Race Report: Sterling Classic

09 May 2009.

I started the race by making a rather large tactical mistake.

I hadn't previewed the course; I relied on maps and elevation profiles. So, I knew that after the start-finish hill, there was another climb. I stayed in my small front ring, letting the peloton pull ahead, counting on the hill to slow them down and enable me to catch back up. Nice tactical plan. Unfortunately, it assumed the hills were closer and more difficult then they actually were. The end result: I would up going off the back very early.

Desperate to catch back up, I pushed on the up hills; I pushed on the down hills. I watched as the pack slowly pulled away, as stranglers fell of the rear, as riders were served by support. I focused on one rider and concentrated on catching him.

Through the unforgiving headwind on the (false) flat portion, I focused on him. Rounding the last turn (for circuit 1 of 3), the urging of the crowd intoxicated me and a leapt out of the saddle to close the gap. By the start/finish I was spent; I had to sit back and recover watching him slowly ride away from me. This lap was the low point for me.

The body's power of recovery are nothing short of amazing. It forgets the pain and wants to push again. That's what we did. Once again, speeding down the downhills and time trialling into the head wind. The 2nd lap ended happier than the first.

The third lap was just pure fun. I didn't leave it all on the start/finish hill, so I had some to give throughout and that's what I did. So much so that by the time I got to the false flat, I could see my carrot up ahead.

I gave it my all on the last portion, but ultimately came up short.

Despite my poor showing, I loved this course. It is the perfect balance of pain and recovery, torturous hills and glorious descents. More than any other (so far), I look forward to riding this race again.

Race Report: Wells Ave Criterium

03 May 2009.

12 miles. 15 laps. No where to hide, your glory or failings on full display through out the race. Welcome to the world of the criterium.

From NEBC's Racing Clinic and blogs (such as SDC and SoC), I had an idea of what to expect in my first criterium, and more importantly, what I needed to do.

My game plan was to feel out the field, stay sheltered as much as possible, become comfortable riding within the pack, and hopefully be close enough to do something at the end.

Once the race started I threw those plans out.

I lined up mid-field. Partially for fear of being the guy who took out the field by failing to clip in correctly and partially because I knew I didn't want to be the first rider into turn one.

The race kicked off without incident, everyone clipping in relatively OK. The pace felt spirited, not fast; so much so that near the end of the first lap, I jumped on the wheel of a rider and rocketed to the front.

The race is a whole different beast in the front. The turns and hills are so much easier, unfortunately finding shelter from the wind is more difficult. I used these early laps to feel out field positions, dropping back, moving up, trying to feel out the field and discover where I felt the most comfortable. Mid pack was definitely the best - the most difficult mentally (watch for slowing riders ahead, fast riders behind, and crazy riders to the right and left) , but also the best for avoiding wind.

It was during one of my exploratory moments, when I was near the front, that someone decided to pick up the pace. In classic race form, the field started to string out, with me hanging on four riders from the lead. I was struggling to keep a gap from forming when I made my biggest single mistake of the race. I looked at my heart rate.

The number convinced my brain that I needed a rest, so when the pace picked up for the next prime I was cycled off the back, unable to convince my legs to propel me enough to catch a wheel. In retrospect, the most demoralizing part of this story is, I had no idea what lap we were on. The last card I had seen read 11, so I figured I'd been dropped around lap 8. When I passed the cards and read 3, I was massively annoyed with myself.

I solo'd for a couple laps trying to catch up, before easing back and allowing the field to catch me, which they did on the last turn on the last lap. Needless to say, didn't participate in the sprint, instead coasting in with the field.

A wonderful introduction into crits, so much so I will definitely be back and am considering add a few "real" crits to my schedule.

Race Report: Quabbin Reservoir Road Race

Knowing this was my longest and probably toughest race of the year, I set two achievable goals. First: Finish under 4 hours. Second: don't finish last.

What wasn't said was the third, implicit, goal: Finish the race.

Taking a tip from the NEBC, I lined up on the front row. The good: A front row lineup makes it easy to hear the marshal's instructions and lowers the probability you are going to be involved in a start crash. The Bad: You could be the cause of the start crash if you don't clip in quickly and correctly.

