Decisions, decisions...

There are a few races left in the season, and I need to decide which ones I'm going to do. After racing at Mt. Snow, I've come to the conclusion that I really enjoy racing on dirt and will likely focus exclusively on mountain biking and cyclocross for the remainder of the year. There's just something special about mountain bike racing. I'm not sure if it's the party like atmosphere, the friendly people, or the thrill of threading single track. I did some road and mountain bike racing back '99 & '00 when I first started racing and gravitated toward mountain. If I do decide to try a road event, it will only be for upgrade purposes. My 2009 season will be pretty much all mountain and cyclocross. ~Yeah dirt!

"We can try to avoid making choices by doing nothing, but even that is a decision."
-Gary Collins

AUGUST
(Road) August 16-17, Meridian-Cuba Challenge. Meridian, Cuba, AL
( Mtb.) August 16-17, Legend of Stank Creek (TT & XC). Memphis, TN

SEPTEMBETR
( Mtb.) September 7, Clear Creek Challenge. Oxford MS (SCRS series
( Mtb.) September 14, Butts Parks Revenge. Jackson, MS (MSCS)
(Road) September 13, Pepper Place Criterium. Birmingham, AL
( Mtb.) September 28. Rock & Roll Classic. Tupelo, MS.
( Mtb.) September 29-30, Monte Sano Fat Tire Festival. Huntsville, AL

OCTOBER
( CX ) October 5, BamaCross (BBC). Homewood, AL
( CX ) October 12, BamaCross (Pathworks, Mobile) Mobile, AL.
( Mtb.) October 19, McGee/Martin Lungbuster, Ridgeland, MS(MSCS)
( CX ) October 26, BamaCross (Competetive Velo). Prattville, AL.

NOVEMBER
( CX ) November 2, BamaCross. (Velocity). Tuscaloosa, AL.
( Mtb.) November 3-4 Long Hunter MTB Festival. Hermitage, TN
( CX ) November 9, BamaCross. (GSMR). Birmingham, AL.
( CX ) November 16, BamaCross (Wig's wet wipe special). Anniston, AL
( CX ) November 16, Outdoors Inc. CX Championships. Memphis, TN.
( CX ) November, 30, BamaCross (Cycle Escape). Montgomery, AL

DECEMBER
( CX ) December 7, BamaCross. (CCC). Cullman, AL

Wasted Weekend

I didn't accomplish a darn thing this weekend. In fact, I literally slept through most of it. I had planned on doing a long road ride on Saturday and test ride the Stanky Creek trails in Memphis on Sunday to prepare for a race there in mid August. All I managed to do is a pathetic 25 mile ride on Saturday and nothing on Sunday. I seriously need to get some quality saddle time. No more excuses.

2008 Mtb. Nationals

Perhaps it was an omen of things to come as race day started with a disagreeable stomach. It could have been nerves, but was most likely the result of a poor meal choice the night before. I had spaghetti and meatballs with a tomato sauce which was probably too acidic and too high in protein for easy digestion. My typical pre-race meal is a simple plate of angel-hair pasta boiled in chicken bullion. Travel can wreak havoc on the stomach, I suppose. In all honesty, I didn’t have much of an appetite in the days before my race. I just didn’t seem to have room in my stomach for food, no matter how much I wanted to eat. It was as if my stomach missed the flight to Albany and was aimlessly wandering around the Memphis airport looking for me like a lost child. I did start to feel better after Betsy gave me something to settle my stomach. As the morning ticked away and start time drew near; I felt much better.

Staging was a nightmare for me as riders crowed into the start area like salmon trying to get upstream to spawn. It was literally a river of colorful kits and expensive bikes swirling around each other in a chaotic current to find the right group and best position for the start. I could only manage to reach the very back of my group, so I didn’t start in the best position. A good start is critical for a large field. To make matters worse, I didn’t feel properly warmed up, but that is entirely my fault. Time management and organization are usually my strong points. Once the whistle blew and the race got going, I managed to work my way up the line on a service road leading to the first real climb of the race. Settling into my pace, I passed several riders on the first climb. My plan for the race was to open a gap on the climbs and hang on during the technical sections, being careful not to go into oxygen debt. I didn’t have a chance to do much as someone literally falls over right in front of me just as we turn onto the second climb of the race. My best guess has the climb around 12+ percent, so getting back on and pedaling up was almost impossible during the race. I had to quickly hike-a bike to the top, which is close to 500 feet. Once I reach the top, I was almost at max heart rate, and I felt like I just finished a hard sprint rather than pacing myself up a climb. I tried to recover during a brief single-track section, but only lost the positions I gained earlier. On the next climb, another person spins out and unclips in front of me, so I have to unclip and run up. By this point, I was toast and know a top ten position is virtually out of reach. I spend most of the first lap trying to get my heart rate under control to minimize the damage done early in the race. Betsy said I had an unhappy look on my face when I came through the start area for my second lap. I’m sure it was more a determined look than unhappy. I was trying to close the gap with the main group while the trail flattened out.

