Ride Empowered Criterium Training Series/Off-site meetings

I knew today was going to be one of those days as I had spent most of my morning and lunch telecommuting from my off-site “B” office.  Despite the name, the “B” office is rather close, it's across the hall from my main office in the area known as my bathroom, and consisted of me, sitting there with my ipad, cursing everything I've ingested in the last 48hrs including even small things like Altoids or water.  Yes, it was going to be one of those days.  So as most of the cat 5 team now knows, I'm absolutely horrible at warming up for races so I decided to ride the ten or so miles to the race.  I find myself riding there in this hot muggy air, blasting Elite Force's latest tunes, absolutely starving, shoving my face with powerbars the same way Charlie Sheen probably does with narcotics.  And despite all this I'm riding there at a speed that could be slightly misconstrued as a moving track stand.  It would have made the OJ Simpson thing look like a high-speed chase.  Needless to say, I was not feeling this.  I arrive at the venue and was relieved to see only a few people rolling around on carbon hoops.  I didn't realize people we're going to be tapering, peaking, and pulling out all the stops this race.  If I had know that I would have busted out the shiv with the drop bars.  Not the Specialized bike, an actual shiv.....I used to live in Brooklyn........it's how we do crits back there.  Ok, yeah maybe I'm just bitter because my carbon hoops are getting de-pringled, although next week I may break out the old Rev-X wheelset for laughs.  After the race I'll use them to dice up some lettuce, cucumbers and tomatoes for a nice post race salad.  After I reg and Trevor Johnston pokes me no less than SEVEN times while pinning on my number, in a stroke of genius I decide that the 45mins before my race would be the perfect time to adjust my left cleat that has been  giving me problem.  So I'm sitting there with my multi-tool very gleefully wrenching away happy that I will finally be able to pedal with both legs and then Chuck Hutcheson rolls up.  If you don't follow me or Chuck on strava, you may have missed a hilarious little back and forth that happened when I gave him crap for posting a 1 sec ride, we've all done that one before haven't we.  It culminated in me showing up to the Monday ride hoping not to get punched in the mouth, which I didn't but now I will probably get heckled by him for the rest of my life.  Chuck looks at me, then looks at my cleat and then back at me and exclaims “Really?!  Is right before a race really the best time to be doing that.”  In a perfect world I would have stated that riders in the pro-tour are always getting their cleats adjusted WHILE on their bikes in the middle of a race by the team mechanic.  But instead I just looked at the ground all dejected and said “no.”  Ah but here's the clincher, immediately after that CH noticed his seat wasn't straight and had to borrow my multi-tool to fix it right before a race.  That's what we call HECKLE KARMA.  And yes, my cleat is dialed now and it feels like I'm riding in bunny slippers not 6” stiletto heels............not that I know what that’s.......nevermind.  Meanwhile Trevor's tire decides to flat 2mins before the start.  And while this is going on, Craig explains to us that he is not racing and only there to watch and for demoralizing support.  This meant that instead of me having a 33% chance of having to work and a 66% chance of tail gunning it at the back while looking pretty, I now have a 100% chance of having to gut myself because Trevor is stronger and our best bet is for me to try to cover everything so he can save his strength. 

