CRCA A Race, March 28, 2009

I like to think of my life as a work in progress, which is a slightly pompous thing for me to say, as everyone’s life is a work in progress. We all live day by day – we have no choice but to progress to somewhere or to some thing. Where that progress takes us is another question. Some may be progressing to prosperity; others may be progressing to the penitentiary; only time and Facebook can tell where we finally end up.

My plan for personal progress Saturday morning involved a borrowed wheel and the chance for amassing race data. I still have Andy’s Zipp Power Tap rear wheel – I have been deftly ignoring any hints he may have been dropping about the wheel’s potential return. I haven’t raced with any sort of data collection device (except a wrist watch) for about 3 years now. I’ve eschewed using my Power Tap for two reasons: my 32 spoke wheel weighs about as much as the average Floridian and I find looking down at my wattage during difficult race situations to be both distracting and, in many cases, disheartening. I’ve stared down at those LCD numbers before in races, and I’ve heard them speak to me: “This is too hard for you, Danimal (in my mind during races, I always refer to myself as “Danimal”). You can’t sustain this sort of effort, Danimal. That’s a nice piece of grass over there; maybe you should lie down, Danimal.” But I have found a way to combat these crises of confidence, and the answer to the conundrum is simple – electrical tape, carefully placed over the offending display numbers.

Now after those two paragraphs of exposition, a careful reader would expect to see my race data and the accompanying blinding insight that would follow; but a careful reader would have long abandoned this report in disgust after having to read about my silly pet name for myself. Sadly, my information was not recorded, as my Power Tap stopped recording any sort of data after 13 minutes and 4 seconds – and I don’t even think those were my best 784 seconds of the race. Power Taps are a bit like baseball players, they don’t play in the rain or cold. And with the wet conditions on Saturday, I was more likely to explain TARP distributions to Dina Lohan than I was to coax my little yellow oval-esque training buddy to show anything except the same dead screen one sees when staring at a freshly shaken Etch A Sketch.

But enough about my technical difficulties, I’d now like to take this opportunity to remark about the weather and how little I liked Saturday’s weather. Leaving Jersey at 5:15 am, there was no sign of rain, but as we ticked off the miles towards the city, the raindrops multiplied. I was not prepared for rain. I had checked the forecast and the rain wasn’t supposed to arrive until Sunday morning – when it would soak those poor souls doing the Spring Series – as is proper; but the rain arrived early and served to dampen not only my spirits, but also the white panel of spandex draped across my backside. And to those who had the joy of following me during the race, I say, “You’re welcome”, and “Yes, I am that hairy.”

So it was a wet, hairy bunch that took to the roads of Central Park, we went about racing at a slightly furious pace. The pack was honed into a long, dowel-like shape over and over by the wood lathe that was the race’s pace. I was concerned that there was going to be a split in the race, because of the combination of speed and fatigue; but the split never occurred. There were a few dangerous moves, mostly initiated by Adler racers, but oddly enough, each of these were brought back due to the speed put into the race from the frantic efforts of the remaining Adlers to cover any trailing moves immediately, however slight they may have been. So we went along with Adlers hopping Alders until we go to the finish.

At Tavern there was, predictably, an Adler induced move at the front, but luckily, there were Adler riders pedaling near the front of the race. The pack formed back into a moist whole, and I looked to bring our sprinter Kevin (who was thankfully aware of the lap count this time) up to the front. I’m not sure what happened to me then. Maybe I lost my nerve in the wet, confused soup of the sprint; maybe I saw the race approaching not only a car but also a truck in the road or maybe I’m just not a smart guy; but I managed to bring Kevin to the front only to abandon him in an embarrassingly premature manner. I didn’t even get out of my saddle and make an effort to the line. I just pulled off to the right, and waved frantically at Kevin, hoping that he would find the fast line to the finish. Pathetic. Kevin managed to finish 7^th, which is really a testament to his ability, as I had positioned him perfectly for a 15^th place finish.

Schmalz Race Report

As I’ve said before… A nine, it is one thing to disappoint yourself, it’s quite another to disappoint someone else. And with the combination of wet conditions and busy horse-drawn carriages; I’m pretty sure I ended the race with more than just a little poop in my mouth.

Today’s head song was “Ask” by The Smiths, such seductive dancing, Mr. Morrissey!

Cadence Prospect Park Series March 22,2009 Masters Race

Usually when I race, I don’t use a cyclometer or any sort of speed or performance measuring device as I have a tendency to fixate upon those numbers during a race-usually to my detriment. In the past, I would have my heart rate monitor on my bars, but I found myself looking down at my heart rate during a hard race and I would surmise that I was going too hard and I was about to blow up like a Pinto in a demolition derby because my hamster-esque HR was thumping at 190 bpm. I finally had to stop using my computers during races, because the information served to undermine my confidence in critical situations. It’s not that I wouldn’t want the data to pore over after the race-I would-as data is fun to graph and dissect and email to others who may be slower than me in order to give myself an ego boost. But I had to forgo computer use, because it was making me self-conscious and, as a result, slower.

