Race Report: 2004 TBF MTB Challenge #4

Today's race was pretty enjoyable. I rode fairly hard but by the finish I felt like I should have gone much harder. There was still some gas left in the tank. In the last half mile I chased furiously to catch up to the guy in front of me, but he did a good job of holding me off by one second at the line.

I improved my time over the last race by roughly a minute, but still lost five places, taking a disappointing ninth. It looks to me like the 30-39 guys are the fastest age group. Crazy.

Here I thought there would be some benefit to getting older and racing against the "old" guys, and then they just go faster. What's even funnier is my time would have placed me third with the 20-year-olds. Is it sandbagging if you race in a younger class?

It's really not that surprising, though. That same thing happened in cyclocross racing, too. The master 35+ B winner usually beat the younger B winner.

This was the last TBF race of the spring. I don't know where I'll go from here, if anywhere. Cyclocross season is still pretty far away, so hopefully I will find something to do in the meantime.

Later.

Race Report: 2004 TBF MTB Challenge #3

Well, I raced today. It was better.

After having my ass handed to me in February, I decided to race in 30-39 sport. I figured, hell, I work 40 hours a week, have two kids, yard work, and a slight beer gut.  If that isn't the definition of sport class, I don't know what is!

Having six weeks to ride my hardtail again and acclimate my body to the specifics of mountain bike racing helped tremendously. 

I was 4th out of 16 starters:

My placing was actually decided pretty early on. I was sitting in about tenth place after a couple miles, waiting for an opening. I attacked from the back of the group of six I was in on the first pavement section so I could be first onto the singletrack climb. 

I hit the climb hard, totally going anaerobic (oh how it hurt), and got a good gap. It was kind of risky, because if I blew up I would have been in trouble. But I managed to hold it until the top, crested strong, rode the downhill well, and that was all she wrote. I never saw those guys again.

I always thought attacking was kind of stupid in mountain bike racing, but I guess not.  It seemed to work pretty well in that situation. At 36 years old I'm still learning new things about myself and racing.

The guy who originally won cut the course was disqualified (Pat Boyle).

Second place protested and won. If you beat second place by 13 minutes on a 20-mile course, they're probably going to take a look at that, you know? Idiot. All that for a freaking plaque? There weren't even any prizes. What's the point? You're 39 years old and cheating?

Anyway, I rode pretty strong, and felt good about my performance. I kept on the gas the whole time except for the last half mile. I made a big effort in the last few miles to close a 45-second gap to about 10 seconds, but he held me off, so I shut it down at the end and coasted in because nobody was behind me. As you can see the gap to third place went back up to 42 seconds at the finish because of it. 

So close to a third-place plaque! I joke but also admit that it would have been cool to podium after all this time.

It was a good day of racing and the 20 mile course was just the right length for my life and fitness level at this time. Another lap at that speed would have hurt.

Speaking of speed, my average was 13.9 miles per hour. I only bring this up to illustrate how much racing and equipment has improved since the old days. In the mid '80s, Joe Murray was winning races averaging a mere 10 miles per hour, and at his peak he was nearly unbeatable. Crazy.

Later.

Johan

Today I took the cross bike out for a spin. I started from Old Folsom with a plan to ride 20 miles or so. I rode towards Granite Bay via the bike trail, dirt roads and singletrack.

When I left the truck, my legs were feeling a bit heavy, as it was my fourth straight day riding. After a couple miles, though, I realized I actually had good legs.

After finishing the climbing up to Beals Point, I really opened it up on the dirt road along the levee, and it felt good. I felt so unbelievably strong. There are those weird days when everything lines up, and you feel invincible. If only you could bottle those unbelievable training rides and save them for race days.

I cruised along at 24 miles per hour for a while on the undulating gravel road. The day before I was struggling to maintain 22 on my road bike on the paved bike trail.

I rode all the way into the singletrack beyond Granite Bay, and I turned around at the planned 10 mile mark because of time constraints. This happened to be at the top of the climb, which worked out nicely.

On the way back down I caught up to a guy on a full suspension bike. He was going a little slow. I pride myself on being a fast descender, but it's pretty bad when a guy on a cyclocross bike is freewheeling behind a mountain bike. Anyway, when it finally opened up to doubletrack, I passed him.

Because I was a little irritated, and had a short rest on the downhill, I put it in the big chainring and opened it up. This is when the experience became otherworldly and why I even bother to write this . . .

