Frustration, Anger, Acceptance

"The more things change the more they stay the same".   That adage with its blended elements of zen and pessimism is a pretty accurate summary of my attempts at racing standard cross country events this season.

I'm in good shape.  A couple weeks ago I set a new PR on the Bolton hill climb, and at last week's Wednesday Worlds I had a 1 minute gap on my nemesis on lap 2, rode off the course, he passed me and I was able to claw back a 30 second advantage by the top of the climb.  So the fitness markers are there.

My skills are improving.  While I'm not setting the world on fire I am much smoother than I was a year ago.  

My cool kid inhaler seems to be working.  I can start hard without wheezing, and generally feel like oxygen intake isn't a problem beyond the usual at my limit and can't go any harder sort of thing.

I've even switched to half and half in my coffee instead of light cream.

With all of these indicators going the the right direction I've decided to try my hand at a few standard distance XC races this summer.  

 

And at the risk of sounding melodramatic it's been all for naught when I toe the line for standard cross country races.  It's like I somehow have reverted to the fatter, slower and less smooth version of myself from years past at those races. 

For both XC events this year it's been hot- over 85 degrees with high humidity and an even higher pollen count, and I've also dug really deep midweek before both races so I may not have been in optimal racing condition.  

It just confounds me.  I'd like to be able to do some races that are a little shorter and cheaper than marathons, but really it's been an enormous sense of frustration to be able to race for 1 hour or 4 hours but not 2.

So I'll be sticking to marathons for the rest of the season, which was the plan all along. 

Shirts, Qualifying and Complaining

Last week I picked up this year's Pro-35 shirt order, and once again Cris did an incredible job.  He was able to take my vision from a photograph I'd taken last summer and turned it into exactly what I wanted. 

So what's with the car?  It's been a recurring image throughout the last year, and has become a sort of  allegory for my effort to turn pro.  After all of last year's events I felt like I still had the same potential but had some work to do to get back to being race ready.  The same engine is still under the hood.  

I've been tweaking my position over the last few days and think I've gotten it pretty dialed.  The only problem is that it's not the same position I've been using for the last few months of training.  By all accounts changes as major as the ones I made should be made in the off season when there is time to adapt slowly, but really I didn't have a choice.  My back injury from a late May has been flaring up and I couldn't steer around a sapling to save my life.  Fortunately the tweaks I made address both, but the bad news is that my body isn't used to handling torque with the more upright posture.

The Wilmington 100 is this weekend and although I'm excited about it I'm trying to set realistic expectations.  My heart isn't set on qualifying, it's really just about experiencing the race so that I can prepare for next year.  My back is either going to hold out or it isn't- and there's no amount of worry that can change that.  

Fortunately I have one of these on order and I really hope it arrives soon.

Detail oriented readers will note that I had a 2012 Mooto X YBB in-hand and may be wondering what happened to it.  After waiting for the 2012 version updates (from the warranty replacement from my 26" YBB) I realized that if I was going to run suspension that I wanted some real travel.  My original YBB was a great one bike option for every ride and race I threw at it, but now with the RSL there wasn't enough difference between the smooth 29er hardtail and the slightly smoother short travel YBB.  My recent back issues have only reinforced that going for a longer travel option was the right decision.  Delivery is still a few weeks away but I've been dutifully readying the components so that I can be ready to build once it does arrive.

For now it's taking it easy and getting ready for the weekend.  

The Dual Edged Sword of Competition

For all of my talk about racing I didn't end up going last weekend. There was a laundry list of reasons- some excuses, rationalizations and justifications for a decision I ended up being mostly OK with.   

First was Saturday's unraveling.  I'd planned to drive to the airport to drop Carrie off, and assuming fairly normal conditions for traffic and the boarder crossing I figured on getting home around 9:30 PM.  That was manageable, and I was able to get the bike and the rest of my kit totally prepped before I left.

The monkey wrench was construction and the three additional hours it added to the trip.  After driving in that much gridlock I was worn out when I finally got home at 11:30.  That much sitting wasn't too bad,  and the back injury I sustained earlier in the week was relatively unobtrusive. 

How did I hurt my back?  Well first I thought it was from sleeping on it wrong, but I realized that I had been moving several 4' x 8' sheets of plywood from an overhead rack at Home Depot.  They weren't super heavy, but I do recall at one point thinking that a smarter person would have asked one of my orange aproned friends for assistance.  That thought ran through my head as held a piece directly overhead and was turning to put it down on my lumber cart. 

I was also feeling pretty smoked from the intense 4 week training block I'd just completed which added to the insult (traffic) and injury (plywood pirouette). 

It's been a few years since I've successfully completed and Olympic distance cross country race, but realistically I've been doing some shorter, harder efforts at Catamount and some endurance races so I should be able to handle.  Really the question would be pacing and how much it was going to hurt. 

Last year I didn't get a chance to take advantage of my form more often, and I wish I could have tested myself at some standard XC events.  I do really want to fit some of those in this season, just not when the cards are stacked against me. 

It's always a fine line between staying sharp and not wearing myself out with too much intensity.  After all you have to be fit to race, and there's no better way to build fitness than racing.  

Enduring Hardship

April is a heart breaker.  Weather can be warm and sunny or damp and rainy with an inconsiderate randomness that makes consistent outdoor training very difficult, and of course none of that is any way new or surprising.

So far I've had two weeks of 100% dedicated on-bike training for the 2012 race season.  Sound like a late start?  It's certainly nothing like last year's super intense and nearly perfect transition from long ski training hours into a high mileage training trip in France.  

