Exploder on the way home so Wick got a pic.



Toward the end of the trip I got really happy. It’s fun to be able to race my bike, nap, eat, and race some more. It’s also been a lot of fun here in Virginia. It’s very down home, if you will. Kids actually play in the front lawns here! Imagine that! Although we did see a couple of kids outside sitting on their skateboards as they played with a PSP (portable video game, crack for teens).

There have also been lots of reminders of growing up in Oklahoma, like this industrial size bottle of A1 sauce:



All in all, I’ve had a great time. Hanging out with Kyle and Wick has been a blast. It's great to be around people as crazy about cycling as I am. I'm definitely sad to be leaving soon and hope to come out again. Plus, thanks to about a million miles in Wick's Exploder I now have every bad rap song from the last four years stuck in my head (Thanks Jim and Wick, oh and Tyler. I'll really miss another Akon-esque song about al-al-al-alcohol babay.)

The accommodations have been great as well. I’ve had my own room, plenty of food, and lots of hospitality. Mrs. Knott keeps trying different veggie dishes for me and Mr. Knott hasn’t kicked me out yet. Thanks!

My stay here has really made me consider being a professional non-professional bike racer. You know, just wander the US staying in host housing and doing Cat 4 races. What a life!

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Working Man's Crit - Night 3

Unfortunately Wick "Nasty", or as the ladies call him, "Mr. Clean" had to leave last night to study for his last exam.



That meant I was going to be rolling solo in tonight's race. This was to be the third and final night of the Working Man's series here in Richmond, Virginia.

My legs felt pretty good today, meaning I hadn't done much racing over the past two nights! I was determined to do better.

Kyle and I got to the park with plenty of time to spare. Tonight the course featured the "corner of death."



Not to mention, leading up to that there was a giant pothole. I took a good warm-up and then it was time to race.

I went really hard on the front the first lap. There were two guys up the road and I was determined to make it hard on myself. I almost caught them before the prime on the first lap. After that I worked with one of them for a lap, then the field caught us on the second time across the line.

At this point I was pretty weak because I had been working hard on the front. I started to fall back into what I've now deemed "fodder hell." That's mid-pack with plenty of draft, pack fodder. I didn't recover from that, at least not noticeably. I stayed mid-pack for the rest of the race. Now I just need to work on staying in the front longer.

I realized, though, that if I go really hard early on it helps. I get straight into racing. I'm not sitting there for the first half worrying about expending energy and bs-ing myself into not going hard and sitting in the draft. I went really hard at the beginning tonight and within seconds I wasn't worried about the lap cards, my power, the southern belles cheering "Go Cali boy"-none of that. All I was worried about was breathing.

Lesson: go hard, really hard, until you stop thinking "Oh, I should be going harder." Until you're no longer worried about getting a free granola bar from the registration table. Until you stop worrying about your tires, your brakes, that guy swerving all over the road, whether or not your calves look big, if your jersey is too tight, if your vernice Sidis look pimp, what your stupid blog is going to say. All that stuff, until there's just the sound of your lungs gasping for air.

So tonight, if only for those first two minutes or so on the front, I was really racing.

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Working Man's Crit - Night 2

Most of the day I was dwelling on the previous day's poor performance. I was determined to actually race.

I was about 6 laps into the race when this happened:



I was sitting there thinking "Move up, start racing!" when the chain broke.

And that's all she wrote.

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Working Man's Crit - Night 1

Monday

Wick and I get around and go over to check out a mountain bike. One of Jim’s friends has an Intense with full XTR, Fox shocks, and Chris King hubs. I’m sold.



Later we take a MTB ride over to Mount Trashmoore. I kid you not, this is the real name of the hill. Apparently it was an old dump that was covered up. It’s actually a decent park now.

Tuesday

Kyle and his dad leave early to head up to Richmond but Wick and I sleep in. Wick “Nasty” had a late night so I let him rest a while before waking him. We pack up the car and get on the road about noon.

While on Hwy 64 going to Richmond I see an interesting paint job on this van:



Wick and I have a good laugh and then head to “Freedom Park”, no lie, for some single track.