But this week, I was able to race with my Power Tap computer because I borrowed Andy’s Zipp 404 with a Power Tap hub. How did I come to possess this wheel? Well, Andy has about 23 wheels laying around his house, so he was sure to not miss this one; and since he has three different power measuring devices hooked up to his bike at any one time, the need for the Power Tab hub is not a pressing one. 

I should pause here and mention another one of my manias, as it does pertain to this story. I like things on my bike to match. My bike is not exactly what you would expect from a goofy internet website guy. I always get a giggle when people meet me “on-bike” for the first time and instead of seeing me on the latest and greatest bike stuff, they see that I am rolling around on the best technology that 2005 had to offer. But nonetheless, I like my aged technology to be clean and to match. I was having troubles with my Power Tap wheel. And when I say “trouble” I mean that the wheel was moving almost as much from side to side as it was moving forward. My wheel needed a rebuild, so I went right to my bike shop, and once again handed off my troubles to the very capable hands of my trusty mechanic. He examined my wheel, probably vomited a little in his mouth, and then contacted me to let me know I was riding on a cracked rim. We decided on a wheel rebuild. This meant I would be without a Power Tap wheel-my mighty training numbers would go unrecorded! Andy offered his Zipp 404 wheel-probably out of politeness-but I called his bluff and quickly swept the wheel away. Meanwhile my mechanic was busy rebuilding my wheel, and since I didn’t specify (as I was supposed to) my spoke preference, he installed black spokes on my rebuilt wheel.

Black spokes. On my bike. My front training wheel has silver spokes. This simply could not stand. I tried to talk myself into having mismatched wheels and spokes, but I couldn’t. I cannot abide black spokes, I tried for a day, but I couldn’t do it. I also cannot abide pleated pants or nuts in baked goods. I’m not saying these things are bad, I’m just saying that I cannot stand them. It’s a thing. It’s not even a smart or wise thing, but it’s my thing. So the wheel is going back for silver spokes. Sweet, shiny silver spokes.

Well, now we’re a couple hundred words later and we know I rode a Power Tap wheel in Sunday’s race. So I have data to share. I wish that I had a more personally eventful race to report on, but the tactics of the race were not encouraging a breakaway from little old me. The teams were playing a lot of cover and smother, and it seemed that we were destined for a sprint finish. I stayed near the front of the race, and marked the guys I thought I could get away with, but no moves materialized. We rolled on to our inevitable sprint up Cat’s paw Hill. I was sitting in the top ten as we hit the bottom of the hill, and I had a good line to the finish going on the right side, but I was beat to the last corner by Juan Pimental and had to miss a pedal stroke. That ended my chances. I kept going and ended up 7th. 

So here are the numbers that show what it takes to finish 7th in a master’s race. Behold the mightiness! And that max heart rate number is waaaay off.

 

 

Here are the peak numbers of the race, some people actually pay attention to these numbers.

 

Peak 5s (857w)

Peak 10s (830w)

Peak 20s (731w)

Peak 30s (691w)

Peak 1min (507w)

Peak 2min (409w)

Peak 5min (301w)

Peak 10min (262w)

Schmalz Race Report

Like I’ve said before… I was 8th in my last Spring Series Race, so it’ll only take under two months for a win here. That’s a sign of hope, so I’ll give the race a 5.

Today’s head song was “Conventional Wisdom” by Built to Spill.

Grant’s Tomb 3/14/2009

For me, the Grant’s Tomb race signals the beginning of the real racing season-not that the previous races that I’ve done were easy or imaginary, mind you-it’s that Grant’s is the first race that isn’t at the first fracture of daylight, and it’s in a location that isn’t a park designed by Frederick law Olmsted. Those factors serve to make this my debutante ball for the season, and since I was resplendent in our new Pacifico kit (with red crotch panel-I’m fine with sharing my physiology in ruby tinted detail with the world); I felt pretty, oh so pretty.

Grant’s is a great crit course with sharp corners, a fast downhill section and a nice view of the Hudson River-which you could see if you could unclench your fists from the death grip they held on the drops of your bars, as Grant’s is a great race in a time of the year when most of us do not have our crit skills up to speed. There was ample evidence in the race of our collective shakiness: verbal outbursts; the recitations of classics such as “holdja line!” and “braking!”, and the most telling confirmation of our collective “trembliness” was the fact that we didn’t go more than 20 yards before we had our first crash. Granted, clipping yourself into pedals can be a tricky business, and when compounded by nerves and shivering cold, I understand it can be a daunting endeavor. But I’m not sure the best way to react to a tricky pedal situation is to panic and fling yourself to the pavement, I could be wrong here; I will check the handling skills handbook to be sure.