I catch the tail end of my group but push my heart rate dangerously close maximum in the process. A high heart rate going into steep climbs is a recipe for disappointment, and I cooked up a good portion. I get into a pitch battle with a one rider on the second lap. I would pass him on the climbs, but lose ground on the flatter single-track sections while I tried to recover. I decided to take a chance and keep him just in front of me going into the final lap for a sprint finish. My gamble didn’t pay off as he opened a gap on the final run down a technical section that I couldn’t close.

I finished with a disappointing 23rd. I'll be back next year.

Still the King of Packing

I cleaned my bike last night and packed it this evening when I got home from doing trail work. I'm all set for my flight on Wednesday. Getting everything situated was a bit of a chore, much more than I expected. However, I'm a bit anal about my bike, so I'm sure that accounted for most of the time. Repacking it for the return flight shouldn't be as time consuming; I hope.

Northwest has a 70-pound weight limit on checked luggage, so I went to Wal-Mart and bought myself a bathroom scale just to be sure about the weight. I used the rather unscientific method of weighing myself, then weighing myself holding the bike box, to determine how much it weighs. The box comes in at a hair under 64 pounds. This gives me some room for error, so I should be safe.

Now all I have to do is stuff a few more items in my backpack.

Look out Vermont! Here I come!

This is only a test

The weather has not been kind to me over the past week as I try to prepare for nationals, so I took advantage of a break in the constant rain and went out to the Whirlpool Trails for a little fat tire action. I worked out a loop that simulates, to the best of my knowledge, the conditions I’ll face at Mt. Snow. The washouts on the Power-Line trail work quite well as boulder/rock replacements and the rail bed served as stand-in for the Mt. Snow staging area. The log obstacles, roots, stumps, and other assorted things didn’t require an understudy. A root is a root, and I’ll put Mississippi roots up against anything in Vermont. Heck, I'll put up our humidity too!

For 3 hours, I go around and around at a semi-race speed, only stopping to wipe the sweat out of my eyes and to brush off some cob webs that were freaking me out.

The bike felt great, everything seemed to be dialed in perfectly. I was a little worried about the rebound setting on the front shock, but the adjustments I made hit the mark. The bike just felt smooth once the shock was set! My only concern during my ride was the front tire. I ran 30 in the front and 32 in the rear. The rear hooked up great, but I did notice the front feeling slightly “weak” in sharp cornering. I’m not sure if it was due to flex in the sidewall or the smaller side knobs.

Is a change coming?

There’s been a lot of chatter on various forums and blogs about a possible restructuring of the mountain bike categories by USA Cycling. Basically, the proposed new structure would resemble the road system, with the added elimination of the semi-pro class in mountain biking. This is all in the name of making mountain biking more competitive, as I understand it.

While the exact nature of this proposed new structure isn’t clear, a blanket copy of the road system applied to mountain biking would be a disaster. Moreover, it would do nothing to make mountain bike racing more competitive. I honestly think it would make things worse. Just look at the master-35+ and master 45+ categories in road racing. These two groups are often “played” by cat 1 and cat 2 racers looking for an easy payout. I hardly call that competitive. What is needed is an enforcement of the upgrade rule and not allowing racers to “race down”. If any system needs to be adjusted, it is the road system. I think the master 35+ and 45+ groups should be eliminated and separate 40+ groups should be added to cat 4 and cat 3. Cat 1 and 2 racers will only be allowed to race in their respective groups and not “race down”. Cat 5 will remain a beginner group for people to gain road experience.