So my woefully unwarmed up butt lines up for the start and I do my usual drop my chain five seconds before the gun goes off get it back on and wipe the grease off turning my white socks grey routine.  And boom we are off, at the slowest pace ever.  Seriously we were doing a whopping 17mph at the first corner.  First two laps are chill and then chaos breaks out as the field gets shatter and split into multiple parts.  I don't know what happened.  I was close to the front for two laps then on the third I drifted back to take a breather, maybe smoke a cigarette and read the newspaper.  While I was attempting to warm up and stretch a break was formed.  This break was fast, fast to the point that half the breakaway riders DNFed and the remainder lapped the field(fast break, short course).  We ended up chasing for days.  I actually spent a fair amount of time on the front helping.  At one point I had just finished doing a pull on the up wind section and was drifting to the back to tuck back in when I feel a hand smack my butt and I hear our mentor for the race yell “Get you @$$ up there and take a pull.”  So begrudgingly I trodded back up to the front, took another pull, chicken winging the whole time trying to get someone to help form a decent paceline and give me a break.  The highlight of the race was about 20mins in.  Myself, a guy I can't remember, and another guy I can't remember in a Team City Lyons Jersey that I will now refer to as “The Lion of Carmichael” were up in the front on the finishing straight.  As we pass the finish line someone is blocking the lap card and all we can hear is  “Last Lap...one more to go.”  It was funny because as soon as we heard that the three of us looked at each other, at our garmins then back at each other and exclaimed "I thought this was a 45min race?!?!" So we immediately gunned it, strung the field out, we were countering each others moves, bounced it up to 30mph on the back straight.  I'm yelling at Trevor to latch on to my wheel for the sprint and he's looking at me with this look of pure “what the heckness.”  It was priceless.  So I put my head down, I'm sitting in second position I cut the corner hard fast (a few people mentioned they had no clue how I was going that fast through that corner............hehe course recon last week) while the Lyon of Carmichael goes wide and the third guy is slotted int the middle.  We have a gap on the pack and we just drag race it to the line, with me coming in third on the bunch sprint there.  We sat up, congratulated each other, watched the rest of the riders come by all tired and what not.  We thought they were cooling down. Then after about a lap. Chuck, our mentor for the race rolls, up and says "Are you guys done racing?" We reply that they had called last lap, we thought it was supposed to be 45mins but guess it was only 25 etc etc.  It was at that moment we all look to the left to see the pack way in the distance just drilling it.  Our hearts sink like when you see your recent ex dating your best friend.  We drilled it for laps trying to catching up to them, but to no avail.  Chuck even tries to tow me back up and I am just shot to pieces.  I'm pretty sure the whole time inside he was saying “suuucccckkkkker.”  I probably had the strength to make it up there, but just not the motivation.  In the end we ended up taking a free lap and they let us rejoin the group.  The last half of the race was pretty much a few of us just taking pulls.  I was feeling stronger and faster as the race went on.  Between Trevor and I, we made sure that if anyone attacked a Rio was near by.  Did a pretty good job of making the race hard-esque (I don't believe they allow me to use the term hard in referring to a cat 5 race).  And it ended exactly like it had twenty minutes earlier with a few of us gapping off the front on the final corner and sprinting again and me getting third in the bunch, Trevor got first putting him at 5th and me at 7th.  Awesome kudos to Trevor aka T-Pain for his massive attacks.

Huge thanks going to Heather for putting on this race series and all the volunteers that were out there yesterday!

*I realize I am now the mystical cornering fairy of doom.  If you are in front of me on the final corner, you will scrap you pedal.  Loss count how many times I saw this happen.

Old race report a buddy and soon to be quest writer emailed back to me,  I forgot I wrote this