It was one of those times when your legs seem to have limitless power. I shifted a few times and kept winding it up. I hit the right shifter again and nothing happened. I looked down to find I was already in my 48x12. The computer said 29.5 miles per hour. On dirt. Singletrack.

I was powering away in the drops, the bushes and weeds flying by my face in a blur—like riding in a tunnel. I was going really fast, but suddenly time slowed down. Everything became fluffy and dreamy, like that time I was given Demerol in the hospital. My body was dumping all the good chemicals into my system and I was high as a kite. And it was awesome.

There is something special about charging down a dirt trail in the drops on skinny tires, floating effortlessly over the bumps like a feather in the wind. It makes you feel like Johan Museeuw in Paris-Roubaix.

It was a cool experience, a short ride that started like thousands of others but ended like an epic. I just thought I would share it.

Later.

Race Report: 2004 TBF MTB Challenge #1

So I did a mountain bike race today for the first time in a while. The short version: It rained the whole time. It was muddy as hell. My legs cramped. It was fun. And it wasn't.

On a whim, I thought I would give a TBF race a try. I had seen them out at Granite Bay a number of times over the years. Although they seemed a bit corporate, and primarily focus on the running/triathlon side of things, I hoped they knew how to run a proper MTB race.

Knowing I was racing, I went on a short ride on my cross bike yesterday. I felt like absolute crap. I hoped that would improve on race day.

Before that could happen, though, I needed was a bike. When I built the Santa Cruz Blur last summer, I scavenged a few parts off my Litespeed. Consequently it had been sitting in a disassembled state for eight months. Knowing the forecast was for rain, I cobbled the old hardtail back together again last night. I rode it up and down the driveway a few times in the darkness, and it felt weird and uncomfortable. I hoped a solid warmup before the race would help my body refamiliarize itself with my old titanium friend.

I was flying during the cyclocross season just a few short months ago. I sat in top three in the 35+ B series for much of the year until the broken ribs ended my season. I guess I still felt fast, so I entered the expert class. This meant three 10-mile laps and 30 miles. No problem, I thought. But when I lined up with all these guys, a few of whom looked like pros, I knew I was in trouble.

After four years of cyclocross and road racing exclusively, just racing on the mountain bike again was cool. It was actually a little surreal. It has only been six years since I raced on a mountain bike, but somehow it felt like much longer as we waited for the start. I was a stranger in a strange land. As we rolled away from the line, however, I clicked into race mode and suddenly I was a mountain bike racer again.

In hindsight, I should have started more conservatively given the circumstances. These guys started fast and I simply followed suit. We hammered out the first lap at a very high pace and I felt OK, but not great. As we rolled through the start/finish, I knew I couldn't do 20 more miles at that pace, so I backed off a bit.

On the second lap, because I wasn't solely focusing on the wheel in front of me, I noticed that the course was pretty cool. I must say, they did a great job of laying it out and marking it. They utilized many of the trails I usually ride but in different ways to make a 10-mile loop. There was a fair amount of climbing, which was my undoing. Hopping on a bike you haven't used in eight months and racing just isn't smart. The climbing position was totally different. It was the climbing that gave me the cramps in my quads. They started about halfway through the second lap, and I fought them through the rest of the race.  As long as it was flat, I was cool. I even felt like I had good power at the end. Every rise, though, and my quads were screaming.

The cramping certainly made it less fun. And the endless gritty mud that crunched away on my drivetrain was annoying. Still, it felt good to be back in my element. At my core, I am still a mountain biker first.

I limped through the last lap and finished a disappointing tenth out of 11.

I am hoping a bunch of people dropped out because of the weather conditions. It certainly seemed like more than 11 guys started with my group.

My bike is going to need some love:

Much of the leather was worn off my trusty WTB SST saddle.

In closing, I discovered that I am probably not an expert-level MTB racer anymore. I should have listened to this guy:

You said it, Harry. I have to acknowledge that my son was born less than three months ago, and that really changes things. I am spending a lot of time with my little human who has already become the center of the universe. I'm likely at the very bottom of my fitness curve after being at the high point last cyclocross season. I will have have to build back up again. Or not.

For much of my life I have identified as a bike racer first. Now my focus has changed to my family, and that's for the better. Obviously. From here on out I am a husband and father who may or may not race a little on the side when time permits. And that's just fine.

As for TBF, they actually ran a pretty tight ship. No complaints.

There are more TBF races coming up. Maybe I do some. Maybe not. We'll see.

Later.

