ABD Fall Fling Circuit Race, West Chicago, IL, October 2, 2010

I shouldn't have even bothered. Rolling terrain, a healthy dose of brutal winds, plus a pinch of impending illness made for a very short and painful day in the saddle.

The course today was right across the street from the "Pelladrome" in West Chicago. It was a 1.8 mile paved loop around what had been planned to be an office park. The Cat 4s were on tap to do 14 laps. The east and west ends of the course both featured a fair amount of uphill which in the absence of wind would have been manageable. But not today...

I hadn't pre-registered, so as the wind whipped around me on my walk over to registration the rational part of my mind said "back out while you still can." Perhaps I should have listened to that voice. But I laid my money down, got my number, and headed back to the car for a warm-up on the trainer. As I spun, clouds started to gather and the wind seemed to get worse.

After one warm-up lap out on the course I rolled to the line with 22 other riders. All the usual suspects were there. My nightmare began as soon as the whistle blew...I performed one of the most amateurish clip-ins of my racing career. For the life of me I just could not get that left cleat engaged in the pedal! I felt like a total goob as riders surged past me.

And surge they did. This field had no intention of hanging together to fight the wind...those at the front clearly intended to shatter what little peloton we could have had and turn this into a 25-mile strung-out drag race. After finally getting myself clipped in, and hauling a** to join up with the field, I could tell that this was not going to end well. My legs felt like two lumps of lead and my heart rate was already through the roof.

I soon found myself spit out the back of the main field, but fortunately I was not the only one. I was able to get in a four-man group with Beverly Bike, WDT, and a Purdue rider. Initially there was still hope that we could catch back on to the field, but with each passing moment that hope got further and further away. As did the field.

By now I was in agony. My lungs were burning, and with each gasp it was like breathing in liquid fire. All the while, my heart was firmly lodged somewhere right behind my uvula. We dropped the WDT rider, and picked up someone else, keeping our group at four. But then the uphill start/finish stretch was my downfall. I lost touch with my group, and found myself all alone out in the wind.

I rode another two laps to make for a tidy 7.5 mile "race." I was caught on the backstretch by the 40+ Cat 4/5 field that had been started right behind the Cat 4 field. And on the start/finish stretch I looked behind me and saw the pace car breathing down my neck. As I rode past the official at a mere 22 minutes into the race I made the imaginary slash across my neck and stated "I'm done." As I rode away I heard them announcing over the loudspeaker that 483 had dropped out. Thank you everyone, I suck.

What an ignominious end to the season.

ABD Fall Fling “Pelladrome” Criterium, West Chicago, IL, September 25, 2010

Today marked the 6^th time that I raced at the “Pelladrome” this year. I had been able to make it out for five of the ABD Wednesday Night Training Crits, but today the race actually counted for something.

With mostly cloudy skies and temps in the low 60s, I actually started to overheat while warming up on the trainer. First off was the wind vest, then went the arm warmers.More clouds started to roll in, and after one warm-up lap on the course I zipped back to the car to pull back on the arm warmers. My lungs felt tight and my legs felt heavy, so I was a bit pessimistic about how the day was going to go.

As the sole WFR rider, I rolled to the line with about 40 other guys. There was good representation from ABD, xXx, Mack, Project 5, and Beverly Bike/Vee-Pak. The race was fast right from the whistle, and we instantly strung out. For the few two laps I was sitting comfortably in 10^th wheel position. I was feeling good…the lungs had cleared out and my legs were doing everything I asked them to. There was a bit of a breeze on the backstretch, but I was able to stay protected.

I used the next few laps to improve my position. For the third and fourth laps I sat 8^th wheel, and for the fifth and sixth laps I had moved up to 6^th wheel. Suddenly, there was a vicious attack from Beverly Bike and Mack. No longer strung out, we were riding 3 to 4 across to reel them back in. At about 10 minutes in, the sole PACT rider veered from right to left without even looking, coming mere inches from taking out my front wheel. I curse loudly, and other riders jeer his poor move, shouting “Rider of the Year!”

At about 20 minutes in there were a few more attacks, forcing the pace up even higher. It was at this point that my lungs started to tighten up, but I just held on and tried to stay relaxed. The attacks never amounted to anything. Shortly thereafter, a prime lap was called for a set of handlebars, keeping the pace high. After the prime sprint, the pace mellowed out a bit, and on the backstretch I moved up the right side of the field to get back into the top ten.

At 33 minutes in I found myself in 5^th wheel position. A Beverly Bike rider launched a sole attack along the start/finish stretch, and at first no one reacted. Then a voice from behind, like Obi Wan speaking to Luke on Dagobah, said “if we don’t go, he’s going to stay away.” OK, if you insist. Those of us at the front stepped on the gas and by the backstretch we had reeled him in.