At the start, I didn't clip in perfect, but again taking a tip from NEBC, I continued pedaling while finishing the job. My second clip attempt succeeded and I was surprised to find myself a bike length in front of the field. Objective Complete: Didn't cause crash at start.

For the first four miles, the field was neutralized, meaning a motorcycle set our pace. Given the rate at which we descended (and how much we were on our brakes) this was a wonderful decision by the organizers. Any false move here could have proved fatal if we were left to our own devices.

As we got closer to the "real" start, I started drifting back. I'd like to say it was a calculated move, but the fact of the mater was faster riders were itching for position. When the race started I was two back from the front, in a perfect position protected from the wind.

We were cruising at 22 or so mph and I was feeling pretty good. When we hit the first hill the pace dropped considerable (~17mph), and the attacks started.

Bam! A rider rockets by me on the right, a rider on the left responds, jumping onto his wheel. Murmurs abound, "Way to early for that."

On the next hill, I started having some issues, my legs seemed to be revolting from the pressure of hill climbing. I cycled back through the field and pretty soon dropped off the back. In effort to hang on, I shift and promptly dropped my chain.

With my experience at D2R2, I wasn't bothered. I just pulled to the side, and put the chain back on and carried on. Of course, in the time it took to do that, I became last.

Fortunately, the hill that dropped me, also dropped others, so I settled in and stamped out a pace to catch up with them. In short order, I caught up with this chase group and after taking a short breather, launch my own attack.

In my defense, this was singularly the clumsiest attack I've ever launched - the shifts were so loud everyone had to know what was coming.

I shot by the trio of riders and barreled down the road. In short order, it was obvious I didn't do anywhere near the damage I had hoped,. Instead of sitting up and forcing someone else to work, I plugged on setting the pace. My weakness on hills apparent; another rider (who was built like a climber) took pulls on the hills and I took them on the flats and descents. (The other two didn't do any work).

We continued in this way for a while, with me taking the most turns at the front. However, something else was troubling me. We seemed to be going into Amherst center, which I didn't recall being on the route. At the center, I called it - we had gone off route. A quick conversation with a pedestrian confirmed it, so we needed to turn around.

20 miles later we found the turn we missed. On the road there was a painted turn, on one telephone pole - a sign. When we reached the intersection the first time, there was a car parked over the paint and no one noticed the sign (probably because we were all worried about the intersection). C'est la vie.

So we rejoined the course. Albeit way back. At this point, I am toast. I've paced this group most of the way (in both directions) and I'm getting tired. Going up the hill, a gap quickly forms between me and climber and I have no energy to close it.

A bit into the climb, one of the other guys announces he's done, and turns back. Shortly after that the remaining one follows suit. As I continue on, a trickle of riders coasts by in the other direction. This sight gives me hope - I can't be to far behind.

This hope is slowly dashed as the miles continue.

Remaining properly hydrated was number one concern. It was unseasonably hot this day and I only had three hours of liquid. Given the detour, this meant I was going to run out of water with one to two hours of riding left. Not good. Very not good.

This fear was abated when I saw opportunity – a man washing his car. He kindly obliged and I was replenished.

There's not much to write about these middle miles. Suffice it to say, the race became VERY hard for me around mile 60 - knowing I had 20 more miles to go, praying the broom wagon would come sweep me up, but never the less continuing to pedal. Left leg, right leg... rationing my remaining water... very very tough.

In the end I made it, just as the finish line was being packed up, the Lanterne Rouge.

According to the official results, I finished 58 out of 75 starters, the remaining being DNFs.

Tough course, not helped by the heat and blazing sun of the day. Wonderfully run race, friendly helpful officials, all in all a great race.

Ride Report: NEBC Racing Clinic - Day 2

11 April 2009.

Each day of the NEBC's Racing clinic has a title. The title doesn't give away what you are going to be doing that day, merely one of the activities you can look forward to. Day 1, for example, was called "The Paceline."

Day 2 was called "Incidental Contact."

As one would imagine, this involves performing these exercises while riding extremely close to each other. Close enough to, for example, have your elbow purposely hit the rider next to you.