Those of us who avoided the gateway pile up got on with the business of remembering how to ride fast in tight quarters. I needed a lap or two to acclimate to turning my bike. This was unfortunate as the first few laps of the race seems to go at a hectic pace. At around our second lap or so, I found myself near the sour end of the race. This was bad because moving up in a pack of 120 or so racers on a challenging course would be a tough task, it would require both discipline and diligence to move into a position to have an effect on the race. Sadly, I lacked both discipline and diligence saturday, I was filled with lesser imperatives, such as panic and apprehension. Those terms better suited for describing an escape from a bear attack, when they are used to describe your mindset in a bike race, you might be better served by staying at home.

Due to my fretting, I was unable to be up near the front where the stronger riders and smoother lines were being played out. I was in the land of the fatigued and the shaky, and the proof of my bad positioning came when, just before turn one at the top of the incline, some fellow decided to toss himself to the ground right next to me. I had mentally pre-crashed myself before the race, so when I looked over and saw a tumbling bunch of arms, legs and bicycle; I was feeling serene. I didn’t move or swerve, I held my ground and hoped no body parts would gain access to my spokes. My spokes stayed limb-free, and I was able to avoid disaster by gently nudging the tumbling feet of my fellow racer to the ground with my forearm. If I had the time to chat, I might have apologized for my little bit of shoving, but I was in a hurry, so this will have to serve as my mea culpa. 

The near miss switched my mindset from “flight” to “fight”, which would be great in theory, but I was in about 87th place at the time. One of the first rules about a race like this is to “always be overtaking”, and I tried to overtake as much as I could. I abandoned my brakes, and tried to access the reptilian areas of my mind. The race was churning like a freshman’s tummy at his first frat mixer, so it was hard to keep position or move up through the pack. I tried to put myself into a position where I could help my teammates, but I was just too far away. And so I rolled on, misplaced and mostly useless. I was so far back that I wasn’t available to inform my teammate Kevin that the finish wasn’t 5 laps away as he thought, but was, in fact, happening all around us.

Schmalz race report

Like I’ve said before… Teammate Marcus was able to finish 6th, without any help from me. So I would consider the race a positive experience. Let’s call it a 5.

Today’s head song was “Gary’s Got a Boner” by the Replacement again, so I was either frightened into repeating my head song from last week, or I have a thing for boners. Super.

Spring Series 3/8/2009 Master’s race

The race this morning took place under moist conditions. The roadway was wet despite an absence of raindrops; a meteorological phenomenon that I imagine approximates the permanently moist weather of Seattle or that of the poor man’s Seattle, England. We had a scant four laps of Central Park to display both our advanced age and bike racing acumen – the race began quickly – almost in a rush; as if we wanted to get as much racing done as possible. Of course this makes sense, because we are Master’s racers and we know we have little time left on the planet, so we have to get our racing in before the cold clutches of death claim us for our eternal sleep. That, and Wonder Wheels was pushing the pace early.

The pace of the first lap to me seemed a bit foolhardy for the near-British conditions, and after I nailed the pothole on the white line after the Museum (didn’t we all?); I decided to take it easy on the descent of Harlem Hill. I took it so easy, in fact, that I found myself at the end of the entire race, and had to work for about a quarter lap to get back into a position where I could at least see the front of the race. I then took a breath and resigned myself to the fact that if I was going to race today, I was going to crash. It’s a liberating feeling really, knowing that your contact with the pavement is preordained; and it helps you get on with the business of trying to have an effect on the race.

And I did try to have an effect, after the ascent of Harlem Hill on lap 2, I jumped on the rollers, got a gap and was joined by two others: Marc Cesare from Wonder Wheels and a fellow I didn’t recognize that had a logo for Black Cat place of some sorts on his backside. If I were a superstitious guy, this sort of rear end logo omen would throw me a little, but I don’t have the mental retention required to remember which omens are bad and which are good, simply put, I’m too stupid to be superstitious. So we rolled along, panting and unconcerned, except for the nagging fact that we didn’t have any Global Locate riders along with us. The world of NYC Master’s racing seems to mostly revolve around a trio of teams: Wonder Wheels, Global Locate, and Axis; and our little move had one of the teams represented, but none of the other two. That would present difficulties. Our little move was soon pulled back, and I shoved myself back into the pack, to respirate and prepare for what seemed like an inevitable sprint.