Race Report: 2003 Sacramento CX #8

What I hoped was simply some bruised ribs turned out to be much worse. A doctor friend told me that bruised ribs will get better every day while broken ribs will only get worse for about a week. I experienced the much worse scenario. Man, breaking those little bones really hurts.

After the crash last Saturday I rested for a couple days. I thought maybe I could get back out there on Tuesday. I attended our normal CX training ride with some of my Rio Strada teammates. It was a high-intensity ride that more closely resembled a mountain bike ride on CX bikes—rocks, mud, singletrack, and some steep, technical climbing. I hung tough because of my fitness right now, and my fresh legs because of the time off, but the pain was very intense. Pulling on the bars on steep climbs and running with the bike hurt like hell.

On Wednesday I was completely wrecked. It hurt to breathe, sit, walk, lie down, everything. There was no escaping the pain. That training ride was a really, really bad idea.

So I have these broken ribs. I tried to come back but could not. The last race was today and I was not there.

I really regret skipping race five now, since I have only five race results to everyone else's six. Grass Valley was a hilly course, like the ones I usually excel at. Just six points for a fifth place would have moved me up significantly.

Even so, a top 10 is cool all things considered.

Maybe next year.

Later.

Race Report: 2003 Sacramento CX #7

My race didn't go so well yesterday. I was involved in a pile-up right off the start and just couldn't continue. A guy landed on me and put his elbow right in my ribs and knocked the wind out of me.

It sucked. Still does, actually.

It was pretty much the fault of the organizers in my opinion. We were lined up for the start waiting for the whistle to go off when a couple people started moving early. That prompted about half the field to jump also. The rest of us assumed there would be a restart, but they just let them continue. Those of us who actually waited for the whistle that never came were screwed.

It really caused a panic in the field as we worked hard to pass as many people as we could up the first hill. Then came a short decent. On the next climb an idiot tried to pass by going off the trail, but then swerved back to avoid an overhanging tree branch and knocked another guy over who in turn knocked me over. That probably would have been OK, as we weren't going that fast, but then a couple more people piled into us, and one fell right on top of me elbow first. He was a really big guy.

I must say, it hurt pretty damn bad. He got me about an inch below my left nipple, and I felt my chest compress quite a bit. A couple people, including the guy who fell on me, said they heard something snap. I didn't hear it, but they may have been right because I do suspect I have a cracked rib or two.

Anyway, I rolled around on the ground for a few moments unable to breathe. No matter how many times that happens to you, each time you still wonder if you are ever going to breathe again. I did get up to continue, though, only to find my front wheel bent and my handlebars tilted down. Race over.

What sucks is if they hadn't blown the start I would have been up towards the front, or even leading like last time, which was my plan. It was such a huge advantage in race #3 to hit that first decent in front that I was determined to do it again this time. Oh well.

Today I am experiencing some uncomfortable soreness, and it hurts to take a deep breath. My breathing is clear, though, no rasping or rattling, and none of the pain is so sharp that I wince. I could go to the doctor, but even if there is a broken rib they won't do anything besides give my painkillers. 

I'll just take it easy today and watch some football.

I assume I will fall out of fourth place in the series, which is a bummer. I really felt I was going to do well yesterday during my warm-up. I had good legs. There is only one race left (in Vacaville next week). I think the best I can hope for is fifth in the series, which was the goal I set before the season started.  Still, I wanted more.

Later.

Hey, Thanks

Thanksgiving was pretty cool this year. It started off with a ride in the morning with 100 of my closest friends. This is the annual Thanksgiving Day ride, or as some call it, The Turkey Ride.

Most of these guys are racers or serious roadies. There were even a couple guys decked out in their US Postal Service kits complete with a fancy USPS car. I'd never heard of either guy, so they must be on the developmental squad or something. Anyway, we rode from the coffee shop in Fair Oaks to Rancho Murrieta and back, which was 50 miles. The roads are pretty bad out there, so you have to stay on your toes. There is always a crash, and this year was no exception.

We were riding in a double paceline, and there was a crash in the pack. Pothole. Luckily, Ron and I were representing Rio Strada and taking a huge pull on the front when it happened. We had to laugh because up until then our six Rio Strada guys had been bringing up the rear all day. We got motivated just in time.  Nobody was hurt badly, but hitting the pavement is never something to give thanks for.

When I got home, Jenn's mom Gina had already arrived with some food. We ate and visited for a while, then rested up for a bit after Gina left. Later in the evening we went to my Aunt Sue's for dessert. It was great to see everyone.

Well, it was a long day and I'm going to bed.

Later.