The riding is really good. It’s the first single track I’ve ridden, at least with trees along the trail. It takes some time to get used to but after a while I settle in. At one point I go over what I think is a jump but what turns out to be a three foot drop. I say a little prayer that the front fork takes the impact, and it does!

True to form, before the ride is over I hit a tree and draw blood.



Every time I touch a MTB I draw blood, I think that’s saying something. Ride more!

430 PM

Wick and I roll up to the park for the Working Man’s Crit. We head over to the course and take a few laps.



The course looks to be pretty fast with only two turns. However, there are some pretty rough spots.

The race begins uneventfully. There are primes every lap so on the last corner everyone sprints. Apparently Wick won the first prime.

I was sketched out by the course and some of the tactics I saw. Guys flying by on the sides without warning. In one lap I saw the same guy go off the course into the dirt and on the next turn he clipped his shoe. Needless to say, instead of whining and narrating the whole race, given I had the extra energy, I should have been really racing up front.

I ended up avoiding the crash in the last turn and finishing top 20 or so.

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VA State Championship and the backwoods

Saturday - 6 AM

Alarm clock rings and I could still use a few more hours. We get up and get packed and head out for Richmond. After a “quick” stop at Wick’s house we get on the road.

I sit in the back seat and am asleep before we get on the road to Richmond. After an hour or so I wake up and put my seatbelt on. For some reason I have this sense of impending doom. I look up, sure enough we’re going 90.

We arrive 30 minutes before the race. Fortunately it’s 90 out and super humid so I’m already warm, ha! Wick and I get kitted up and ride around. I notice my bike isn’t shifting right. I ask Wick to take a look. Sure enough, I missed a spacer when I was putting the cassette on the night before. Reminds me of something my old boss used to say, “Trust, but verify.” I put my other rear wheel on and we head to the start.

The pace isn’t too bad at first and I’m hanging alright. There’s a climb each lap so I’m able to make up time on it. The heat is incredible though.

I’m able to hang through most of the crit, trying to stay in the top 10 wheels. I’m not diligent enough about it though.

I’m hurting toward the end and happy that there aren’t many laps yet. The finish line comes into sight on the last lap and the pack surges. I don’t have anything left for a sprint so I roll slowly across the line.

Post race



Wick



Here's Kyle on the front!


(Okay so it didn't really feel like a state championship but apparently that's what it was called.)

Now time for excuses: I think the heat is what did me in. I was happy to finish that race. I also hadn’t done a crit in more than a month. The good news is I got some good fitness and am ready for the Working Man’s Crits on Tues, Wed, and Thurs!

We drive back to Richmond, get some grub, then head to the apartment where we’re staying. We watch “Old School” and then “Ali G”. Then we go grub again.

Richmond is a really nice little city. I take a little ride at night and it’s got a comfortable feel to it. There are lots of people out on their porches at night. I wouldn’t mind spending some time there.

I head back to the apartment and fall asleep.



Sunday

I wake up on the floor, cool from the AC but hurting from the floor. We get around and watch some more “Ali G”. Then we head to breakfast. Kyle and Wick decide we should just ride in Williamsburg instead of driving all the way to West Virginia. I agree. Kyle says he wants to take it easy, no pissing contests.

We drive to Williamsburg and start riding. I’m tired and not looking forward to being on the bike but the shady country roads lure me in. We ride out to the back woods and within 15 minutes we’re pissing.

I suck wheels for a while pissed off that we’re going so hard. Blah, blah, blah. “Oh, but my coach, and my training, and I’m not supposed to be going this hard…” all that crap goes through my head. Eventually I put my head down and just ride...and then go back to whining.

Wick and I sprint for the KOMs (pronounced “com” out here). On one, we sprint and he takes the outside into oncoming traffic. We crest the hill and there’s a car coming. Wick swerves and Kyle and I crack up.

The scenery is really incredible. After living in the bay area the last few years I forget how beautiful the sky is without the smog. The skies are completely clear and the clouds are beautiful. The roads are lined by farms and trees. I see a branch from a mesquite tree in the road and it reminds me of Oklahoma, only not as humid.

