Sherman Park Criterium, Chicago, IL, April 9, 2011

The 2009 and 2010 editions of this race had featured pouring rain but relatively few crashes. Unfortunately, 2011 saw the reverse…the weather was dry as a bone, but a new crash occurred every few minutes.

This race had previously been held in June, but this year it was bumped up by two months to accommodate a new racing series in Galena. As a result, the City of Chicago had apparently not had a chance to clear up and patch the road circling Sherman Park. The course was nothing but rough pavement and potholes. Untold numbers of cans of orange spray paint gave their lives to mark the rough spots.

I raced Masters 30+ Cat 4/5, and this was my 2nd race riding for Bicycle Heaven. Joining me at the line were Bryan and Scott. Mike had crashed hard in the Cat 4 race and left by ambulance. Best wishes go to him for a speedy recovery. A total of 76 riders rolled to the line for 35 minutes of racing. My brother, and former Wheelfast Racing teammate, had been waitlisted and ended up cheering for me from the sidelines.

The whistle blew and we flew off the line. 1/3 of the way through the first lap and I heard someone by me yell out “you’re flat!” I didn’t know who he was referring to, even though I had just ridden over a very rough patch of road. Within a few seconds, though, I started getting “that feeling.” I looked down and saw my rear tire mushroomed out. Great…a puncture on the very first lap. I threw up my arm and let the pack ride by me. As I gingerly rode back to the pit a corner marshal thought I had already been shelled off the back and shouted an encouraging “get up there!” I smiled and shouted back “I’m flat!”

I rolled to the start/finish, grabbed my spare rear wheel, and the helpful folks in the pit tossed it on for me. I clipped in and waited for the official to announce “the pack is coming…start rolling and merge in.” I inserted myself into the right side of the field and joined up with Bryan.

From that point forward, it was nothing more than a fight for survival. Over the course of the race there were at least four crashes. Only one of them occurred right in front of me, but fortunately the fallen riders were parting to the left and the right like the Red Sea and I was able to ride through the middle and sprint back up to the field. I found out after the race that Scott had been crashed early on but was able to rejoin the field, and that Bryan had to ride off into the grass after getting caught behind a crash.

Early on, after one of the first crashes, a xXx rider came tearing up the left side of the field, just past the start/finish, swearing like…well, much like I do during crashes or near-miss situations. I don’t know if he had been involved in the crash or was just venting at the general squirrelyness of the field. Either way, his displeasure was apparent.

Overall, I was feeling good, but I found myself tensing up just waiting for the next crash to happen. Despite the pre-race instructions to just ride straight over the rough patches instead of swerving to avoid them, I think that a lot of the wrecks were due to people disregarding that very advice and making very nervous, twitchy moves without looking.

As with previous years, I had problems keeping position on this course. It is so flat, wide, and oval that the pack is almost always five or six riders across. It is very easy to get boxed in for extended periods of time, and very difficult to extricate yourself from the masses.

At about 17 minutes in I was starting to feel a little tired. It wasn’t the “oh my god I’m about to blow up” kind of tired, but just a general sense of fatigue. I just tried to relax, grab a drink, and try to stay as fresh as possible for the finish.

With 5 laps to go I knew that I needed to move up. I was sitting midfield, but it wasn’t where I wanted to be. I was able to escape up the side and make my way closer to the front. And that is about the time when the “Red Sea” crash occurred. The front of the field accelerated like mad at the first sound of scraping metal, and I had to expend a bit more energy than I wished to catch up with them.

With one lap to go I found myself boxed in along the left side of the peloton. I could see Bryan up at the front and I wanted to get up there with him. Unfortunately, I was unable to escape and had to settle for a pack finish, but glad that I was still upright and with all of my skin intact. However, as I came across the line I heard the announcer say “and that was Bryan Fuller!” For the win! Scott had also been in great position with a few turns to go until a xXx rider swept across his front without looking, almost taking out his wheel.

My official placing was 20th, which was better than last year (38th) but worse than my 8th place finish in 2009. Of the 76 riders that started, only 48 finished. Quite the attrition rate, and my guess is that a lot of it was due to the crashes (as opposed to riders just getting shelled off and pulled by the officials as "out of contention").

Next up…the hell that is the Flatlandia Kermesse.

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.

Sherman Park Criterium, Chicago, IL, June 13, 2009

When I had pre-registered for this race earlier in the week, the weather forecast was beautiful…warm and plenty of sunshine. By Friday the outlook had turned ominous…temps in the 50s/60s, along with rain, rain, and more rain. Having been tricked by such forecasts in the past few weeks, I dismissed it thinking “nah, it won’t actually rain.” But then, as Sebastian Bach of Skid Row once sang, I “woke up to the sound of pouring rain.”

Seriously wishing that I hadn’t already plunked down my money, I filled the water bottles, and loaded the car. This was to be my brother (and WFR teammate) Kevin’s return to racing after falling prey to the carnage at the Monsters of the Midway Criterium. He hadn’t pre-registered, so he made the game-day decision to solely be a spectator and cheer me on.

After we found a pretty choice parking spot near the course, I got my race number and proceeded to get dressed, wondering the whole time why I couldn’t have taken up a different sport…something easy and indoors…perhaps bowling. Kev was kind enough to pump up my tires and set the bike up on the trainer as I got dressed. I was able to warm up out of the rain under the covered stone entryway of a grand old church, watching the rain come and go.