Then started a series of sketchy moves. A few of the riders up front must have been hallucinating that there were in the Tour de France, because a line of riders started snake and back across the road for no apparent reason. I hung back and played it safe, sitting somewhere around 15^th wheel. A Mack rider to the right of me said “this is why there are so many crashes in Cat 4 races.” Amen, brother.
When the bell lap came around, I was sitting back in about 20^th position, but used the early part of the lap to move up into the top ten again. The final surge came about halfway through the backstretch, and as usual I started to lose ground. I put my head down and hammered for all I was worth, picking off a few riders here and there in the process. I came across the line almost neck and neck with a WDT rider, and I thought that I pipped him at the line. However, the official results placed him one ahead of me. When the dust settled, I had taken 19^th out of 27 finishers. Which is nothing spectacular, but way better than I could have hoped for, considering how I felt during the warmup.

Hopefully the weather is good next weekend. I plan to race the Fall Fling Circuit Race, which could be my last road race of 2010. Thanks for reading!

Glencoe Grand Prix, Glencoe, IL, August 14, 2010

What should have been the height of my season was instead a short and disappointing day in the saddle.

When Downers Grove decided to not host the Criterium National Championships for the first time in over 20 years, Glencoe picked up the slack. Much like Downers, it was a technical, 10-corner course with a short (but challenging) hill. With the only Masters option for 30+ being a 1/2/3/4 race, I demurred and chose to mix it up with the young Cat 4s for a 45-minute race.

Kev and I, the only WFR representatives, carpooled up to Glencoe and set up the trainers in a parking lot next to the train tracks. In the course of a 30 minute warmup, I think that I sweated out the equivalent of half of my body weight. I could have wrung out my jersey when we were finished. Fortunately, I had brought a fresh jersey in which to race.

Once the Masters 40+ 1/2/3/4 riders were finished, we were let out onto the course for a warmup lap. The pavement looked to be decent (a few manhole covers here and there, but nothing to worry about), but some of those corners sure looked tight. As Kev and I rolled around to the start finish, we found ourselves stuck at the back of the field. My rear tire was literally the farthest back in the field of close to 100 riders. Crap.

The field strung out right from the whistle. I tried to jump up as far as I could, but still was probably 3/4 of the way back. The pace was furious until we hit each corner, at which point we had to slam on the brakes and then accelerate back up to speed. I found myself a few bike lengths behind another rider, and heard a voice over my shoulder say "are you going to close that gap?" I said "I'll try," stepped on the gas, and grabbed onto that wheel.

The hill was not as steep as the hill at Downers, but was a bit longer and did not have the benefit of being followed by a long descent. I knew from the first time up it that it was going to be problematic. Hills and I don't get along.

Two laps in and I was already starting to question how this day was going to turn out. I kept drifting back, working with whatever group I could for as long as I could before falling off the pace and grabbing onto a new group. About 10 minutes in I heard Kev yelling encouragement at me from the side of the road. I hadn't seen him since the start, but suddenly became aware that his day was done. At one point I was working with Bryan from Bicycle Heaven and a few other riders, but they lost me on the hill. At the end, it was just me and a rider from Half Acre. As we came around to the start/finish at the 20-minute mark, the race official stepped out into the middle of the road and crossed his chest with his arms. Game over, man, game over. I can't even remember the last time that I had been involuntarily pulled from a race...

What a horrendous day. In the final analysis, hills and heat just don't make for a good combination for me. I'm sure there will be a few ABD Wednesday night crits to hit before the leaves start to fall, plus a few of the Fall Fling races, but I can already feel the season winding down.

Calvin Butler, April 22, 1995 - July 10, 2010

I was pre-registered for the Mill Race Cyclery Superweek race in Geneva, and it was probably going to be my only Superweek race of 2010. But sadly, late that morning, I had to take Calvin, my buddy of almost 15 years, for his last visit to the vet. To say that I was in no state to be surrounded by 50+ other riders, moving at 25+ mph, is an understatement. There are more important things than the bike.

Calvin had been with me since I started law school, and over the course of about 7 years moved with me from Illinois to Washington, from Washington to California, and back again. In the course of those moves, he traveled through 13 states, seeing more of the country than some people ever will in their lifetime. He saw me through 6 jobs, 4 girlfriends (one of whom is now my wife), 2 bar exams, and countless bike races. He bravely fought off joint, bowel, and thyroid problems for years, but in the end he just wasn't strong enough to fight off the cancer that took over with frightening speed.

Rest in peace, furry chum. May you now frolic in endless fields of catnip and rest beside rivers of milk.

Sherman Park Criterium, Chicago, IL, June 12, 2010

The 2009 edition of the Sherman Park Criterium was marked by pouring rain, resulting in 40 minutes of eating road grime and furiously blinking the grit out of my eyes. Notwithstanding, I had been able to score an 8^th place finish. With only “scattered thunderstorms” in the forecast this year, I was hoping to avoid a repeat of the weather and to improve on last year’s finish. I had felt good at the Wednesday night crits this week, so I was feeling optimistic.