In many ways I feel like this GTI- plenty of potential, but in need of some work before race day.

March was warm and mild, and in spite of that April is taking its usual sweet time to fully commit to being spring.  I'm really at a point where I need to put my full attention on training so I can't let the weather slow me down.  

But I'm not at a point where I can augur myself into the ground with huge volume in nasty weather either.  The shake and bake training approach has never worked for me, so I'm going to be realistic about my expectations.  I'll be riding outside as much as I can.  Mountain rides will be for skills and intensity, road rides will help with the volume.  There's no way I'll have race worthy fitness for at least another 6-8 weeks.  My first race is the Leadville Qualifier in mid June, the Whiteface Wilmington 100 on June 17.

That first race is really to get used to the event and see how I do without worrying about qualifying yet.  It sounds like it's a very roadie-centric course with a lot of climbing on dirt roads and limited singletrack much like the Leadville event itself.  If I do qualify it will be through the random lottery and not by winning my category.  If that happens I'll have to be honest about my fitness at that time and whether or not I can afford the trip to Leadville.  

The question this time of year comes down to how I go about building the ramp from pre-season to race fitness.  Is it worth it to ride three hours in the rain, or should I ride inside until I hit my sanity threshold there?  Should I drive to Stowe to do hill repeats at Cotton Brook or should I deal with road spray on Duxbury Gap?  Can I legitimately do a recovery ride on trail if I walk the steep hills?  Will I really walk?

So really it comes down to how much I need to train to be ready to race.  It's a familiar position for any athlete, and this week the suffering clock has been set back to zero.  The same engine is still under the hood- I just need to find it again. 

2012 Sponsor Announcement- Rolf Prima

I'm happy to announce that for 2012 I'll be adding Rolf Prima as a sponsor, and I'll be racing on a set of Ralos 29er race wheels.

In 1999 I got a set of Rolf Vector wheels for my road bike, and for the next 8 years I put those wheels through their paces on various road and cyclocross bikes.  I probably trued them twice and adjusted the bearings on the front wheel once.  The Dolomite was the top Rolf mountain bike wheel at that time and I remember seriously considering getting a set.

Rolf has gone through some changes since then and is no longer affiliated with Trek after some legal wrangling with Shimano over Rolf's paired spoke patent.  The core idea of the paired spoke is unchanged, and after only offering road and 'cross models for the last few years the Ralos is Rolf's re-entry into the performance mountain bike market.

In the coming weeks I'll be making more posts about the gear I'll be using next season.  Now if I could just get that YBB built before the snow flies...

Hampshire 100 Race Report

Last year, the Hampshire 100 was the focus of my season.  After successful campaigns in '09 and '10 I decided to make it my focus again this season, but you already knew that if you read The Moment post that I published last week.

Going into the event I established some goals for myself.  I wanted to improve on last year's time, but I know from other events that aiming to shave off too much just leads to disaster and disappointment.  With last year's finish time just under 7 hours I figured on a goal of 6:30, but that I'd be happy with 6:45.  Also I wanted to beat my H100 nemesis, the racer who'd won in 2009 and finished one ahead of me in 2010.  It wasn't anything personal, but I wanted to make up that 5 minute difference he had on me last year that kept me off the podium.  

This year is a little different because I've already done 2 decent endurance events, 6 Hours of Pat's Peak and the Dark Horse 40.  My preparation featured fewer long training rides and more racing action.  Sometimes it works out, and sometimes it doesn't.  

Friday and Saturday were pretty laid back but productive days.  I was able to get my bike dialed and round up most of my gear with little incident.  In some ways it's a shame to have a summer Saturday assigned to packing the car, driving and basic pre-race tasks, but it's a necessary evil.  

I arrived at the venue Saturday afternoon and after some deliberation spotted an appropriate spot to pitch my tent.  After a brief debate I elected not to setup next to shirtless guys and instead found a quieter corner away from the commotion of the start line.  I'm sure those guys were decent people, but the fact that one of them was going to ride 63 miles on a Klein Mantra was enough to make me suspicious.  

The tent went up without a hitch, and at 8:30 I had nothing better to do than go to bed.  After thumbing through the pages of Cyclocross Magazine for a few minutes I shut off my lantern, set my alarm for 5:15 AM and attempted to get some sleep.

I'm usually pretty restless the night before a race, especially when I have to get up early.  After lying restlessly and fumbling around for what felt like half the night I decided to get up for a bathroom break.  When I made my way back into my tent I was certain it was around 2:30 or 3:00 AM, but it was only 10:30 PM.  

When my alarm finally went off I slowly started to get ready.  I've done enough races that I have a pretty decent idea of what needs to happen in what order, so I was on semi-autopilot as I got dressed, had breakfast and pulled my bike out of the car.  

The dew was pretty heavy, and everything that had been left out was soaking wet.  I'd learned that from years past and had put the bike and my folding chair back in the car to stay dry.  

 

I was able to sneak in a quick warmup before the mandatory 6:15 AM racer meeting, though I could have ridden longer.  The expert lineup was pretty big and by virtue of lining up late I missed out on getting my preferred starting spot, but I made do.  When the gun went off we rolled away and quickly zipped through the short singletrack that connected the cinder track to the dirt roads outside the park.

This is the point in the race when the fast guys light it up, and everyone else turns themselves inside out to keep pace.  Some groups form, guys work together in pacelines, and many racers bury their chances of a solid finish by burning too many matches within the first 10 easy miles.  

