Harlem Cat 3 race, June 21, 2009

In certain sub-cultures, in order to become part of the group, you have to undergo certain initiations or rites of passage. You can’t be a real karaoke singer unless you’ve warbled "My Way" or have done a duet version of "Islands in the Stream" with a reluctant partner; you can’t be a real macramé aficionado until you’ve knotted together a God’s eye; you can’t be a genuine meathead until you’ve shared a tiny rental on the Jersey Shore with 23 other orange-tinted guys; and you can’t be considered a New York City racer until you’ve raced at Harlem. I’m sorry but it’s true, it’s something every area racer should do – I should know – I live in Jersey.

One of the things that makes Harlem special is that it happens, unlike most New York races, somewhere between the hours of 9 am and 7 pm, when normal people are very likely to be awake, walking about and aware that a bike race is, in fact, occurring. This means that the Harlem race has a crowd, and is witnessed by more than just the usual squirrels, overnight inebriates and people walking dogs with an early morning digestive schedule that you get spectating at most city races. It’s a nice change of pace, and it comes at just the right time of year, as lately the squirrels have taken to wagering on the race outcomes, and I fear they’ve developed quite a gambling problem.

The forecast for the day, like every other day this June, called for rain. In preparation, I performed the necessary mental floor routine for a rainy race at Harlem. I tried to imagine myself crashing in as many way as possible, I even concocted a scenario that involved Prell shampoo and an errant street mime – this is how I calm myself before races that I think will be extra "crashy". I preemptively crash myself, so if it happens, it isn’t a shock. Some people opt for positive mental imagery, I try to imagine the worst possible sequence of events, and then if I do have a crash, I can feign disappointment when my mishap doesn’t involve discount shampoo and a silent fellow running against an imaginary wind gust. It’s a very helpful little mental trick, feel free to try it out yourself.

You can imagine my disappointment when I arrived at the race and saw that the sun was shining. My tricks had gone for naught, and I would have to revise my crash scenarios to include just normal mayhem instead of moisture related maladies. I got my number, got dressed and rolled towards the portojohns to jettison some race weight. It was then I heard the telltale hiss of my front tire sharing it’s compressed air with the rest of the world’s atmosphere. Luckily, I was right next to Johan Burrowes, and he was able to find me a replacement wheel with frightening speed. I tossed the replacement wheel into my forks and thanked the owner for the use of his wheel. I, of course, didn’t promise that I’d return it in one piece, you simply cannot guarantee anything like that at Harlem.

Before the race I noticed that there were some new faces at the race, faces that were on the bodies of large, burly track-esque racers. I found out that these large visitors were vacationing New Zealand fixed gear types, who were indeed category three racers – on the road – on the track they were a few notches above that. This was a flashback for me to previous races at Harlem when barnstorming Aussies and Kiwis would enter the race in order to make enough gas money to drive out to Super Week. I also knew that it meant that there was going to be some pushing and shoving in the corners, as those guys aren’t afraid of a little contact, especially if it means making enough money to get out of NYC.

We lined up and took off. One of the Kiwis went to the front and I followed him because I like to not lose bike races. The move didn’t really amount to much, just a testing of the legs. But on next lap or so, I got in a move with Johan Burrowes, and we were working together for a stretch when a guy in a black jersey came up to us and started riding a pace about as smooth as gasoline martini. The surges killed the momentum and we were all shortly swallowed by the pack. I went to the back to respirate and try to start seeing straight again, this lasted for about 15 minutes or so. Luckily, my teammate Marcus decided to get in a break of 5 riders off the front, giving me the perfect excuse for doing absolutely nothing.

They were reeled in eventually and we began preparations for the finish of the race. We didn’t have a lead out planned, so with 3 laps to go, I found some room, came up the inside on the backstretch and sprinted to the corner to get away. My plan to try and draw out some help from the pack, but it seemed that no one was taking the bright red bait I was hanging in front of the pack. I was left alone. I had about 200 meters or so on the trailing pack. I was all in, there was no point in going back to try and collect myself for the finish in the group. The move would be all or nothing, and it turns out that it was a lap and a half of nothing in the end. I might’ve been better served by a later attack or with a little help from another break companion or two, but that’s the way the race went. I had to try and get away, there was no point in trying to go head to head in a field sprint, that would only net me 15th place. I am glad I made the move, and I’d do it again, but would send out invitations to join me beforehand.

I have my Power Tap data from the race, but I fear it may be a while before I can report my numbers again. I think the mount was tossed about a bit too much at the race and the wires may have gone bad, which will rob the world of my wattage numbers for the near future. The numbers for the race are intact. The average speed was a brisk 25.8 mph which required me to expend a normalized 276 watts of power to keep up. During my attack at the end of the race, I needed 384 normalized watts to stay about 200 meters in front of the pack for 2 minutes and 41 seconds. I also needed to be much, much stronger to make that silly move work.