Kev and I carpooled into the city, and at registration I was presented with bib number 911. Kev joked that hopefully they wouldn't have to call 911 for me today. That goes without saying! After some confusion over Kev’s bib number got straightened out, we set up the trainers and got in a good warmup. With about 15 minutes to race time we headed over to the course. I was stopped by one of the registration guys asking “are you Butler?” They had screwed up mynumber, too. I was unpinned and given number 912.

Although the skies were overcast and it was very humid, there hadn’t been so much as a hint of rain. Until, that is, we headed out onto the course for our warmup lap. A few small plinks of rain splattered here and there, but nothing too worrisome. Then the wind picked up. And as we rounded turn four, the skies opened up and it poured. Great…2009 revisited.

The officials pulled us from the line, and everyone took shelter wherever they would. We were called back to the line about 10 minutes later. The organizers had shortened the Masters 30+ 4/5 race this year to only 30 minutes, which now I was thankful for.

About 60 riders rolled to the line. As would be expected, there were a lot of xXx guys, plus random pockets of South Chicago Wheelmen and Beverly Bike. Bryan was the only Bicycle Heaven rider, and the Psimet guys were totally AWOL, as was WDT. We were informed that there would be five prime laps, for a shirt, Clif bars, gift certificates, and cash.

The pace from the get-go was fast, but manageable. I spent the first few laps toward the back, getting into a rhythm and avoiding the potholes. Still, on the backstretch of the 2^nd lap I hit one of said potholes squarely in the center. I got a good jolt and prayed that I hadn’t flatted. Fortunately, the Tire Gods were smiling on me today and I remained fully pressurized.

Four laps into the race and I was tired of being at the back. I made my move up the right side of the field as we barreled through the Start/Finish and inserted myself into the front 10 riders. On the whole, this was a race of me gaining position and losing position. With no hard corners, the pack pretty much rode 4-5 riders across the whole time and we never strung out. I found that this made it difficult to escape the pack and gain any ground. This was unfortunate, because my legs were feeling strong, my lungs were clear, and my heart rate stayed pretty low. Not once did I ever feel like I was red-lining. Had I been able to get and keep good position, maybe I could have made something happen at the end.

Despite the conditions, it was a very clean race. I felt someone brush up against me once, and one time I moved slightly to the right and made a little contact with another rider. It was my fault and I apologized several times. No harm, no foul, and everyone kept going on our merry way.

Towards the end of the race I found myself way too far back again. Kev came up on my right side and announced his presence. I told him “I’m nowhere close to where I want to be.” I was boxed in, however, and there was no good way to escape. I had done a poor job of watching the lap counters and still thought we had several laps in which I could try to improve my position. As we zipped by the Start/Finish, I was surprised to see the lap cards set at “1.” I thought to myself “holy cow, this thing is almost over!” I was still boxed in with nowhere to go. I kept scanning for any opportunity to move up, but no openings presented themselves. I resigned myself to just staying upright and riding this one out.

In the end, I took 38^th out of 53 finishers. Another mediocre finish, which has been all too representative of this season. Still, it was a lot of fun, and it was great to have Kev riding strong in the field with me.

ABD Training Crits, June 9, West Chicago, IL

After a three week absence from the Pelladrome, it was great to be back for another Wednesday night of racing, despite the strong winds that made the backstretch a challenge. The evening was warm and sunny, with nary a cloud in the sky. About 35 riders showed up to duke it out, including WFR teammates Jason and John.

The format was same as weeks prior. The first race was a 15 minute/8 lap race for the newbies (and a warmup for the veterans). The second was a 25 minute/13 lap pursuit race, and the third was a 20 lap points race. Not counting the first race, that accounts for about 27 miles of racing…not bad training at all in the middle of the week. Cupcake primes were plentiful to make sure that the pace stayed hot.

The first race passed pleasantly enough. After the newbies got underway, we slowly rolled out. The pace was relaxed until about the 4^th or 5^th lap, at which point we pushed pretty hard to work the kinks out of the legs. During the surge I kept myself near the front, in about 5^th wheel. After that surge, the pace slowed to a crawl again and we rode out the remainder of the “race” together.

As soon as the whistle blew to start the first race, John Mahr grabbed a moment of glory and took a flyer off the front. A few riders gave chase, but he stayed away for most of the first lap. I found myself in the unenviable position of leading into the wind for a couple of the early laps. Sometimes it is fun to be the “tip of the spear,” but into a stiff wind…not so much. A cupcake prime was called on the 4^th lap, and with that the preliminary niceties were over. Psimet had a good presence tonight, and on this 4^th lap they surged en masse to the front of the field and set a blistering pace. My legs were taking a while to come around underneath me, and I had to hang on for dear life. I figured that they would spend a few laps trying to separate the wheat from the chaff and then would relax the pace a bit, but they never let up. Another sugar-laden prime was called on the 10^th lap, and this is where I started to come unglued. After the prime spring, coming out of Turn One the front of the field surged even more and I waved goodbye as they gained a decent gap on me. On the backstretch, I stood up and jammed on the pedals, desperately hoping that I could gain ground as they slowed down in to the headwind, but I just couldn’t close the gap. I rode out the remaining laps by myself and rolled meekly across the line.