It's tough for me to sit back when I know I can keep up with those guys, but I know what I can and can't sustain, and I have no business wheel sucking when it's just going to bury me later.  This year I kept up a little better than in years past, but my legs felt awful tight, and I was regretting wearing arm warmers after about 15 minutes.  

The miles click by pretty quickly in this section, and it's easy to entertain thoughts that you can finish in under 6 hours.  Really until the 3 mile sand section that's pretty much true, but then reality sets in.  

The race follows a pretty similar pattern every year- flat, fast first half, then two big, steep climbs and then the second half is on broken class IV roads, jeep roads, vague doubletrack and singletrack in that order.  The second half doesn't have many big climbs, but there are many steep power climbs, many of them on loose rocks and with a water crossing at the bottom.  Not surprisingly the second half is where the real race really starts.  

The break point between those two halves is the first big climb- a very steep, long and gravely ascent that takes probably about 15 minutes to climb.  This climb is immediately after the extended soft sand section, so although you haven't been going uphill you have been building fatigue.  Last year I made up some time as I was able to ride most of the climb; this year I rode all of it. 

Photo courtesy of extremilys

This shot was taken near the top where it flattens out a bit but is still pretty loose.  The camera angle makes it look less steep than it is, but more than half of the riders bailed on it because they lost traction.

At the top of the climb is a smooth, fast rolling section that sets you up for the next big climb- the Powerlines.  Steep, grassy and wet, the Powerline climb makes its way up a long hillside just a few short minutes after you've crested the boulder field.  It's steep, and with my 2 x 10 29er I have 3 less gears for tackling extreme uphill grades.  Still, I kept it rolling and went into the red to keep pedaling and reel in some riders where most were walking.

Shortly after the climb is the first aid station, and I made quick work of filling my bottles, inhaling some salt tablets and getting back on my bike.  I don't do well with stopping, so I try to keep my breaks pretty short, but even still I felt like my legs were getting really bogged down as I made my way up first climb.

By this point, the race is fairly strung out and I've settled into a groove within a pretty small group of riders around me.  For me this is where the race really takes shape as I usually aim to have a fast second half.  I'd been feeling alright, but the technical sections weren't really smooth, and I felt like I was getting a little too tossed around on the trail.  After letting some air out of my tires at around mile 35 things started to change.  I felt good.  I was fast, smooth and able to ride both up and down.

At some point I started trading places with a particularly lanky fellow on a Pivot.  He was about my height, but his saddle was several inches higher than mine and his riding style was to pedal roadie style with a flat back and let his big wheeled suspension bike do all the work.  He was light on torque, but his wiry frame enabled him to keep pace on longer climbs.  From behind he looked like a praying mantis with his long legs and folded over posture.   

Last year I ended up racing a fair bit of the last few miles with a guy in a Racer X jersey.  This year I found myself trading places with him a little earlier, and he quickly became my rabbit.  X had rolled away from me a bit and was working with another rider.  I tried to make up some time in one of the steep rocky sections and went over the handlebars while over thinking a roll down.  As I picked myself up off of the dirt Mantis rolled by.  Mad at my momentary lapse of judgment I put in a concerted effort to catch up to X and his partner, and a few minutes later I did.  With some smart line choices I was able to save some matches and pick my way back up to him without burying myself.

For the next few wooded miles we traded places- sometime I'd lead, sometimes X would, and we'd intermittently catch and pass Mantis.  I was running low on water and stopped at the aid station before the second drop station to fill up.  Although it was only 9 miles to the next station I knew 1 bottle wasn't enough.  That gave X and Mantis a couple minute head start, so with full bottles I began to chase back on.

The next few miles after that section feature a fast descent, some climbing under the power lines and more wooded semi-smooth singletrack.  I got within a few bike lengths of Mantis, but X was much further ahead.  We worked our way past some low lying ponds that were right near the roadway, which meant that there were some enormous puddles.

In one spot I slowed down to pop a GU, and looked up to find Mantis riding out of the biggest puddle I've ever seen.  With a clean line in front of me, I rolled into it as the water parted around my front wheel.  At the deepest point my shoes, pedals and lower brake rotors were all submerged.  A few short seconds later I was out of the puddle and accelerating to catch back up to Mantis.  We rode together into the next aid station and readied ourselves for the push over the last 15 miles.

The distance after this last drop station is really where you can feel that it's a different race than the Vermont 50.  That extra 13 miles means you still have to race for at least another hour, and it's an hour at the end of the race when you are already pretty spent and really just want to get off your bike.  It's also where I usually pick off a few more riders who slipped by me earlier in the event.

Shortly after the aid station X stopped to walk up a hill and I never saw him again.  A few miles later Mantis did the same, and I found myself racing with some other riders who had started hard but were fading fast.  We rolled together for a few minutes before I let it all hang out on the fastest, roughest gravel descent I've even ridden. 

I'd promised myself I wouldn't check my watch to see my time until I'd finished, so I poured whatever energy I had left into riding as smooth and fast as I could.  Fortunately the last couple miles were on fairly smooth singletrack so I was able to conserve energy and let the bike do the work.  Without incident I rode most of the singletrack clean, although I walked over a couple of the bridges in the last section just to be on the safe side.

In the end I had good but not great race and finished in 6:44.  I did beat my rabbit, but because of a large number of sandbagging elite riders that was only good for 9th.  Still I'll take it, even though my finishes of 3rd, 4th and 9th seem to show backwards progress but in reality it's just the opposite.

