Next Weekend

The forecast calls for rain next weekend.  After last weekend's great weather for the Folsom cyclocross race, it looks like we're in for some mud in Lodi.  Hopefully it won't be as bad as it was in Niel, Belgium last weekend:



When conditions get sloppy, look for Sven Nys to dominate, as he has for years.  He's one bad mudder.

Later.

Race Report: Sac CX #3

After the early racing season fell apart due to my health, I really enjoyed a summer of riding without any purpose. I rode for the sake of riding, with no regard for speed or mileage or heart rate. It was nice. Unfortunately, riding without a purpose can leave one somewhat . . . fat.

When the scale tipped 170 late in the summer, the alarm bells went off. That's the number that usually freaks me out enough to get back to work. As fall came I started riding a bit more and stretching out the miles. The weight is slowly dropping, and I'm feeling better on the bike. Still, I am the type of person who needs a carrot to chase.

Yesterday the third race in the Sacramento Cyclocross Series was held right down the road in Folsom. I figured getting my ass handed to me in a race would be the motivation I needed to get serious about riding again.  Although I hadn't raced cross in a while, I wanted to give it a go.

I signed up for the race on Friday morning even though I am between cross bikes right now.  I threw together my old Miyata, which has been used mostly as an errand bike.  Because it was originally designed for 27" rims, I found I could run pretty big tires if I use 700c wheels and long-reach brakes.  I hoped it would get the job done.

The Sacramento series was a bit different when I left it in 2005.  Most of the venues were state parks around Folsom Lake—Granite Bay, Negro Bar, Dyke 8.  The courses were mostly dirt trails with a bit of asphalt.  Grass features were nearly non-existent.  On rare occasions when the turf showed up on a course, I complained.  I was always very slow on grass.

It seems the organizers have abandoned the state parks in favor of regional parks.  My assumption is the state parks simply became too expensive.

Yesterday's race was held at Lembi Park in Folsom.  Upon my arrival I was thrilled to see that the course had grass.  A lot of grass.  In fact it was almost all grass.  Slow, energy-sapping, soul-crushing grass.

Doug and I rode a warmup lap and arrived at the line only a couple minutes before the start, which meant we were at the back of our respective groups.  The 35+ B group took off and I was bringing up the rear.  It didn't matter, because even if I were at the front, most of them would have passed me anyway.

The 45+ Bs started a minute after us, and the leaders quickly caught me.  Not long after that, Doug caught me. I would have been really depressed about it had I not been fighting the urge to vomit.

Ex-Mercury pro Doug powers through the grass:

The course was pretty flat and slow (did I mention the grass?), and not very technical—nothing geared toward my cycling strengths. Some elevation change would have been nice.

My dismounts were a bit rusty, but on a slow course like this one it wasn't much of a disadvantage:

By the middle of the 45-minute race I had settled into a good pace, and I began to start picking people off.  Not a lot of people, but one here and there, enough to keep me motivated.

A photog managed to catch me looking somewhat coordinated.  Once.

At the end of lap three I was dismayed to see the lap card saying three more.  THREE more laps.

By the end of lap four I was slowing a bit.  After a quick drink I felt a bit better and started going after more riders.

My last lap was probably my best, but it was too little too late. I placed a disappointing 25th out of 36. Doug scored an impressive 11th out of 28 in his first cyclocross race.

In the end the 30-year-old bike did fine; it was the 43-year-old pilot that was holding the team back. My threaded headset did loosen up on me, which was pretty annoying.  The threadless headset is my favorite advancement in bike technology from when I first started racing.

Even though I didn't do well, I had a good time.  I plan on doing the next race.  I have nowhere to go but up.

Parting thought: When you're fit and fast, like Curtis, cyclocross is fun.

When you're fat and slow, it just hurts.

Later.

Decisions

It was a bit cool when I left for my ride yesterday morning. I'm just not ready for winter to be here.

Yesterday was my regular day off. There were four things I wanted to do, but I could not do them all: a long bike ride, watch game one of the World Series, watch the opening game of the Kings season, and race opening night of the local cyclocross series.

In the end, the choice was pretty easy. As much as I wanted to race, it would preclude me from enjoying the other three things on my list. When I was much younger, my friend and I would sometimes do a mountain bike ride in the morning and a road race at night. These days, that would be a little rough on the old legs.