I rolled back to the car to grab a fresh bottle. Someone had a radio on and tuned in to the Hawks/Flyers game. The game was scoreless as we were called back to the line for race number three.

The points race started out pretty mellow, but it didn’t take long to ramp up to full speed. I found myself behind Illinois State Champion Jessi Prinner and figured that I should stay glued to her wheel as long as possible. I hung out toward the back of the for the first 10 laps, conserving as much energy as possible and hanging on throughout the points and prime sprints. About midway through the race, as we zipped past the start/finish, it was announced that the Hawks were tied 1-1 with the Flyers.

I stayed within the front 5-10 riders for most of the remainder of the race. With about 5 laps to go, my calves started to feel like they could cramp up at any moment, which is a less than pleasant feeling. I gulped some Gatorade and hoped for the best. As we entered the backstretch with two laps to go, I found myself in 2^nd wheel position. Halfway down the stretch, the lead rider pulled aside. I got hit with the wind and it was like getting slapped in the face. My legs were completely sapped and rather than taking the pull I drifted left to let the field come through. The rider right behind me chastised me, saying “take a pull, there are only 2 laps to go…it isn’t going to kill you!” I’ll admit that he was right, and I was ashamed of my cop-out. I had nothing left, however, and was still on the verge of cramping. I figured it was better to just get out of the way than force everyone to maneuver around me as I dragged my lead anchor behind me. I reinserted myself somewhere midway through the field and hung on. Jason appeared out of nowhere and moved himself up toward the front of the field. It all fell apart for me, as it usually does, during the bell lap. Again, the main surge occurred right out of Turn One, and the just rode away from me, despite my best efforts to hang on. I rolled in alone, closing out another fine night of racing at the Pelladrome. A Stanley Cup victory for the Blackhawks just a few hours later put the cherry on top of the evening.

All in all, the racing this evening was a lot cleaner than it was three weeks ago. Only once did I have a rider drift into me, and a simple “whoa, whoa, whoa” was enough to make him realize the error of his ways. I’m glad to hear that these races will be continuing throughout the summer, and I look forward to attending as many as possible Thank you ABD and Pella!

ABD Training Crits, May 19, West Chicago, IL

Kudos to ABD for putting on another great mid-week evening of racing, and to Pella for allowing us to spend another night zipping around the “Pelladrome.” It was a beautiful evening for turning the pedals in anger…temps were in the low 70s to high 60s, with gentle breezes. After taking 6 warm-up laps and downing half of a Clif Bar, I rolled to the line with about 35-40 riders. Kev and Chris had other commitments tonight, so Jason and I were the only WFR riders. Most of the field was was in the “B” (Cat 4/5) group, with about 8-10 “A” (Cat 1/2/3) riders.

The first race was 8 laps. The experienced riders let the newbie group get a gap on us before we started rolling up to speed. This first race of the night is really a race in name only. Everyone uses it mostly as a warm-up, and it wasn’t until the last few laps that we started to put the hammer down a little bit. I probably pushed a bit too hard on this warm-up race, but it felt good to be sitting right at the front and putting in a good effort. I led into the windy stretches on the 4th lap, and again on the last lap. When the final sprint came I just rode it in.

After a cool-down lap, it was right back to the line again for the 2nd race of the evening. This one was a 25 minute race with numerous primes for homemade brownies thrown in. The B group was given about and half-lap start before the A’s were unleashed to chase us down, which they did in pretty short order. Until that point, however, any “brownie primes” were solely for the B’s. Jason went for one of these primes, but was narrowly pipped at the line. The pace was fast, but I felt good. The burning lungs that had plagued me at the Monsters of the Midway Criterium were a thing of the past, my heart rate was well under control, and my legs were having no problem keeping up with the surges.

I do have to own up to making one stupid decision. Toward the end of the race, we came around the start/finish and the official was ringing the bell. As I zipped past I could have sworn I heard him saying “bell lap, bell lap.” The pace quickened, and I moved myself toward the front. As we came into the finishing stretch, there were about 5 guys ahead of me standing and mashing on the pedals. So, I did likewise, coming across the line in 6th place. However, as I sped past the official he announced “two to go, two to go.” Aw, crap…apparently I need to have my hearing checked! The pace intensified yet again, but I was able to hang on for those final two laps and finish with the field.

The third race was a 20 lap “points” contest with a sprint every 4 laps. As if that didn’t keep the pace hot enough, it seemed that every other lap was a prime lap (for water bottles, brownies, and t-shirts). And make no mistake, this was a crazy fast race. Still, my heart and lungs felt good, and I could even manage somewhat of a normal conversation. Early on in the race, the Bicycle Heaven rider who I had worked with for a brief stretch during the Leland Kermesse (sorry, I haven’t yet caught your name!) was on my wheel and called out “Hey Pinchy, you left me at Leland and broke my heart!” We chatted briefly about how brutal that race had been. I owned up to quitting after one lap, whereas he had toughed it out through the gale-force winds for all four laps, mostly by himself. That takes a lot of strength, both physical and mental.