The legs felt pretty good, so I was feeling optimistic. I had decided to race the 10:20 a.m. Masters 30+ 4/5 race, since it started two hours later than the Cat 4 race. Having successfully hung in with the “A” group (mostly Cat 1, 2 and 3 riders) at the Matteson crits on Tuesday night, I figured that I should be in good shape racing against my own peeps.

The course was a large “rectangular oval” (for lack of a better phrase) around beautiful Sherman Park in south Chicago. For the most part the pavement was good, and the four left-hand turns were wide open. This meant that very little braking would be involved…definitely a good thing on a rainy day like today.

After a warm-up lap around the course, I rolled to the line with about 40 other riders. The field limit of 75 had registered, so there were a lot of no-shows. Fine by me…on a day like today, a smaller field seemed safer. I was already splattered with road grit and grime after the warm-up lap, and it only got worse from there. The whistle blew and off we went into the rain at 25 mph. The pack was negotiating the random bumps and pavement cracks pretty well, and despite the wet conditions my bike felt pretty solid under me. Having crashed several times in the rain over the years, however, a small part of my mind spent 40 minutes pessimistically waiting for my wheels to suddenly slip out from underneath me.

Despite this nagging fear, everything else, with the exception of my eyes, felt great. The legs felt strong, my lungs were clear, and my heart rate stayed pretty low…I never felt like I was red-lining. As for the eyes, the incessant spray of water and grit in my face had me constantly squinting and blinking (and occasionally somewhat blinded). In my head I heard Luke Skywalker whining “I can’t even see…how am I supposed to fight?”

Surprisingly, on the whole it was a very clean race…except for early on when a rider in a black Merckx jersey moved left without looking. His rear wheel made solid contact with my front wheel. Fortunately, there was open space to the left of me and I was able to gently move away from him without incident. I was even able to keep the profanity in check…all he got was a loud “HEY!”

Early on about four riders took a flyer. I was close to the front, so I moved left and bridged up to them. We didn’t get any real distance on the field, and a moment later I took a quick glance under my arm to see the gruppo compatto directly behind me. After about 10 minutes of racing a prime lap was called. I was near the front, but let the pack surge around me…I wasn’t about to mix it up this early on for a t-shirt. Usually after the sprint for a prime the speed settles down a bit, but right after passing the start/finish we stepped on the gas again. I hung out in the back of the pack, despite hearing Kev yelling at me to move up. The pace wasn’t terrible, and my legs were feeling good. I knew there was plenty of time left and that I could move up whenever I pleased. So, after a few laps of getting carried along by the momentum of the peloton I shot up the left side and inserted myself back into the very front of the field.

There were random attacks here and there. There goes a xXx rider…OK, there goes a Beverly Bike-VeePak rider…there goes xXx again…lather, rinse, and repeat. None of them seemed very serious, and none of them stayed away. About 20 or so minutes in another prime lap is called, this time for a bottle of Zin. I think “nope, I’ve got plenty of wine in my basement…no need killing myself for this.” So again I let those who wish to contest the prime surge around me, and once that madness is past I move myself right back up to the front.

Shortly thereafter I heard them announce that there were only five laps to go. Such announcements are always a nice psychological boost. Up to this point I hadn’t been paying attention to the lap cards, nor had I been keeping an eye on my computer (it was coated with raindrops, so it was kinda hard to read, anyway). A couple riders took a flyer off the front and I was perfectly positioned to jump onto their break. I ended up in 2nd position, and when the lead rider pulled off I found myself in the unusual position of being the lead rider in the race. This is not a position that I am usually accustomed to being in! My first thought was “cool, I’m leading the race.” But then I realized “hey, I have no protection from the wind here…I don’t want to be here for too long.” After what felt like a decent pull I moved to the right to allow the next rider to pull through. He didn’t, and I led the break for the rest of the lap. Somewhere along the way the rest of the field caught back on to us. Guess I wasn’t going fast enough!

As we came around the start/finish with two laps to go, a prime lap is called for an iPod. I was more focused on keeping my legs fresh for the final sprint, so I didn’t try to contest this prime. I fell further toward the back of the field than I had intended, so as we came around for the bell lap I knew I had some work to do. I started to make my moves up through the pack, and got boxed in by a WDT rider and an International Christian Cycling rider. Halfway through the lap I heard the horrible sound of metal grinding on metal off to my left and behind me. Unbelievably, it turns out that no one had actually crashed. However, this bit of chaos opened the field up enough that I was able to move around WDT and ICC to get myself back to the front for the sprint. As we came around the final corner to the start/finish, I put on the gas. While sprinting as hard as I could, I eyeballed the field and counted only five riders ahead of me. Right at the line, however, a WDT rider came up alongside my right. I don’t know whether he pipped me at the line or not.

So, pending the official results I think I held on for 6th or 7th, which would be my best result ever. I was excited to feel so relaxed and comfortable throughout a miserable race. More importantly, I was happy that even amidst the chaos of the final lap I was able to move my way all the way up through the field and put myself in really good position for the sprint. Now I just need to break into the top 5!

[PHOTOS COURTESY OF KEVIN BUTLER]

STATS:
Race time: 39:48
Distance: 16.28
Average pace: 2:26/mile
Average speed: 24.5
Max speed: 30.0
Average HR: 162
Max HR: 177