Side notes from the day

It’s a lot of fun to race in front of a crowd. During my move at the end of the race, I could hear people shouting encouragement. I couldn’t really see anyone as I was trying desperately to open another breathing orifice on my body at that point, but I could hear people.

I think that turn one on the Harlem course is my favorite turn in bike racing. It’s got that slight downhill and if you hit it right you can really carry a lot of momentum by leaning the bike waaaay over. It’s almost like a carnival ride, without the ticket taking felon, of course.

Schmalz Race Report

It’s always fun to not end up covered in Prell and mime parts at Harlem. let’s call that a three.

Harlem’s head song was "Mr. Brightside" by The Killers.

FBF 3/4 race 6/16/2009

Why are we here? It’s a question that’s confounded the finest philosophical minds of our times. Are we part of a grand plan of a supreme being? Are we a collection of electrical impulses, water and minerals that randomly developed consciousness? Are we here to rock and roll all night and party ev-ah-ree day? It’s an existential conundrum. Fortunately, we have diversions such as bike races to stave off the madness of contemplating our place in the world.

Tuesday night afforded us another opportunity to keep insanity at bay. There was a lack of any discernable wind which foretold a sprint finish, and there was also a large field – 95 racers large, which is preposterously large for a Tuesday night race – which also normally would point to a sprint finish. So I was especially glad to see that teammate Frank was able to make it out to the race, firstly because he’s back from his crash at Somerville, and secondly, because he’s a wicked sprinter; we do want to win the race, after all.

We lined up and were soon under way. I had my eye on a few guys within the field (who’s identities will be protected for my own tactical advantage – see “wanting to win the race” sentence from above), as I knew with such a big field, I would need a lot of help to make any break work. When a move got away early, and it didn’t contained any of my “watched men”; I didn’t make any attempt to get across, because, to be honest, I didn’t think the move had much promise. It had a few Wonder Wheel guys in it, so that meant their team wouldn’t chase; but it was only 3 or 4 guys – and that didn’t seem to be enough to hold off such a big field. The move did have one thing going for it, and that was Jon Orcutt – Jon’s a savvy motor who’s had his share of moments off the front of assorted races, and he can control the growth rates of dandelions with his mind. Not many people know that.

The break actually ended up working quite well together, and stubbornly stayed about a straightaway ahead of the pack for most of the race. Since we had Frank with us, Jaime and I were chasing, and while there were many racers and teams represented in the field, not many of them seemed interested in chasing with us. A few teams had good excuses, Axis and Wonder Wheels has riders up the road, and Kingpin were operating under the mistaken assumption that they also had someone up the road – so their imaginary teammate kept them from chasing, but save for a precious few; most teams were content to not do a damn thing. That is an acceptable tactic if you are saving yourself for the sprint or are terrifically slow, but if you have never won a sprint before, it could be worthwhile to show a little aggressiveness, or even to help chase so a teammate can counter attack. But as the situation stood, we were slowly drawing the break back, hopefully in time for the field sprint. This effectively extinguished all the chances for any late moves – as they would be smothered by the lead outs, and killed the chances for all those without a sprint. So if you didn’t have someone in the break and didn’t have anyone place in the sprint – you raced poorly. I really didn’t want to have to say that, but chasing puts me in a really sour mood.

After chasing enough to catch the break on the last corner of the race (sorry, Jon), it became time to consider the sprint. I was planning on bringing Frank up the right side on the good side of the wind. It was a solid plan but if there was any dead weight in front of us, we ran the risk of getting caught behind slower riders and bogging down. It was a calculated risk. And as we hit the final corner, I took Frank up the right side only to be faced with the gasping remnants of the break. Bad news. I had to negotiate my way through at the exact moment the race was heating up, costing me valuable momentum. I became useless to Frank as a lead out, and he had to go around and into the wind very early. Despite my effort to take him out of the running entirely, Frank held on for fifth, which is a very solid placing for a guy who was knocked unconscious not long ago.

Schmalz Race Report
Why are we here? We are here to race, not chase. I’m giving this a 4 because we caught the break and Frank placed.

I had the Power Tap wheel on and have my race data. I suppose if you spend a lot of time at the front chasing, it raises your normalized power. This week that number was 290, my wattage during the winning break a a few weeks ago was 270. Which tells you that it’s always better to be in the break.

The head song for the night was "Little Jeannie" by Elton John. I have no excuse for that.