Unfortunately, there was a lot of sketchy riding in this 3rd race. I know these are training crits, but there are still too many experienced riders making moves without looking, and not holding a straight line even on long, straight sections. One particular rider continuously bobs and weaves like a boxer in a prizefight.

The scariest moment of the night came about half-way through. On the stretch right before the start/finish straightaway, a rider in a red kit was on the far right and going backwards. Just as I was passing him, a xXx starts to dive to the right, directly into my path. I hit the gas and narrowly squeaked through, but it could have been ugly. A short time later, an ABD rider made a similar move. As he started diving into me I screamed “on your right, on your right!” Followed by a rather blasphemous bit of profanity.

During the final lap, I moved up the left side of the field and inserted myself into the top 5. I managed to stay there almost all the way to the final sprint, but some riders started to come around me. When we hit the final straightaway I tried to shift down one more cog, but there was no where left to go on the cassette. I stood up and accelerated to a full sprint, picking off a few riders here and there and ending up (I think) somewhere within the top 10.

It appears that the good folks at Pella are going to keep letting us use their facility, and ABD is going to keep organizing these races throughout the summer. This is great news for those of us who are simply unable to make it to the Tuesday night crits in Matteson. A huge “thank you” in advance to both organizations for making this happen!

Monsters of the Midway Criterium, Chicago, IL, May 15, 2010

I was really on the fence this year about racing this one. Last year’s sketchy crash-fest ended with my brother landing on his face and going home with 7 stitches. After much vacillating, I finally decided to take off the skirt and register. Earlier this week, my body asked me “are you really sure you want to race?” I came down with a sore throat, which by Friday had moved into my lungs and sinuses. Whereas I usually like to do a moderate ride the day before a race, I had been off of the bike since Monday. Still, my runny nose and congested lungs wasn’t enough to keep me from loading in the gear and making the trip into Chicago.

The day was overcast with medium winds. Regular readers will remember that the course is a 1.1 mile, rectangular 4-turn course with two half-mile straightaways along the Midway Plaisance at the University of Chicago. 72 riders rolled to the line for our 40 minute Cat 4 race. Kev and I were the only WFR riders, along with good representation from xXx, ABD, South Chicago Wheelmen, Half Acre, Spidermonkey, Psimet, and a host of others. Our wives had made the trip, and secured a place by the start/finish to cheer us on.

It was hot right from the whistle, and it never slowed down. We accelerated up to well over 30 miles an hour along the half-mile straightaways, only to scrub about half of that speed as we negotiated the quick turns at the ends of the rectangle. And then the harsh acceleration back up to 30+ mph. Lather, rinse, repeat.

This “caterpillar effect” was, as always, worse at the back of the field. Unfortunately, this is where I spent the entire day. My mind told me that it would be better if I could just throw myself up to the front, but my legs just wouldn’t go along with the program. Two laps in and I heard Kev’s voice over my shoulder, telling me “you’ve got to move up…get up there!” If only. My ill health was causing my lungs to perform a nice slow burn, and my legs just couldn’t generate the power to move up.

After what seemed like an eternity, I looked at the lap counter as we came around the start/finish and saw that we still had 11 laps left. I did my best to block out the defeatist thinking, but a small part of me said “holy cow, I don’t know if I can do this.” I had to stand on the pedals and jam out of the corners every time we turned into the long straightaways. Half of that length would be the struggle to move up into the field, and the second half would be spent trying to get a drink and rest up for the same effort going into the next straightaway.

A couple of primes were thrown in here and there, but we were already moving so fast that the change in pace was barely noticeable. That, or people just weren’t all that geeked to sprint for a loaf of bread. At some point I saw Kev sitting back in the field, but he was shed off the back a short time later. Little did I know that we were moving so fast that we lapped him three times during the race. To his credit, he toughed it out by himself and finished. I’m not so sure that I would have had the mental toughness to do that.

Fortunately, people were riding a lot safer than last year. Sketchy moves were minimal, and only once did I have to shout out “on your right, on your right” to someone drifting into my path. As we came around with two laps to go, I was finally beginning to believe that the race would end safely and that I could finish with the pack.

Sadly, neither was to be. Halfway through the backstretch, the field was spread across the width of the road. As I was settling into the back of the field, I heard the distinctive sound of the crunching of bikes going down and the scraping of metal sliding across pavement. Cries of “crash…CRASH!” shattered the air. The carnage started on the far right side of the field and worked its way left across the entire field. I had to scrub all speed and narrowly avoided being taken down three separate times. I kept threading the needle, and the third time I had to clip out, put my left foot down, and push myself around the downed riders. I clipped back in, hearing the loud moaning of the unfortunates. Someone was yelling “stop…stop…help them!” I felt bad, but these things are best left to the professionals. As I came around the start/finish to begin the final lap, I caught up with Kev. As I passed Stephanie and Kim, I gave the “thumbs up” to let them know that I hadn’t been involved. Kev and I rode most of the last lap together, happy that neither of us had been taken down. I managed a weak smile as I crossed the finish line.