What's probably the most interesting thing for me is that after I found the groove I not only rode better, but I could go faster than I though was possible.  As I packed up my tent I was amazed that although I was tired I wasn't nearly as beat up as I was after finishing last year.

So was it a victory of the body over the mind?  In some ways yes, I think so.  I also proved to myself that I'm stronger than I think I am, and that my training is paying off.  The effort put into big rides and doing other races has made me stronger and more resilient than years past.

There's one more race on my calendar, the 50 mile Landmine Marathon next month, but for now I'm going to be taking it easy for a few more days before I ramp it up again.
  

  

The Moment

This is it.  I've been thinking about this race since August 22, 2010 a few short minutes after I finished.  

And yet somehow I'm finding ways to undermine my own progress .  It's as if I'm uncomfortable with the idea of really rolling the dice to see what I can do.  To be clear, I've never won a bike race.  I don't think I've ever actually won any athletic competition now that I think about it. 

Winning isn't the point for me.  When I fixate on it, I get too nervous and self destruct, yet without the desire to win it's tough to succeed.  For me thinking about winning means I just auger myself into the ground.  The journey is the part I enjoy- the training, the improving fitness, the ability to see my improvement and just the simple act of being outdoors for extended periods of time.  The competition itself is almost secondary.

About a year ago I started taking yoga classes once a week.  My flexibility is pretty bad, and I'm not good about stretching on my own or doing any sort of "core work," so when I had the opportunity to take a class I jumped at it.  I was really looking to relax a little bit and spend some time focusing on recovery. 

There's an interesting concept in yoga that translates into victory over the mind, and it's essentially using your body to get your mind to chill the fuck out.  I've had a couple bad crashes this year, and one of the underlying commonalities is that I was not 100% focused on what I was doing at that moment, and it cost me.  It's easy for me to out think myself, and when riding in the woods it's about split second reactions, not conscious control of every movement. 

More than anything it's about relaxing and paying attention, or being in the moment.  Today as I clean my bike and pack my bags, tomorrow as I load the car and drive to the venue, and Sunday as I line up and put forth my best effort on the course I will try to stay in the moment.

That's my goal for Sunday, and if I do that I'll have my best race possible.  Really that's all I can ask for. 

Tinker Juarez and a Last Minute Existential Crisis

So here I am, suffering from my usual pre-race neuroses.  It's less than a week away and I'm worrying about the things I shouldn't worry about and contemplating changing things that shouldn't be changed.  On top of all of that self-inflicted and unnecessary worry add in the fact that my childhood racing idol Tinker Juarez will be at the start line on Sunday.

EarlyTinker: before clipless pedals, before front suspension.

Fortunately there is a separate pro category so I will not be racing against the elites like I did at the VT 50 or at Dark Horse, but he'll still be there in all of his grizzly dreadlocked glory.

I first started paying attention to mountain biking in 1995, and became interested in pro racing in 1996.  At that time Tinker Juarez was the king of the domestic cross country scene and went on to represent the US at the Atlanta Olympics.

Tinker in 2000 wearing the National Champion's jersey from his victory at Mt Snow the year before.

At Mount Snow NORBA finals in '99 I got first glimpse of elite racing firsthand, and my first memory was watching Tinker ride away from the field on the steep course.  What surprised me most was how small he was at about 5'7" and weighing maybe 145 lbs, yet his legs were as thick as tree trunks.  Wearing the gray jersey of the NORBA National Series leader he rumbled through the uphill feed zone in the big ring over a minute ahead of his nearest chaser.


Tinker won't show up with an oversized Etto helmet, or ride a Klein with the Dolomite paint scheme and toe clips, but he will be there, and it will make me nervous.  Right now I don't need anything to make me nervous as I'm busy undermining myself with inconsequential details. 

I've decided on the tires I'm going to run.  I've gotten the new chain, chainring, brake pads and shift cable installed, and hopefully the ti prep treatment will quiet down the squealing PF 30 bottom bracket that I installed last week.  So the bike should be good.

Still this always the hardest part right before the race when the fitness is already accumulated and the only thing left to do is rest and prepare.  I have a copy of last year's packing list, so maybe I should start rounding up my tent, air mattress and other camping paraphernalia, though I doubt it will help. 

Time to Sack Up

It's been over a month since my last race, and I've decided to head to Windham this weekend.

My training and recovery have been going well...sort of.  My form has been good- I set a new PR up Bolton that was 20 seconds faster than by previous best, and I had the rear brake dragging the whole time.

So what's the problem?  In the meaningless midweek training races I haven't had a good day out in a month.  Part of that is by design to prepare for and recover from Pat's Peak, but some of that is attributed to weather and laziness.

Last week I crashed hard on a slick downhill corner in my warmup, and it shook my confidence enough for me to be completely skittish on all of the wet, grassy turns on the course...which is basically the whole course.  This week I did the App Gap/Bolton double on Monday and was still in recovering on Wednesday.  The weather also sucked, and I didn't get a good start or a good warmup, so when I got tailed off the group at the top of the first climb I decided to pull the plug.

Last night I went with the shop ride and set the pace on the climbs (I know, I never thought I'd say that either) but a mechanical problem forced me to walk out of the woods for the second ride in a row.  I never got to test myself, and my real goal was to rediscover my technical skills by following better riders.  

The hard part is not letting these things get to me when I know that I'm in good shape.  It's the mental game of riding confidently and smoothly, and getting back on the horse when you fall off.  Because you will fall off.