It's one thing to go into something blind, it's another to go into something with your eyes wide open, and it's still yet another thing to go into something with your eyes wide open but looking the other way. Yesterday fell into the later category. It had been over 2 years since my last race. My training for the last few years could be tagged with such keywords as “sparse” “sporadic” and “hap-hazard.” And yet for some reason I found myself drawn back to racing, much like suburban America is drawn Starbucks. Addicting, like crack fiend addicting. I needed a hit. I needed a hit bad! And for that hit, I was going do a line of pure uncut cyclocross. You know, that good stuff you only hear rumors about. So I spent most of the morning mulling over to myself. Counting the strikes I have against me, remembering that the last ride I did was on a trainer a week ago. This should be interesting in the same way car accidents and train wreck are interesting. I know how this race is going to end up and yet I can't seem to turn away from the horrific tragedy that will happen know as Matt's Cyclocrss Implosion(copyright pending). And yet as transfixing as MCI would be, I was turning away from something, from all the things that said “don't do it!” Yes, I was going to race cyclocross, in definence of logic! Yeah take that Mr. Spock! Misery loves company as the saying goes, and this was no exception so I brought along my friend Jonathan. It was quite a contrast. Jonathan was on a full suspension specialized FSR. He wore thermal bottoms he got from walmart with his shorts over them, and to keep his hands warm he brought his work gloves. Then there was me, on a carbon Cannondale Taurine Single Speed, with XTR wheels and etc etc etc. Kitted up to the nines, with a matching jacket and hat, brought three pairs of gloves, just in case I decided to switch. I weighted a 130lbs this morning, and that was a problem. As Dez Wilder(Cannondale Facotry Team) always tells me "physically you look like you're at your peak all the time even when you're not riding. So no one takes you seriously when you tell them how slow you are." Oh but if only they knew the truth. The contrast between Jonathan and I was a bit embarrassing. ...for me. Here I was a on Gucci looking bike with probably the best looking team kit out there(Thanks Ron) and I'm lining up for the Men's C race. I was a strong reality check that I need to do more time riding and less time looking pretty. So Jonathan and I set out for a few practice laps. They went really smooth despite the mud. And not just mud, its like cake batter mud. Like Martha Stewart after her time in prison goes Bat-Crap and decides to get the last laugh by making the world's largest cake and uses the Folsom Rodeo venue as the mixing bowl. So after getting a few laps in I'm feeling pretty good and definitely happy I left my cross bike and brought my mountain bike. So after a little chill time its time to line up. I'm on the far left and Jonathan is in the middle. I hear “GGGGGGG” and I don't even wait for the “OOOOO.” I'm clipping in and mashing the pedals like a 10 year-old mashing X-box buttons after four cans of red-bull. Yeah not pretty but it was getting the job done. A rider shoots out in front and I pull in right behind him in the number two spot, exactly where I want to be, I turn around and we have a pretty good lead before rounding the 180 turn near the parking lot. Jonathan catches up to us and as we turn onto the straight thats goes back towards the start finish line tell him “Go for it! I got one gear and I'm going mach looney and a half. You got gears, use em!” Jonathan clicks up two gears and rockets ahead into second position. We round the corner and I absolutely nail my dismounts. I nailed them to the point where I swear I heard a heavenly choir sing for every barrier I went over. As we do the cake batter slide into the stadium we run into the back of the men's 40+ and the Womens A's and B's run into us. And thats when I hear it. A very loud voice yelling, “come on guys go go!” It was Larissa from UC-Davis. For the next four laps it was kind of like riding with myself with the constant non-stop trash talking she was spewing at the guy right in front of her, which happened to be me. Every time I almost bobble or lose it I have a commenter giving a play by play. Every spare breath I could muster was spent not recovering but firing a verbal barrage back in response . Around lap four it hit me, a sharp side stitch that reminded me why the only time I run is when I here the phrase “You there! Drop it and freeze!". And, that when I do run, I blow up faster than a McDonald's in Afghanistan. So now I just floor it even harder since I'm already in pain both physically from my side and emotionally from my verbal assailant. I fly threw the start finish line and check the clock. I got time for one more lap. Time to let it all hang out, although the last time I did that it landed me in jail for something called public indecency which is ironic because I thought I looked pretty darn decent. I cook through the paved section carrying speed in buckets and a backpack and click up two gears......oh wait, I'm on a single speed, darn it! I spin out my 32x16 and scream into the stadium followed by a sonic boom, wait, no, that was just more screaming insults being flung at me much like a monkey does with poo. I jam up the stairs and as I hit the woods Larissa shoots past me. I scream “OH HECK NO!” We drop into the woods and right as we exit I'm sitting tucked close in about to cut on the inside for the pass when it happens. WHAM! I'm on the ground, face in the mud, with my bike in the air. No clue what happened, how it happened, but I am asking WHY! Why god did it have to happen? I get up and hop back on my bike. Scott Clark comes shooting by and tells me to latch on. I latch on to Scott, patron saint of saving my butt as this isn't the first time his good graces have helped me. We both roll through to the finish line, and I'm spent like a dollar in kids pocket at a candy store. Boom, gone, over. After getting back to the pit I find that my semi-slick tires have transformed into obnoxiously slick tires. Thus my fall. In making the giant cake, Martha Stewart made a butt-load of frosting. I must have rode thought this because my tires looked and rode like glazed donuts. Now cops have two reasons to chase me, I'm a black guy...with glazed donut tires. But needless to say cross was fun. I got third in my class, Jonathan got second. I think with gears I could do a lot better. I was a little frustrating because the whole race I felt so under geared. But it happens. Big thanks for Jonathan for letting me wail on him when we ride mountain bikes. Scott Clark for harassing me ever time he saw me outside taking the trash out or washing my car. Telling me to do cross. And thanks to all the Rio Strada Teammates that keep the fun in racing and riding. Whether its a group ride, a wave as you pass in the opposite direction, or the hilarious email banter.