Out of 72 riders who started, only 54 finished. Of those 54 finishers, I took 40th. Although I have yet to post any spectacular finishes, it has been quite a while since I have been one of those riders desperately hanging on to the back, hoping not to get popped. Usually I can sit in the front quarter of the field, only to fade into mediocrity during the final lap. I console myself with the knowledge that my health was far from 100%, and I look forward to getting back out there. Next up are the last of the Wednesday night ABD training crits.

ABD Training Crits Week 2, West Chicago, IL, May 5, 2010

Having had to miss the first of four weeks of training crits put on by ABD at the West Chicago “Pelladrome,” I was excited about rolling to the line for the 2nd week of racing. Kev had been the sole WFR representative the week before and had given a “thumbs up” to the experience. I wasn’t so excited, however, about the gusting winds, but hoped that the field would be large enough to hide in.

The course is the same venue used last year for the first of the “Fall Fling” races. It is next to the Pella factory in West Chicago (hence the “Pelladrome” designation). With the exception of one 90-degree turn right after the start/finish, the rest of the course is a large, 0.8 mile oval with smooth pavement.

After pinning my number and downing half of a Clif Bar, I rolled off for a few warm-up laps. In hindsight, I should have skipped this step. Fighting the wind on the backstretch, even at a warm-up pace and in the small chainring, took just a little bit out of the legs that I could have put to better use later in the evening . Plus, the first race turned out to be nothing more than a relatively easy 15-minute warmup anyway.

Race One, a 15 minute / 6 lap race, was solely for the benefit of the beginners. They were whistled off and the rest of us, acting as “pack fodder,” followed at a 20-second interval. The pace was mellow so as to avoid overtaking the newbies, and was a good opportunity to warm up the legs some more while being able to hide a bit from the wind. Some guys started to push the pace a bit during the second half of the race, and got a little distance on the field, but I had no intention of getting gassed too early in the headwind.

Race Two, a 25-minute / 13 lap race, was where the real action began. I was joined at the line by fellow WFR rider Jason R. The “A” group of about 12 to 15 Cat 1/2/3 riders were whistled off, and then the 30 or so “B” riders (the Cat 4/5 group) was unleashed 20 seconds later. Kev mentioned that last week there was an immediate jump by some riders to bridge up to the A group, but it didn’t happen this week. The field was pretty content to ride out the first few laps at a manageable pace. There were some surges here and there, but no real attacks. I kept myself in the front 5-10 riders at all times. A “cookie prime” was called as we came around for lap 6. I did not plan on gassing myself for a Costco cookie, so I just sat in with the field. Shortly after turning out of the headwind, a Psimet rider and an ABD rider took off to contest the sprint, and from my vantage point in the field it appeared that Psimet took it. The duo showed no signs of wanting to re-integrate with the field, and we spent the next two laps chasing them down. Another prime lap was called on lap 9, and again on lap 11. I hung on with the surges and kept myself safe from the wind within the field.

On the back stretch of the bell lap, I was sitting comfortably in about 6th position. I then felt a hand bump into my right hindquarters…a rider wearing an “Australia” jersey was trying to sneak into a hole that really wasn’t there. The end result was that I got pushed out into the wind for the whole of the backstretch, sapping needed energy that I could have used for the sprint. As we came around for the sprint, I had no jump whatsoever. I gave what I could, and spotted Jason flying around my left side for his 5th place finish. I probably rolled in somewhere within the top 10. All in all, not too bad.

After a cool-down lap I rolled back to the car, grabbed a fresh bottle and downed the 2nd half of that Clif Bar. Then it was back to the line.

Race Three was a 12 lap race with a sprint on every 4th lap. Everyone was whistled off at the same time, and the pace was pretty hot from the get-go. Again, I worked pretty hard to keep myself within the front quarter of the field, up with the A riders. The biggest surges were out of turn one, as we were exposed to the crosswind. As long as you could stay with that surge, you could keep yourself protected once you turned into the headwind.

A prime was called as soon as we came around for the second lap, and again I had no intention of contesting this. On the backstretch I got pushed to the outside by a rider in a full pro team kit. I instantly hit the gas and flew back around him and inserted myself into the front of the field. I refuse to get pushed aside by a rider who is not only wearing the full kit of a pro team that hasn’t even existed for four years, but who was wearing a fanny pack during the race!