This weekend's event is a combination World Cup and citizens event held on the same course in Windham.  The non-UCI event is called "Race the World" and is part of the well-run Root 66 New England series.  Fortunately I don't have to race the world, just the rest of the dudes in the Mens 30-39 Cat 1 Masters field.  

Many times before I mentioned that I'm an endurance guy, and I haven't done a standard distance XC event in three years.  I really don't have any expectations beyond seeing how I can do with decent preparation, so
I'll take my decent from and questionable skills to the start line at 8 AM on Sunday.

As I'm getting ready I will remember what Myles Rockwell had to say about becoming World Champion:

“Let the auto pilot click on and let the red light flash, that is the only way to describe it. Grit your teeth and pin it."

From the Saddle- Appalachian Gap & Bolton- Part 1

Mountain Bike Vermont

Mountain Bike Vermont has started posting some of my reviews on their site.  It's a cool opportunity for me to get some more exposure for my.....well, whatever Pro-35 is. 

The first posts will be race reports and product reviews like my Kenda Nevegal and Blue Groove posts.  Down the road there will be other new content that will debut on both sites.

Corporate types call it a "win-win," and you can check it out at www.mtbvt.com. 

Catamount Race Report, June 1

This Wednesday was my second Wednesday Worlds of 2011, and my first on the RSL.  I would describe racing on this bike with one word- awesome.  

Earlier this week I had done some pretty intense training so I wasn't sure how good I was going to feel.  The usual Saturday MTB ride and Sunday endurance road program got rained out, so I ended up doing a hilly gap climb on Sunday and 65 mile endurance ride on Monday.  Both of those rides were on the deceptively difficult terrain of Addison County, and the temperature was over 80 degrees both days.  Normally I can handle the heat, and I can ride two hard days back-to-back, but I also have Monday and Tuesday to recover.  This week I just had Tuesday.   

At Catamount last week we ran a similar course when I raced the YBB.  Some of the muddy sections had been removed so the lap was a little shorter but with more climbing.  Overall lap times were faster and the field was slightly larger so I didn't feel like I was riding solo for 75% of the race. 

As we lined up I told myself to take it easy and just ride for as long as I could with the goal of finishing rather than setting the world on fire.   I felt fine on the warm up, but wasn't really feeling snappy.  At the start I slotted into a decent spot and cranked up to speed. 

The first thing I noticed was how fast I was going on the starting stretch and up the first false flat sections.  I didn't go crazy and deliberately slotted into the well-worn groove even though it meant staying behind some slower riders while other racers zipped by in the grass.  I maintained my pace, stayed seated and turned over a reasonable gear in the big ring, and all of a sudden I realized that I was flying. 

With the bigger wheels I knew I wouldn't be able to push the same gearing on the climbs and that I might not be able to stay in the big ring like I did last week.  Fortunately the XX 156q crank has a chainline that allows for a full cross chain, so I shifted down to the 39 x 36 and kept it rolling. 

I was pulling a group of six reasonably fast racers as we entered the first woods section.  Normally I can stay in contact in the woods if I push it, but I'm not comfortable leading.  We skipped over the first rock sections, around the roots through the sweeping turns, then up and over onto the slick mud covered rocks.  I was still comfortably leading my group.

The excitement of leading through that section caused me to get a little too aggressive and push it even harder through the next technical section.  I rode it cleanly, but burned too many matches and had to back off going up the steep uphill at the exit. 

With this same feverish pace I pushed through the first lap and was hauling through the sections that had dogged me the week before.  The course was dryer and faster, but I was also more confident and had a level of focus that it possible to sustain my pace. 

Coming out of the last flowing woods section I was pretty smoked and was too far in the red.  The group of six that had been behind me zipped by as we started to work our way back up toward the finish line.  The climbs weren't terribly long, but they were steep and psychologically I was gassed.  I never was able to catch back on.

Last week I targeted one racer who finished two minutes ahead of me, and as we rolled through the start of lap 2 he passed me.  I composed myself and tried to limit the damage and stay in contact.  For most of the second lap I was 15-20 seconds behind him- always in sight, but a little too far ahead to catch. 

Through lap 2 I maintained the same distance, but as we entered the start of lap 3 I could see that his pedal stroke was getting wobbly and that I was slowly reeling him in.  As we snaked through the rocky sections at the top of the course he was maintaining a 10 second gap, but he overshot the exit of the sweeping high speed turn and all of a sudden I was right on his wheel.  We rode together for a few hundred meters before he bobbled on one of the uphill hairpins and I was able to sneak by. 

With a slight gap in hand I pinned it for the last lap with the intention of putting as much distance as possible on my new nemesis.  Some other racers were hot on his heels and I was soon being chased by a small group.  I didn't take notice of exactly how far back they were, nor whether they were working together but rather put as much as I could into the drag strip climb.  Where the course doubled back on itself I could hear other riders behind me and made sure to push as I hard as I could without overcooking the technical sections.

As I hit the last woods section I just tried to stay smooth and keep my gap.  I could hear some jockeying for position behind me and gave it a little extra gas through the G-outs and over the roots.  At the bottom of the last uphill I was already in the red, but I knew that if I could get to the top of the steep grassy climb with a gap that I could recover on the slight downhill before the finish. 

My plan worked, and I streaked across the line with no chasers in sight.  I didn't win, nor even garner a noteworthy place in my category, but I beat a racer who's consistently been ahead of me and put almost four minutes into last season's nemesis.

Overall a great race, and a great start to racing on my new favorite race bike, the RSL. 