Words cannot describe how truly difficult this is. Over the years, you establish an idea of how close you can get to other cyclists. Trying, instead, to get close enough to receive an elbow or intentionally rub tires is incredibly difficult.



After only an hour or so of these exercises, none of the riders in our group had any problems getting REALLY close to each other. A fact which dovetailed well with the next lesson using the rotating double paceline to chase down solo break-aways.



Our group would use the paceline to chase down instructors as they soloed off the front. What no one expected was the instructors to behave like a team - meaning each time we reeled one instructor in, another tore off.



The group's dynamics were incredibly fun to watch. We buried the first soloist, organizing our chase quickly - he barely got 150 feet away before we started to close. The group was slower to react when the second instructor took off (shortly after the 1st rabbit was caught), but in time he was reeled in as well.



The third instructor was vicious. He positioned himself to be the last rider taking a pull when we caught the 2nd rabbit. He moved aside like normal, but instead of easing back he hammered it.



I saw this from two riders back and I had to decide if I was going to break formation and chase him down or stick to the exercise. I knew if I jumped then I could get on his wheel and I could feel the group's dynamics. We had been beaten by these repeated attacks and didn't have the gas or motivation to immediately chase another one down. In other words, this attack was going to work.



Ultimately, I decided not to give chase and work with the group. The point, after all, wasn't to win it was to learn. (Ever the competitor, I'm still a little sore about that choice...)



Unfortunately, my instinctual assessment of the group was right. It took us far longer to organize against this attack, long enough that we were 200 or so feet back when he pulled off at the parking lot. His attack had succeeded.

CRW Ride Report or 1st crash of 2009

5 April 2009.

There's a saying among cyclists, Cat-5 races are the most dangerous. -5ers are the most inexperienced of the racers, and as such they are more prone to make mistakes.

Today, although not a race, served as a reminder of that for me.

As the 40 mile ride took off, I tore off with the fast group... again. You think sooner or later, I would learn to choose my riding groups better.

My commute home overlaps portions of this route. After you fly through the rolling descents, leaving Needham for Dover, you are greeted with a small, but always punishing hill. Every ride this hill craters me. I've done worse hills, but regardless of my fitness level this dinky hill gives me grief. And today, my turn on the front came up just as we reached the bottom.

I reached down and buried that hill. I kept the pace up and pulled the train up that hill. Unfortunately, after I pulled off at the top, I was immediately dropping off the back. Appropriately measuring my effort is another lesson I've yet to pick up.

So for the remainder of the first half of the ride, I was mainly on my own, stuck in a no-man's land between groups.

This sets up Mile 20ish. A group was slowly catching up on me when I was rewarded with a lovely decent. I tore down that hill trying to escape the chasers.

The descent was straight, fast, and long. As we neared the end, the markers indicated next turn was approaching. The hill continued straight, with our down hill banked near 180 degree right turn sharply veering off.

I committed, hard lean around the turn, tap on the brakes to kill a little speed (for insurance), and dove into the turn... only to see it covered with sand. New England + Down Hill Right Turn = Sand.

The second the rear tire hit the sand it immediately let go; a little hip wiggle and brake and I brought it back... only to have it go out again half a second later... this time I unclipped my right foot figuring I'll lay the bike down (worst case) or try and drift my way around the turn (best case)... That worked, and momentarily I was back in control... until the rear tire hit a spot clear of sand.

Snap - the bike immediately righted itself and launched me off the other side. Bam - I hit the ground, tucked and rode the inertia across the empty road.

The second I stopped, I lept to my feet, running to get back on the bike. Just after I reached the bike and started to put my water bottles back, the chasing group zipped by (with a "you alright?").

All told, I only damage I really did was scraping my left elbow and knee, although I'll probably be sore all over tomorrow. The bike faired rather well - considering the speed - scrapped hoods, rear fork, and seat and a broken water bottle cage.

The rest of the ride (thankfully) was uneventful. Shortly after the off, I met up with another rider who set a nice recovery pace until I mentally recovered. Ultimately we (and another rider we picked up) would all share the work at the front and come home together.