To make a long story short, I hung with lead group for first 7 laps, then blew up on the backstretch. I watched helplessly as the front of the field rode away from me as I silently pleaded with my legs to bridge back up to them. It just wasn’t in the cards this evening. I found myself working with an ABD rider and one of the A group riders. With 4 laps to go we caught up with Jason and continued to work together. With 3 to go, I pulled our group along for the entire lap …ABD steadfastly hung onto my wheel and didn’t make any attempt to relieve me, even when I drifted right to let him come around. As we came around with 2 to go, Jason put me out of my misery and sprinted to the front…I grabbed onto his wheel, with ABD still resolutely glued to mine. Jason led the entire lap, and then we were down to the bell lap. ABD finally took the lead on the backstretch, and I hid from the wind as best as I could. The pace ramped up coming out of turn 3, and it was every man for himself. As I watched Jason and ABD hurl themselves toward the line, I pushed as hard as I could to fend off the riders coming up behind me.

In short, it was good to get in some solid mid-week racing, now that I am unable to make it down to the Matteson Tuesday Night Crits. This series is “confirmed” through May 19, but let’s hope that they can keep it going all summer

Flatlandia Leland Kermesse, Leland, IL, April 17, 2010

I am weak…and a quitter.

If you have been a faithful reader since last year, you’ll be familiar with this style of race. If not, and you are wondering what the heck a “kermesse” is, here is a brief recap.

In Flemish, “kermesse” means “carnival.” When towns would hold a carnival, they would hold a bike race to help earn money for the carnival owners. The course would be about 16 km, would incorporate both town and farm roads, and would always include sections of gravel and/or pave (i.e. cobblestones). And since they often take place in the spring they are usually horrifically windy.

Last year’s course was a 10 mile circuit with one mile of gravel on each lap. The Cat 4s did four laps. This year, the sadistic organizers expanded the circuit to 15 miles, with 5 miles of gravel each lap. Again, the 4s were set to do four laps. Yep, that’s right…a 100k road race for Cat 4s.

Last year’s weather featured scattered thunderstorms, 20+ mph winds, lightning, and a downpour during the last few miles of the race. This year the skies were sunny, but the weather was cool and the winds were horrific…from the north/northwest, and in the upper-20 mph range with gusts into the 30s.

Race time for the Cat 4s was 9:15, and I was at the course by 8:00. After getting my number, I sat in the car and finished getting dressed. I could tell that trouble was brewing…the wind was buffeting my car to a degree that it felt like sitting on an airplane during mild turbulence. Super.

After a decent warm-up on the trainer and a quick stop to shed a few ounces, I rolled to the line with a field of close to 100 other Cat 4s. The roll-out from the school in Leland was neutral for about a mile until we reached the Start/Finish line. Then all hell broke loose.

I did not have good position, starting about 3/4 of the way back in the field. Once the front of the field hit the start line, they flew off like a raped ape. From the get-go, I knew that I was in trouble. My legs felt like two leaden hams, and I could generate zero power. Struggling to not get knocked around too much in the gusting winds, I suffered through the whiplash accelerations and slowdowns that the back of the field always has to contend with. I hung on, hoping that the legs would come around and settle down. We turned out of the wind for a brief stretch, and the field strung out as the front started to accelerate away from us.

The rubber band snapped about two or three miles in, and I found myself spit out of the back of the field. Stragglers would come and go, but no one seemed interested in working together to make contact with the field again. I watched helplessly as the peloton moved farther and farther away from me.

Then came the gravel. Whereas the one gravel section last year was relatively packed down, it was not so with these new sections. Rough, loose gravel sucked at my wheels and threatened to take me down at any moment. A rider from Bicycle Heaven came by and motioned me on to his rear wheel. I grabbed on as best as I could. He yelled back “hey, you’re Pinchy!” I managed to get out a meek “yep.” We were joined by several other riders, including an MS Racing rider and a racer in an Illini jersey. We worked together for a while, but sometimes one of us would fall off, and we would be joined by another straggler for a while.

The gravel seemed to last forever. After a brief respite, we were met with another gravel section, this one no better than the last. I eventually lost contact with Bicycle Heaven, and found myself alone. Crawling along in the small chainring, I was seriously questioning why I bothered to even pull on the jersey this morning. A trio of xXx riders zipped by me, but I was unable to grab their wheel.

After a merciful stretch of pavement, I was met by the third and final gravel section of the circuit. I knew that I had a decision to make…within a mile I was going to hit the final turn of the lap. If I went right, I would embark on another 15 miles of solo suffering. If I went left, I would head into town and call it a day.

I honestly didn’t know which way the decision would go until the last moment, when I made the slashing motion across my throat and croaked “I’m done” to the corner marshal. Head down, I turned left. Although I felt much shame, I was not the only one. Upon returning to the parking lot of the school, I saw a lot of other riders milling about wearing 4-series numbers. The official results showed a total of 27 “DNF” riders.

In hindsight, I should have suffered through one more lap, if for nothing more than the training value. But I just could not bring myself to do it. Having had a very bad week already, I had mentally checked out of the race before it had even begun. I plan to “get back on the horse” at the Whitnall Park crit next weekend. There is still a long season ahead of me.

Burnham Super Spring Criterium, South Beloit, IL, March 27, 2010

Today’s Cat 4 race was a sketchy crash-fest. Considering that it was on an auto/motorcycle speedway with perfect pavement and wide-open turns, this was completely unnecessary. It was almost like racing in a field of new Cat 5s.