The Plan

 

This is my 2011 season plan.  It includes the buildup to my endurance races this summer: Pat's Peak, the Dark Horse 40, Hampshire 100 and Land Mine Classic.  

Can't read it?  That's the point.  I don't want anyone knowing my semi-secret training program, I just want you to know that I have a training program.  

Saturday is going to be a mountain bike ride at tempo effort for about 2.5-3 hours.  Sunday is going to be a long steady endurance ride in the 5 hour range.  I'll be riding in some semi-familiar terrain in Southern Vermont on Sunday so that will be a nice change of scenery.  

Unfortunately my new camera won't arrive before the weekend so there won't be any photo essay ride reports just yet, but I will be riding, and I hope you will, too.

Tonight is the first Wednesday Night Worlds at Catamount of 2011.  My form has been good over the last few months, and I'm feeling pretty lean so I'm hoping that will translate into a positive result.  The first race of the season is always brutally hard, so I just need to remind myself that it's going to hurt a lot and I need to pace myself if I'm going to finish.  And the goal is to finish, then worry about results.  

Ned Overend said that if you finish a race your legs will hurt for a few days, but if you pull out your head will hurt weeks.  Simple words, but true nonetheless.  

The next step in the plan is to follow's Ned's advice, and finish tonight's race. 

Absalon, Part 3

In a country full of roadies how do you get to be the best mountain biker of your generation?  I'm not sure, but Julien Absalon could tell you, and I'm sure he spent a lot of time training on the road to get there.  Case in point is this picture from an early season road race in France. 

 

It'll be interesting to see if he runs a 29er hardtail at the World Cup this year, and I guarantee if he does that many others will follow.  

Ski Season Retrospective

Now that it's April my ski season is officially done, and with that in mind I thought now would be an appropriate time to post my end-of-season retrospective. 

It's no secret that cycling is my main focus.  In some ways it's an accident of circumstance that I got into nordic skiing, but I've grown to really enjoy it.  Previous posts have given you some insight into my usual ski workouts, so I won't retread the day-to-day details. 

In no particular order here are the things that were noteworthy about the season, either because they were of some minor significance or because they offer some interesting anecdote.

I skied with the top skate group in my weekly master's training.  Last year I started in the beginner category and moved up through the categories until I found myself skiing in the top category this winter.  Somehow I didn't consciously get into that group, but the guys I normally ski with were doing it and I knew I could keep up.  It was a great experience, and I think I really improved a lot because of it.

Classic skiing is still an anathema to me.  I made a concerted effort on several occasions to pick it up, and I did make some progress, but it's still not natural and I don't consider myself very good on classic skis.   I've gotten better, but I still have a lot of work to do. 

My worst skiing related injury this year was smacking my left knee cap on the top of my ski while attempting to learn classic.  It wasn't terrible, but it did slow me down and make me hobble for a couple weeks.  During that time I seriously contemplated ditching classic altogether and working on biathlon on classic weeks next winter.  At this point I could go either way on that. 

Every year for the past few years I've skied up to the Slayton Pasture Cabin at Trapp's at least once.  That streak ended this year primarily because I always found myself more interested in skiing for distance on rolling terrain rather than shelling myself on the long slog to the cabin.  I'm a little bummed about that, but in my mind the cabin route is more of a tourist's rite of passage than a true milestone.

I broke my first ski.  It was kind of cool to feel like I was pushing it enough to cause an equipment failure like that, but it's not covered under warranty and made my last day out a very expensive.  Fortunately it was my condition-specific Madshus X3's and not my Atomic World Cup all-rounders, but it still sucked.  Those things were hardly used and ran really well in soft snow.  It looks like I'll be replacing them with another set of Atomics instead.

For the third year in a row I didn't get my shit together to ride to the mountain and then go skiing.  Yes, the Hampsten has indeed proven to be elusive, partly because the conditions need to be just right but also because it's a logistical headache and nobody cares other than me.  There were a few days when I seriously considered it, but instead I opted to keep skiing for an extra hour rather than screwing around with windproof bib tights, two layers of shoe covers, icy roads and frozen water bottles.  

I didn't enter any ski-related events, including a winter triathlon or the Stowe Derby.  This one I feel semi-bad about.  Last season I did a winter tri and the running section almost killed me.  It wasn't that the 5k was more than I could handle, but I legitimately hadn't been running in the six months leading up to the event and I dug myself a deep hole in the 30 minutes it took me to complete the run course.  Out of 50 or so racers, I finished the run in about 48th position.  This year I had been working on running more often and made some real progress, but the winter tris are expensive to enter and the amount of gear required for them is ridiculous.  For the six hours of driving and the $100 entry/temp license fees I decided to stay home and get some real skiing in on real terrain instead of circling around a flat, Boston-area golf course for 75 minutes. 

Next season I'm seriously considering doing some longer ski events like the Lake Placid Loppet, the Keskinada Ski Marathon in Gatineau, PQ, or even the 10k Valley Cup at Ole's.  Maybe it'll happen, maybe it won’t, but I think November is going to be my down time since I won't be racing 'cross.  That way I can start preparing for ski season in early December and be ready for some racing in late January or February.

Like most things, my goals could change at a moment's notice, but I expect to do more mountain bike racing this summer, take it easy this fall, and then get an earlier start on skiing.  I won't have a trip to France next year so maybe I'll plan on doing the Craftsbury Spring Fling or some other late season race to keep me motivated.  Remarkably I can go uphill reasonably well on skis, primarily because I can actually use my upper body instead of just dragging it along. 