The sprinter’s plans were almost thwarted by the appearance of Ken Harris. Ken had been lying low during the race; and his manifestation at the front of the race, resplendent in his clear packing tape covered helmet, surprised almost all of us. In fact, seeing Ken at the front of the race may or may not prompted a few racers to poop just a little in their tights. Ken did what he does, and tossed an attack off the front. There was some chasing from the trio of teams and going into the final sprint, Ken and two others had about a 10 second gap at Tavern. They were eventually caught and we were all together by the boathouse. The sprint was not the usual crowded clump of clueless hopefuls, so I decided to toss myself into the mix. And I was only able to toss myself into 8th place. The race payed out to 5 places, so my placing was of no value whatsoever.

Side note from the morning

This morning saw the return of Andy Shen to actual bike racing. He did two races this weekend. This officially equals his total for the past 9 years. For his trouble, he collected two cracked rims.

Schmalz Race Report

Like I’ve said before… Let’s call this a 5, because of no crashes, which is always a nice note to end on. I did do a lap after the race and got a puncture in my brand new tubular tire. I’m went the thrifty route and used some of Andy’s puncture sealant to plug the hole from the inside of the tube, and I will ride this tire until it falls apart from under me or fails to hold air, whichever comes first.

Today’s head song was “Gary’s Got a Boner” by The Replacements, a song which hasn’t made the youtube cut, so instead, enjoy these songs from the same era.

 Cadence Prospect Park Series Saturday February 28,2009 123 Race 

I’m the type of person who likes bad news right away. Even if there s faint a hint of something bad happening, I want to know so I can shriek about how unfairly life is treating me, wail about the world being against me, and then after about two minutes, I try to recover my dignity and get on with my life. The race morning had the promise of delivering bad news. Simply put, I might be terrifically slow this season. I have my reasons for believing this also. I was sequestered in Iowa for two weeks with only my rollers and athletic isolation as my companions. I spent 5 days in Florida, a state so inactive, they’re considering legislation that will ensure no one will even have to mistakenly walk anywhere again – it’s called “the Buffet Law” – and Segway’s a sponsor. With these two soiled pennies in my coin purse, I was prepared to be disappointed. I had even worked up a nice shriek in anticipation, not too forlorn, and with a nice touch of feminine hysteria – the key ingredient of any shriek.

The temperature at race time was about 37 degrees or so, a temperature that hasn’t kept me off the bike yet this year, but I found myself shivering at the line, as I usually never stand around in tights for 10 minutes before my training rides. I prefer to do near-explicit public stretching displays. I never just stand around. We huddled for warmth as Charlie I explained the new race format for the year – we would have 2 KOM sprints and 2 green jersey sprint during the race, both sprints occurring at random. The KOM sprint was to be at the top of the hill (yes it’s a hill) and the sprints for green would be at the finish line. In theory, these sprints would turn the race into a format I despise – the point’s race – but the sprints were at random intervals, which somehow made them more palatable. It also served to make the race more than a 13 lap group ride with a furious finishing lap at the end.

 Our field was a sell out containing 110 riders. That’s a lot of people – especially when they’re all pedaling and flopping about on their bikes in the two lanes of the road in Prospect Park. Our plan was to try and get teammate Jeff King into the KOM jersey – strictly for irony’s sake – you have to respect a guy who’s willing to sprint for comedic effect, and that’s just another reason why Jeff King is known to be awesome; along with the fact that he writes sweet emails to our team newsgroup. Also, the KOM sprints weren’t going to be contested by anyone who wouldn’t be winning bunch sprints anyway. The guys who can sprint wouldn’t have any difficulty placing on the hill – they would just be going a little slower. We came to the first KOM sprint, and Jeff didn’t get any points, so we resorted to our alternate plan, to try and race against a field of 110 guys that would be sprinting 3 more times. Good times.

There were 3 more sprints during the race, each feverishly contested. And after the last green jersey sprint, a group of about 7 riders got away in a counter move. This group contained John Loehner and Jermaine Burrowes, two strong riders from two crafty teams. I only found this out afterwards, if you think of the race as a digestive system, I was shoved squarely in the stomach of the peloton; almost hitting the small intestine. I was still nutrient rich, but I was well on my way to becoming waste product. Needless to say, I didn’t make the break.

The break dangled in sight of the race until the finish, with Empire’s John Loehner getting away to win. Proving that he not only practices medicine, but he also practices kicking tail. We worked for Jeff in the sprint. I did an effort with about a kilometer to go, and after I pulled off, I looked over and Kevin Molloy called me his bitch. I will now show Kevin a lesson all season long – by ending up 50 places behind him in every group sprint we contest together. Watch yourself, Molloy.

And the news for me today? No bad news; so no shrieking, but the season is still early.

Schmalz Race Report

Like I’ve said before… Wow – it’s been a long time since I’ve had to do this. I’ll give it a 5, right in the middle. No good news, no bad news.

 

Today’s head song was “The Walls Came Down” by The Call.