Leland Kermesse, Leland, IL, April 21, 2012

Today was the day that all area bike racers both look forward to and fear at the same time...the Leland Kermesse.   A 15-mile circuit in the middle of the still-barren cornfields with five miles of gravel and barely a tree to block the wind.  

I had made it my mission to finish the race this year, come hell or high water.  I had finished (and taken 8th) in the 2009 race, but that was on a shorter, 10-mile course with only one mile of gravel.  In 2010 the organizers expanded it to the 15-mile loop.  I abandoned after one lap...despite sunny skies, the winds were horrendous (30+ mph gusts) and I had absolutely nothing in the tank.  I sat out the 2011 edition, as it was just a few weeks after our son was born.  I thought about going, then looked out the window at the horrible weather and said "uhhhh...no."

So it was with a great deal of determination that I swore to finish it this year.  The weather was actually quite nice...mostly sunny skies, and manageable wind.  Early in the morning I met up with newly-minted Cat 3 Bryan Fuller and his friend Tom, who was going to work the feed zone.  Along with Jim Spanish, and with the gentle, melodious strains of Steel Panther caressing our ears, we carpooled down to Leland.  

The Cat 4s were scheduled to do 4 laps/60 miles.  About 75 riders had pre-registered, but only 66 rolled to the line.  I had numerous Bicycle Heaven teammates in the field, and my old WFR komrade Jason R was there, too.  The officials sent us off for the mile-long neutral roll-out, and although there isn't supposed to be any jockeying for position during this neutral time, tons of guys were stealthily moving up and around.  

We hit the official start line, and the hammer came down.  For the first few miles of pavement we were crushing it at 27-28 mph, but with the usual Cat 4 slowing/accelerating/slowing/accelerating for no reason.  The follow moto was constantly blaring his horn for yellow-line violators.  Despite the high tempo, I was feeling good...HR was moderate, breathing was fine, and my legs were responding to the accelerations just fine.  So far, so good.

When we hit the first gravel section, though, I got caught behind a few riders who allowed a gap to open.  About 20 or so riders opened up some ground on my position, but I just couldn't get around to bridge up to them.  They didn't get too far up the road, and I was confident that once we exited the gravel I'd be able to close the gap.  I spent the next section of pavement as "the tip of the spear" trying to chase down the lead group.  We were gaining ground on them as we neared the next section of gravel.  And that is when the day took a turn for the worse.  

I was still in the lead of the chase group as we negotiated the right-hand turn.  I took it very slowly and cautiously, not knowing what the condition of the gravel was.  I took a pretty easy line at no more than 10-12 mph.  But the gravel in the turn was very deep and very loose, and in a nanosecond it had grabbed my front wheel and I went down hard on my right side.  A rider directly behind me ran straight into me and got tangled up.  As I lay there in the gravel with my right calf almost cramping up, this guy starts screaming "f--k!  F--K!!!!"  I think I even said "I'm sorry," but what could I do?  It happens to the pros, too, dude.  I couldn't tell if his profanity was directed at me or was just general venting that he was now losing time on the lead group.  

I picked myself up and dusted myself off.  The corner marshal asked "are you OK?"  My response was "mostly."  The palm of my right glove, and the skin underneath, were shredded.  I knew I had some road rash (gravel rash?) on my right hip, but my shorts weren't even torn.  I could tell that my right knee had been chewed into a little bit, along with my right forearm.  But all in all it wasn't too bad.  For a brief moment I thought "crap, 12 miles into the race and I'm gonna have to abandon."  But then I resolved to do at least one more lap and see how I was feeling.  My bike seemed to be OK, but for the fact that my left brake lever was turned 45 degrees inward from where it should have been.  So I wrenched it back into place, hopped back on the bike, and rode off.  

Lap two went pretty well.  I connected with teammates John and Matt F, and we worked together.  At one point we came across the lead group of Cat 4 women, where Mara was riding strong.  We overtook them, and moments later they overtook us.  This back-and-forth went on several times.  Technically, the different fields aren't supposed to "mix," but it was difficult here because we were all riding at about the same tempo.  Staying separate proved to be difficult.  John and Matt ended up getting a small gap on them, but I was momentarily gassed and hanging on to the back of the women to catch my breath.  At which point one of the women sniped at me "you've gotta get off of our paceline, dude, this is the Elite women's field."  Uh, not quite...you're Cat 4, not Elite.  Get over yourself.  If the roles had been reversed, and a woman was hanging on to the back of the men's field to recover, I never in a million years would have yelled at her to get out.  Whatevs.   Duly "chastened," I stood up on the pedals and cranked it to get back up to John and Matt.    

Aside from some stinging pain in my hand and hip, I was feeling pretty good, so I made the right turn to continue on to Lap 3.  I snagged a fresh bottle from Matt H as I came through the feed zone.  John, Matt F and I continued to work together until the later stages of that lap, as I fell off of their pace and ended up alone.  I choked down part of a Clif Bar and some gel, and resolved to tough it out through the rest of the race.  As I made the turn to start Lap 4 I grabbed another bottle from Matt H and off I went for the final 15 miles.  

My low point came at mile 50.  I was going solo into a headwind, and I had to force my legs to keep them turning over.  I kept telling myself "10 more miles, you just have to do 10 more miles, and in a few miles you're going to have more favorable winds."  I gritted my teeth,kept going, and watched the miles tick off on my computer.  I was pretty elated as I made the left-hand turn to ride out the final kilometer to the finish.  Despite crashing and riding 48 more miles with less skin than I had started the day with, I had conquered the Leland Kermesse and upheld my promise to finish it.  

In the end, only 47 riders of the 66 starters finished the race.  Of those 47, I took 36th (John and Matt had come in just ahead of me to take 34th and 35th).  Bicycle Heaven had a pretty good day, overall.  Rob Kelly took 4th in the 1/2 race, Andy Swims got 4th in the 3s (and Bryan finished his first Cat 3 race), David Ross and David Pratt took 2nd and 6th, respectively, in the 4s, and Mara took 4th in the Cat 4 women's race.

Call me crazy, but I can't wait to do it again next year.  

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.