56 miles later the ride is over and we’re all beat. I buy some Sour Patch Kids at the gas station, I earned them. And yes, they’re as tasty as I imagined. At least until I see that the little package had 540 calories.

We finally make it back to the house and get in the pool. I last all of two minutes then go take a shower. It’s lights out for me at 730, no joke. I slept a full 12 hours!

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Stage 2 - Meet Virginia

I arrived in Virginia at 950 AM on Friday. I wasn’t sure what to expect having not met any of the guys I was going to stay with. Jim mentioned there were a lot of races going on so I decided to come out before going to Boston.

Wick and Kyle pick me up from the airport. We grab some food and then head back to Kyle's parent's house where they both live.

The place is a full service bike house.





They even had Jim's old bike lying around. This was from his short-lived stint as "the number 1 cat 3 in the nation."



Later on we settle down for a little pre-race prep...

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Stage 1 - Florida, where everything hangs lower

Stage 1 – Florida, where everything hangs lower

I wake up at a decent hour and spend some time with the grandparents. Around 3 I decide it’s time to put my bike together and go for a ride. My grandma tells me I should wait until late in the day to ride because of the heat. Having grown up in Oklahoma I think I can take the heat. Plus, I don’t want the ride to be that easy.

4 PM

95 degrees out with 60% humidity. I’m soaked in sweat just from putting the bike together. A smart rider would take this as a sign to relax for a few more hours. Looks like I missed that boat.

I forgo the extra bottle because I don’t want the weight on my back. It feels good to be on the bike but I know the heat’s going to kill me. The bike lanes in this part of Florida (Flagler Beach) are spacious and the drivers give me plenty of room.

I’m not even 15 minutes out of town and I’m dying. The sun and the humidity are insane! My goal is to make it to Daytona Beach but I’m getting skeptical. I remember what this old guy on the plane said to me about Lance “quitting is unacceptable.” I put my head down and keep cranking.

Eventually I make it to the outskirts of Daytona. The bike lane stops and endless beach hotels begin. I pedal along hoping to see the official “Daytona Beach” sign.



I’m about an hour and fifteen minutes out need to be back in an hour and fifteen, for dinner. I see a sign that says “Daytona Beach Shores 3 mi.” I guess I made it to Daytona Beach but not the beach. I stop for water at a gas station because I’ve gone through both bottles already.




I leave the store and head back. I’m supposed to be back for dinner and, well today quitting is acceptable.

I have a tailwind the whole way back and average about 23. This helps but I’m still hurting. My bike starts squeaking. I noticed a coat of sand on my legs when I stopped and I can only imagine what it’s doing to my bike.

On the way back I have no bike lane so I just ride on the white line. I figure there haven’t been any close calls thus far…

I ride past stairs that go down to the beach and am reminded of the last time I went to that beach. I was 14 and we had stopped while riding up to the airport in Jacksonville. I was sporting my “Blink 182” shirt (Dude Ranch era, not that “What’s my age again?” crap). Some cutie saw me wearing it and was like “Cool shirt!” Legit! The legs stop hurting for a bit.

I finally make it back to the house.



I took two days off after that and did one more ride before leaving. Cycling and Florida don’t mix.

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Prologue - My last day of good weather

I’m heading out on a long, bike-filled trip. I start in Florida for a few days with my grandparents and then head to Virginia for some riding with Jim’s friends Wick and Kyle. After that we’re driving up to Boston for the Fitchburg Longsjo Classic Stage Race.

Then, I’m staying in Boston for a bit to hang out with Chris for a while. We’re going to go up to Vermont to do some riding as well as out to Maine to visit Hunter. After that I’m going to London to visit my dad for a few weeks. Then, I might go to Italy for a little while to do some racing there.

I bought a Trico Iron Case for my bike from another racer and they’re supposed to be great.



Since I wasn't sure how long I'd be gone, I packed plenty of supplies.




After my Pescadero crash my parents bought me a ton of first aid supplies.