With the Giants and Kings games both starting at 5 p.m. and racing starting at six, it would be tough to watch much of either game. Also, the likelihood of hearing the World Series score at the races made recording for later viewing less desirable. If I am going to watch a game, I don't want to know the outcome.

I skipped the race, which allowed me to go on a nice ride on the Fargo. Although it was cold, the sun was shining and I eventually warmed up by the end. I put in a little over 40 miles, my longest ride in a while.

In the evening I was able to relax with a beer while watching the World Series, my legs burning a bit from the day's effort. After that great win, I watched the Kings on the DVR, who also won. Brilliant. My day off couldn't have been much better.

Later.

Hangtown Tour

Wednesday I made it out for a ride in the hills. The goatheads are so bad around my house right now that I can rarely get through a ride without a flat. The only option is to drive somewhere.

I started at the parking lot on Missouri Flat and took the trail east towards Placerville. This is the same ride I have done a couple times towing my son, but I would be alone this time—not towing an extra 75 pounds. The plan was to take the El Dorado Trail all the way to the end in Camino.

The morning was cool and clear. For the first time in months I was a bit cold as I rolled away from the truck.

Fall always arrives with mixed emotions. It is my favorite time of year to ride, without question. However, the onset of fall means winter is on the way, and that is my least favorite season.

I did the ride up to where we turned around last time but continued up the dirt trail, climbing gradually up the old railroad grade.  Although you aren't far from Highway 50, you wouldn't know it by the scenery.

Nope, no civilization out there:

After a couple miles, the trail stopped at this fence:

I backtracked to a spur trail and ended up in a neighborhood. I headed north until I popped out on Highway 50. I crossed the highway and took Carson Road east for a while until I noticed the road was completely lined with the very goat heads I was trying to avoid. That was my cue telling me it was time to head back.

I rolled back down the hill for what seemed like forever. As I have mentioned before, it's quite a treat to have a ride end with a downhill once in a while.

After about 25 miles I needed a coffee break:



Old Placerville can be irritating to drive through, but on a bike the slow pace and narrow roads are quaint.

This is the old bell tower.  After much of the business district was leveled by three fires in 1856, the need for an alarm system was finally remedied in 1865 with the bell tower.  Tucked up under the hood is what looks like an air raid siren.

It was a nice ride.  I'm going to get on Google Earth and see what I can do next time to extend the ride farther to the east, preferable on dirt or quiet roads.

Later.

Fall Ball

We signed the boy up for fall baseball. He is only six years old, so some of the skills he needs aren't quite there yet. You have to be seven to play in Little League, but they let six-year-olds play fall ball if they will be seven by spring.

He can hit and throw and field a grounder, but the ability to catch a ball thrown to him isn't quite there yet.

I think I made a mistake when I checked the little box on the form that said "assistant coach." Being an assistant to me is showing up, throwing the ball around a little, hitting a few grounders, and leaving while the poor schlep who volunteered to be the manager herds children and gathers equipment.

Well, looks like our team has no manager. So the three "assistants" have been promoted to "co-managers." Now I have parents sending me e-mails explaining why they can't make practice, or asking if it's OK if I babysit their kid while they go wine tasting. Ugh. Not exactly what I signed up for.

The first practice had five stations: hitting, infield, outfield, pitching and catching. Here Spencer demonstrates his pitching follow-through:

   

The Windup:

Even though it's highly unlikely he will ever catch, being a lefty, all the kids got to strap on the gear.

There's one more practice this Sunday, then we go right into games after that. Should be fun.

Later.

Snakes and a Plane!

It's not often you see a couple big rattlers and a B2 Stealth Bomber on the same ride (OK, never), but that's what happened on Saturday.

This one was big . . .


and this one was even bigger.


All the cool planes were in town for the air show.  This is a horrible picture, but it was the best I could do with the compact camera.  Still, seeing a B2 in flight makes up for it.


Lately I am not leaving the house without a camera.  Even a boring ride ride on the bike trail usually provides something to take a picture of.

Later.

Labor Day

We made it out for some kayaking on Lake Natoma yesterday.  It was a little hot.  I really worked up a sweat paddling around with 50 pounds of dead weight in the front.

This angle makes the lake look pretty serene, but there were quite a few kayakers behind me.


My navigator working hard . . .


Aside from a long rental line, it was a nice day on the water.

Later.