Maybe I'll even do another winter tri, but probably not.  I do see myself becoming more of a winter/summer guy and taking my time completely off in the fall.

The Message

 Last fall, I decided that I was going to make the effort to get my elite racing license.  On paper, I race in one category below the elite riders.  Although it seems like a small step, in reality it's a huge difference.

After I made the decision, I  told a handful of friends and family members about it.  Everyone was supportive and enthusiastic, but I think few people really knew how hard it would be.  I'm not even sure that I knew myself. 

One of my friends who did know was John.  In college he put a massive amount of energy into his racing career, first on the mountain bike, and later on the road.  Through his own mix of analysis, determination and work ethic he worked his way up through the ranks and won some big regional events. 

A few years and several new responsibilities later John is still riding, but not actively competing beyond an occasional cyclosportif.  When I visited him earlier this year there were some very obvious ironies, primarily that  John had the fitness while I had the goals.  When we rode together, John was always stronger, especially on the uphills. 

It wasn't that I was terribly out of shape, as I'd spent the winter skiing.  All things considered I felt pretty strong, but in early March I clearly didn't have much mileage under my belt, and certainly not outdoor mileage. 

During my two-week trip we did a ton of riding, roughly 300 miles with over twenty thousand feet of vertical gain.  I've posted many pictures from those rides and I'll remember them for years, but what the pictures don't show is what really happened during that trip. 

Whether knowingly or not, John pulled me along for most of those rides.  I never bailed or gave up, but I certainly didn't set the world on fire.  He'd ride ahead, and I'd push myself to keep up.  The power files reveal that the pace wasn't entirely above what I was capable of, but it was a stretch, and that was the point.  If I wanted to get faster I had to push it and ride at a pace above what I thought I could handle. 

I didn't put it all together until I'd gotten home and had a few days of rest before getting out for a ride on familiar roads.  More than anything else I felt fast, and I felt purposeful. 

The feeling of being "in form" is hard to articulate to non-cyclists, but it's basically  the difference between having everything go right compared to feeling like you can't get out of your own way.  You don't feel invincible, and you don't even necessarily ride that much faster than normal, but inside your head there's the incredible feeling that things have fallen into place and you're being rewarded for all of your hard work. 

This past Thursday I did one of my normal mid-week training loops.  My original intent was to do the loop at a reasonable pace and make it home before dark.  As the miles slipped by I realized that at I was flying along while staying within my predetermined pace and within striking distance of my PR for the loop. 

By my calculations I took over a minute off of the mark I'd made six years ago when I was arguably in the best shape of my life.  I've had other good days on the bike and have set other benchmarks, but when I think back on that ride it always seems like it was a fluke.  One hour and twenty-seven minutes were possible for a mostly flat 28-mile loop, and it meant an average speed over 19 miles an hour, solo, on a standard road bike with no aero equipment.  That's not Herculean, nor barely average for any self-respecting middle category road racer.  For me it's a big deal, and a step in the right direction as I slowly prepare to compete this spring. 

Although I didn’t realize it at the time, John's message was clear--you can do this, but you need to work and you need to push yourself.  All at once it was encouraging and supportive, but delivered with an honesty that I'd shielded myself from when I looked in the mirror.  More than anything else, it was what I needed, and it's not something I will soon forget. 

The Lunchbox Has Landed

Yesterday my first shipment of race fuel arrived from GU.  I wanted to call this post something like "It's GU-Mas!" or maybe "OMG-GU!"  Thankfully I was able to refrain.  That could have been embarrassing.  

It was a very heavy box full of Chomps, trademark GU gels and varieties of Brew for exercise and recovery.  Here's a peek into the second layer.

Race food is something that's easy to take for granted, but paying attention to my nutrition has really helped improve my performance.  There is a short list of things I consider my semi-secret weapons, and GU Brew Recovery is one of them.

My spirits were slightly dampened by the state of the box upon its arrival.  Most of the time my packages arrive in pretty good shape, but this one looked like it had suffered unnecessarily at the hands of the delivery company.  Surely these fellows must get packages themselves, and they would want them carefully shepherded while in transit, no?


Fortunately everything in my box is sealed from the elements and made it through the luggage chucking gauntlet unscathed.  GU-Mas will be going ahead as scheduled.

Are You Training for Something?

 

Like most winter weekends I spent most of my time outdoors last Saturday and Sunday on skis at Trapp's.  Saturday was an interesting day and although it was 24 and sunny at home it was 17, snowy and windy at Trapp's.  That might not sound like a big difference, but it was a little more than I was mentally ready for when I got to the parking lot. 

Fortunately I stay pretty warm while skiing and I brought enough extra layers to stay comfortable.

As I headed out on my first warm up loop I could hear that someone was skiing behind me.  Traffic is common on the flattish loops around the touring center so I didn't think much of it.  When I stopped to take a drink a woman skied up next to me to ask for trail directions.  After some quick recommendations she asked if she could follow me on my route.  She wasn't interested in talking, she just didn’t want to ski alone and didn’t know where to go. 

The snow was surprisingly good given the extreme temperature swings we've had lately, but I took care to avoid the downhills I knew would have icy skied off corners.  She kept pace as we wound our way around the race loop, down Skater's Waltz and across to Aither. 

When we stopped at hilltops or to take off our skis to cross the road we'd spend a minute or two in polite, general conversation.  As we skied into the second hour together we talked more and more about some things we discovered we had in common, which isn't surprising when you consider the general priorities of the endurance community in Northern New England. 