One good thing was that the weather was much better than last year. In 2009, my 8:15 am start-time in the Cat 4/5 race was met with high winds and temps in the mid to high 20s. The Cat 4 start-time this year was 1:55, and we enjoyed temps in the high 40s/low 50s. There was enough of a crosswind along the start/finish stretch to make the flags flap around, but it wasn’t terrible.

Kev, Hammer and I carpooled over to South Beloit, and after getting our numbers we set up the trainers out of the wind. I start overheating during the warm-up, so I ditch the wind vest and opt to ride with just a jersey, a long-sleeve jersey, shorts, and knee warmers. After about 30 minutes of warm up we tear down the trainers and head over to the start/finish.

Once we were allowed onto the court, Kev rolls off to do a full warm-up lap, while Hammer and I opted to take a ½ lap. We then rolled to the line with 68 other riders. I had good position in the 2^nd line. When the whistle blew we took off at a pretty brisk, but manageable, pace.

I could tell from the very first lap that this field was going to be trouble. Too many guys would make moves without looking, there was a lot of bumping, and there was way too much braking and slowing. As I mentioned, there are no tight turns and the roadway is wide open. Every corner could be pedaled through and taken at speed, so why we kept hitting the brakes was a mystery. This race was also a bit odd in that there were never really any attacks. There were plenty of surges, but no breakaways.

Sketchiness aside, the first few laps passed relatively uneventfully. At one point I heard Hammer announce that he was on my wheel. At about 8 minutes in, I heard metal hitting pavement somewhere behind me and to my left. Considering how the field had been riding, I knew that it was just a matter of time. I don’t know how many riders went down. When a crash happens behind you, you treat it like it never happened...you don’t look back; you just hope that none of your mates were involved and keep going. More often than not, those riders not involved in the crash take this opportunity to hit the gas and you don’t want to miss the surge.

At 12 minutes in, I was still feeling really good but was farther back in the field than I wanted to be. Hoping that the front would be safer, I decided to expose myself to the wind, and moved up the outside of the left side of the field to get away from all the squirrelyness. I inserted myself back into the field somewhere within the top 20, and stayed there for pretty much the rest of the race.

Throughout the race, my legs and lungs felt really good, and my heart rate was well under control. As mentioned, there were a lot of surges, especially going into the start/finish. We would top out at over 30 mph on that stretch, while averaging around 25 or so on the rest of the course. I was easily able to hang with these surges, and never once feared that I was going to blow up.

With about 5 laps to go, I started hearing calls of “lapped riders up.” I looked down the road and saw Kev working together with a xXx rider. Nuts. As we moved past them I shouted out some encouragement for him to keep going. As we came around to the start/finish, the lap cards again showed 5 laps to go. Was this an error, or did we still have 5 laps? I was feeling good enough that I shrugged this off. When we came around for the next lap, the cards showed only 3 to go.

On the backstretch with 3 laps to go, there was a huge crash right in the middle of the field. It happened in front of me, but fortunately I was far enough to the left that I could get by without slowing down very much. I hit the gas and bridged up to the 20 or so other riders who had avoided the crash. At this point, I was mentally out of the race. All I wanted to do was to stay upright and finish. I knew that this wouldn’t be as easy. With 2 laps to go, a xXx rider made some really bizarre moves. He twitched to the right, all the way to the edge of the road, cutting across 3 riders. Then he twitched right again, out into the grass, and then twitched back onto the road…for no apparent reason whatsoever.

The paced turned blistering as we zipped past the start/finish for the bell lap. I was still feeling good, and still sitting in the top 20. I fought my way up the left side to gain some more position. Shortly after turn 2, however, there was yet another crash. Again, I stayed out of the way of the carnage, but unfortunately this crash sent Hammer out into the grass, and he had to come to a dead stop before rolling again. I fought to maintain whatever position I could, but was still eclipsed by some riders.

As we came around the final turn, I started to think that I was home free. I knew that there were too many riders in front of me, and that I would end up with a mediocre finish. Still, I started to mash on the pedals just to take whatever I could. And just as I was getting up to full speed, there is another crash. I see a rider sliding on the pavement right in front of me. I dived to the right, but now there was a most curious sight in front of me…a rider who was still upright and still had enough momentum to be moving forward, but whose rear wheel was completely tacoed. I could even smell the burning rubber as I dived right around him and fought my way to the line. Guys were sitting up all around me, but I kept sprinting the whole way and ended up taking 25^th out of 58 finishers.

My biggest problem during the race was getting position. Had the field been riding safely, I would have taken a lot more chances to move up into open gaps. There were so many times when I would see a gap, but right next to that gap would be a rider who I had seen twitching around. I simply didn’t want to take the risk of moving forward only to have the squirrel decide to twitch over into that space that I had hoped to occupy. Perhaps I just need to be more fearless. There is still a long season ahead of me to work on that.