I’m super excited and a bit anxious. It feels really good to be free from school. I got to travel a lot during college but there was always school hanging above my head in the fall. (I know, tough life.) It’s cool to just be free now. If there’s a place along the way that catches my eye, I might stay. So here goes…

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Pescadero Road Race

The day started out harmless enough. Lucas had spent the night so we got up at six and headed down to Pescadero. The roads were wet from the night before but I assumed it would burn off like it normally does.

(Jim decided not to do the race because things hadn’t gone as planned in Liberia. The malaria he was supposed to contract fell through and he ended up NOT losing ten pounds. In short: he wasn’t going to make it up the climbs. Oh snap!)

We got there with plenty of time to spare. I got reg’ed, rode around, and chatted with friends.

8:40 AM

We head off along Pescadero road toward stage. There was to be a prime within the first mile or two. I wanted to warm up so I decided to hang back (translation: I was still group riding and not racing).

Stage Road

We head up at a moderate pace without hurting too much. We crest the first peak and then begin descending toward the second climb. Apparently the road workers thought it’d be funny to put 8x8 patches of gravel on the right sides of the descent. Luckily there were none on the turns.

Hwy 84

The pace began to pick up a bit and some guys tried to go up the road. I took my arm warmers off and downed a few blocks. I kept thinking to myself something I read in an interview once: “If you’re not moving up, you’re moving back.” As the road began to climb I started to move toward the front.

I had my eye(s) on a Zteam rider who I’d talked to before the race. He had gotten top 5 at Mt. Hood in 4s so I figured his tactics would be good.

A few more attacks went. I kept looking up toward the front to see if he was there.

We turned right on Pescadero (?) Road and began climbing. The break started to come back and a second group went. The Zteam guy was in that group. Then, the moment of truth comes. “Am I group riding or racing?”

I summoned the spirit of Valverde from Thursday’s Mont Ventoux and bridged. I wasn’t actually able to summon the legs of Valverde so I looked back to see the rest of the pack sucking my wheel.

The climb seemed interminable. Although it was relatively short, I hadn’t done a hill interval since the last day of finals. I started to drop off the back of the group but a friend from Team Oakland said “Let’s go!”

Summit

I can’t believe I made it. Within seconds I’m flying down the hill. I realize I’m going way too fast into the first turn. I take the inside line as my wheels lock up. I run into the back of a Webcor rider and hit the deck. I slide for a bit then curl into a ball in the middle of the road.

Luckily no one hits me. Somewhere between the “Oh shit” moment and the time I hit the asphalt I heard “You took that turn wayyyy too fast!!” In case I was wondering.

I crawl over to the side and a spectator gets my bike off the road. I lay down. “Why do I do this to myself? Why?”

I check myself. I definitely hit my knee because it’s really hurting. There’s blood coming from my elbow and I can feel the road rash on my thigh and butt. Deep breaths.

Eventually I get up, mutter assorted expletives, and check my bike. I straighten the seat out and get on. The brakes are off so I adjust them and then head down the hill. If we had been ascending I would have waited for a car, but I figured since it was mostly downhill to Pescadero, why not?

I take the turns easier this time. There’s no way I’m going to catch back onto the group. “Why the hell did I do that?”

Of course I don’t care too much about that. All I can think about is “Can you people see this? I’m bleeding! Look how tough I am!”

Lesson: If you see a guy riding around with road rash, he’s not really hurt , he’s just showboating. If he were, he’d be in an ambulance.

I catch up with some guys who fell off the back and we start working together. My knee is a bit sore but it works. We make it back to the start/finish and have one more lap. I’m not hurting that bad so I could do one more with them. Then the excuses begin.

“Oh but my arm, what if it gets infected.”

“My brake pads are off, I can’t descend like this!”

“What if I crash again??”

“There’s no way I can catch back up, it’s pointless.”

“It’s my last day with my family before I leave!”

Blah, blah, blah.

I give one last pull then turn around and head back to the car.





Despite the carnage I was excited to see this Olympic edition Cervelo. I had seen one at Bike Nut in SF but never out on the roads.



That’s bike racing.

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