She'd just moved to Vermont with her husband and two daughters and just started a physical therapy office in Essex.  She had a background in mountain biking and road racing.  She also had trouble with depression in the winter and needed to get outside.  We were more alike than she knew.  

At one point she asked "are you training for something?"  I gave my usual polite elevator response along the lines of "I enjoy skiing, but my main focus is endurance mountain bike racing."  At the time I didn't realize how profound her question really was.  Several hours later I was still pondering.

What struck me was that most people I meet on the trail usually ask topical questions like whether or not I'm a racer.  I'd like to think that my skill on skis is what prompts those thoughts, but really it's probably my goofy hats and Swix drink belt.  By design there's usually nothing easily distinguishable about me to say that I'm really a cyclist moonlighting as a skier. 

Her question was deeper than the kind of superficial conversation you'd expect from a first meeting.  I could tell that she had her own stories to tell and her own reasons for getting out to ski.  Talking to some endurance athletes about their training is about as engaging as asking a teenage punk how many ponies his Camaro has under the hood.  Fortunately that wasn't the case here.  

"Are you training for something?"  Long after her simple question and my knee-jerk response I considered my real answer.  Yes, I'm training, but it's not for something, it's for its own sake and its own merits.  It's about the workouts, the fitness, and the journey.  Five years ago I would have given you a different answer, probably with an event name, date, category and target placing.  I could have given her the "yes I'm training for mountain bike racing because I think I want to be a pro before I turn 35 and I have a blog and I'm blogging about what I do to try to be pro and you should read it because I update it a lot and my mom says I'm special."  I didn't.  I'm glad I didn't.

Are you training for something, or are you enjoying the ride?
 

ByeKyle Simple Strap Review

I hate saddle bags.  While I don't mind them on other people's bikes, on my own they just look clunky saddle-mounted bike luggage.  They just seem to ruin the aesthetic of a clean, simple and purposeful bike. 

Unfortunately function gets in the way, and I'm not such a slave to self-perceived fashion that I'm willing to risk that I won't have any mechanical trouble and therefore skip out on carrying some emergency essentials.  I still need to carry the basics, and when the pockets get full of gels, bars and a spare bottle there's only one place left to carry tools- the bike.  Solution?  Enter the Simple Strap.   

 

The ByeKyle Simple Strap is one of those rare finds that seems too good to be true.  It's functional, durable, USA made, cost-effective and versatile to be used for a variety of on- and off-bike applications.

The Simple Strap is primarily marketed as a means for mountain bike racers  to carry a tube and/or CO2 canister on their bike.  Sure you can use a bag, but who wants to fumble with that when they're in a hurry on the race course? 

I can remember a picture of Lennie Kristensen on the cover of Velo News after he won Le Tour de VTT, a race that at the time was dubbed as the Tour de France of mountain biking.  The race is still around but has since lost some of its luster.  I vividly recall Lennie's bike had a tube electrical taped to the top of the stem for easy access in the event of a puncture.  One of my first acts of pro mimicry was to tape a tube to my stem for my races in 1997 and 1998. 

The problem with tape is that although it's secure, it's not really that convenient.  If you're wearing full finger gloves it's nearly impossible to quickly unwind or rip the tape to get to your tube.  Once it's undone there's also no way to reuse the tape to carry your blown tube or used CO2.  The Simple Strap changes all of that.

While I considered running my tube Lennie-style on the stem I instead opted for the cleaner under saddle mount.  Some racers just attach it to the seat tube, but I found that it rubbed on my legs too much in that position and didn't feel as secure as I would have liked.   Ultimately the size and setup of your bike will influence where a tube and CO2 fit the best, and I've seen them mounted on both the top and bottom of the stem, on seat posts, saddle rails, or anywhere inside the main triangle.    

With it mounted to the saddle rails it's not only tucked out of the way but also makes for a very tidy setup.  After I figured out the best fit for the tube and Big Air canister I cinched it down and have never had any trouble with it since.  

Previously I'd used ski straps to hold a CO2 and/or tube to my seat post.  While the rubber padding helped keep things from moving around it never quite felt secure enough and when I crashed or transported the bike it would often spin out of place.  The rubber on the Simple Strap is strong enough to keep it from moving around, but it needs to be in contact with your bike to really hold tight.  If there's one instruction to using the simple strap, that's it.

I bought two of these last spring and used one all of last season for every training ride, mid-week world championship and endurance event that I entered.  In previous endurance races I had used a saddle bag to carry two tubes, but last year I stuck with my everyday Simple Strap kit and just kept extra tubes in my drop bags.

For $7 including shipping it's a steal.  I'm so sold on these that I bought a couple more for my new bike and just to keep on hand. 

The simple strap is available in a rainbow of colors and is available online at www.byekyle.com. 

Race Schedule for 2011... Leadville?

Apparently the Tour of California organizers and Lifetime Fitness are developing a series of Leadville 100 qualifying events. 

http://www.cyclingnews.com/news/new-leadville-100-race-qualifier-system-coming

Interesting.

I may need to reassess my plans and consider making a run at it this year.  My original plan was to roll out to the following endurance races

6 Hours of Pat's Peak, June 11

Darkhorse 40, July 31


Hampshire 100, August 21

Vermont 50, September 25

Four races doesn't sound like a full season, but each event over 6 hours takes me about a week and a half of recovery time.  Considering I looked like this about an hour into my second race last year I'm thinking that four races might be plenty and that Leadville might have to be a 2012 goal.