It would look like this:
Cat-1
Cat-2
Cat-3
Cat-3 (40+)
Cat-4
Cat-4 (40+)
Cat-5

What I like about the current mtb system is it is broken down by age group within each class. A 40 year-old sport racer will not race against a 20-year-old in the same group. This can’t be said for the road system where a 40+ year-old cat 4 can race against a 20 year-old. If that 40 year-old cat 4 races in the master’s group, he will more than likely be up against a sandbagging cat 1 or 2. That’s not completive.

I’m not saying there isn’t room to make adjustments to the mountain bike system, but using the road system isn’t the answer.

Why I Ride

When it's 95 degrees out and sweat stings as it drips into your eyes, all you can think about is getting home before you implode. The only problem, and it's a big one, is home is 40 miles away and you are on a bike. In cycling parlance it is called suffering for the sport; in common language it is called crazy. So why am I out here? Am I "suffering for the sport" or just suffering? Perhaps I'm crazy. I'm sure the people driving past in their air-conditioned cars must think so. It's obvious the kids in the backseat, noses pressed to glass, wonder what I'm doing. Who in the Hell would be out in this heat?

My jersey is glued to my back with sweat as I continue turning the crank on my bike. Waves of heat waft across the pavement in the distance, and the road begins to pitch upward in a series of rolling hills, nothing major, but enough in number to force a frequent change in gears. The bigger hills are further up the road. Those things are going to hurt after a 75 mile ride. The water in my bottles is low and warm, not a good combination, but it's better than nothing, so I drink it anyway. There is silence except for the faint whine of bike tires on pavement and the tick, tick, tick, of the chain spinning the rear cassette. I'm hot, tired, dripping with sweat and happy. I'm on my bike; why wouldn't I be happy? The world doesn't exists when I'm out here. There's no war in Iraq, no bad news, no personal problems or broken hearts. I'm in my own universe. I'm in a rhythmic realm of gear ratios, carbon fiber, wind resistance, and pedaling cadence. I'm sheltered from the stresses of daily life as long as I continue to turn the crank on my bike. Nothing can catch me as long as I keep moving. My only companions are my bike and my suffering, but it's a good kind of suffering. It's the kind of suffering that gives one a sense of accomplishment once it ends. You battle the voices in your head telling you to quit, to rest, to go easy. You battle the burning in your lungs and the ache in your thighs. To ride is to endure your own journey into the wilderness, a contest between your inner resolve and lingering doubts playing out in your head. The distance, weather, wind, and road will also conspire against you at times. They can push you close to a breaking point. Quit, rest, go easy, the voices say. The exhilaration comes when you say no. It comes when you look inside yourself for that little something extra and you find it.

The rolling hills subside briefly as the road relaxes under my bike. I shift into a higher gear, pick up the pace, and take advantage of these next few miles. Now is the time to get whatever speed I can because the hills will soon get much bigger and speed is a luxury in the vertical. A bead of sweat escapes from under my helmet and streaks across my glasses like a rain drop on a windshield. It's annoying. I can taste a faint mixture of sunscreen and salt on my lips with every breath. The cogs on my bike tick a familiar, rhythmic, cadence with the chain like a countdown to liftoff. Tick, tick, tick, tick. The hills are coming. There's a gentile turn to the left and the road begins to crawl upward as the hill announces itself. Draining the last of the warm water from my bottles, I slide back on the saddle, grasp the top of the bars, and begin my assent. It's not Ventoux, not even close, but the 8 percent gradient is enough to crack the weak and the pretenders in any group. Tick, tick, tick, up I go.

In the European racing circuit road surfaces of major mountain stages like Mont Ventoux, col du Galibier, col de la Madeline, Alpe d'Huez, and Mont Blac are liberally decorated with the names of cycling heroes past and present. Fans write these names to show support for their favorite team or rider, cheers in the form of vandalism. There's even a race fan dressed as a tormenting red devil running along side the riders at every mountain stage. There are no heroic names flashing beneath my wheels as I climb today, but they are there in my mind. I can see "Go Lance", "Mercks the Cannibal", and "Allez, Allez, Allez" draped across the dividing line. I can see the crowds of drunken Belgians and crazy Basque lining the road. Didi the Devil runs along side me, trident in hand, urging me onward. Through a tunnel of noise in my imagination, I climb toward the top of my personal Alpe d'Huez. I'm hot, tired, dripping with sweat and happy. I'm on my bike. It's why I ride.