Jesus update

Quite a while back I had mistakenly thought Jesus was running for office.  I promised to update my readers if I had any more religious encounters. Here you go... 

We watched the Crit races last night.  One guy crashed and was bloody.  He was saying things that didn't make sense so they called the paramedics.  His bike was likewise seriously damaged.  A couple minutes before the paramedics arrived I noticed a man walk up and see if the could help.  Then I did a double take when I realized the man who had walked up appeared to be Jesus.  His hair was a little shorter than expected, but with no singlespeed category at the races I could not come to any other conclusion.

Anybody need some Jesus?

I have no idea of the religious persuasion of the injured cyclist, but from my vantage point, not only the injured cyclist but his girlfriend also seemed to ignore Jesus.  Soon the paramedics arrived and they too wanted nothing to do with this Jesus fellow.  

Not wanting to get in the way he stood patiently off to the side waiting for someone to reach out to him. Nobody did.  

After putting the fallen cyclist onto a Tour de France colored sled and strapping him down so if they tickled him he couldn't move, they took the cyclist off in a big red fire truck.

No upgrade for this guy today...

After the cyclist was gone I noticed Jesus quietly looking at the bike with the busted front wheel.  I thought for a moment he might heal the wheel, but alas, someone grabbed the bike and carried it off before he could take any action.

I wish everyone in this story well.  I hope the cyclist is back at work today and I hope Jesus has likewise been able to use his talents.

SCX #1 2012 Steilacoom Race Report

   

 Let's FLY over the barriers !!

Back in 2005 Hottie suggested we go and watch a pro bike race down in Tacoma at Fort Steilacoom.   It didn’t take long for me to convert to the Gospel of Cyclocross.  Two weeks later I was racing. Every race at Ft. Steilacoom since has been special.

We brought along the woman who has come to be known as the Cyclocross Superfan; Betty the (Cyclocross) Beast!  She came with cowbell in hand and peanut butter and jelly sandwich in her padlocked purse.

Betty the (Cyclocross) Beast a.k.a Superfan on the right, Granddaughter Sophie on the left

We arrived just before the first race took off.  We managed to find a spot and soon the team tent went up and lawn chairs and trainers were out. 

Our team has opted to throw its support behind the MFG series this year, so our numbers at this Seattle Cyclocross event were thinner.  Seph snagged a fifth place in his race, which had a field of seventy young studly riders.   Leann had a good finish in her race as well. 

Matthew was among the select few who met for some Cyclocross practice Saturday morning.   We practiced turns, starts and some hot laps at a local park.  Our morning practice ended when Matthew ducked under a branch whilst taking a turn and the branch caught his helmet, then his glasses, then cut his nose, and finally sliced his eyelid.

We had one of our quiver of doctors riding with us and Matthew is an RN himself.  Soon Matthew’s wounds had been cleaned and he had ice on his face.  He got a ride home and just based on how Matthew was talking, I fully expected to see him at the race Sunday. 

Sure enough Matthew rolled up to the tent on Sunday with his right eye purple and swollen shut.  He came to race. I’ll just call him “Blood and Guts” henceforth.

Blood and Guts and I took a couple laps and Matthew was running a notubes front tire. With a belch sound, his tire flatted and he was walking back to look for a pump.  He didn’t mention that he was looking for a sign from a higher power to help him decide if he was supposed to ride or not, but things were lining up for a good day for him.

Our race was at 1:30, which is pretty late in the day, especially a hot day, for Davo to race.  My daughter and her family came so I had four generations of fans rooting for me.   How could I fail?

Kyson enjoying the day and the races

Clayton isn't even two weeks old and he is cheering on Grandpa Davo

I'm not sure what he did wrong, but I'm sure choking him stopped it..

Blood and Guts himself had crashed in a bloody mess at the start of this race last year on the rough pavement and that thought was heavy on my mind at the start. As a result I found myself pretty much at the back of the pack a minute into the race.  That wasn’t the plan.  I began to move up.

After a set of grassy zig zags and barriers at speed (way to go SCX !) we were squirted onto a hundred meters of singletrack then a long loose section where I blitzed past a few riders.  Then we took a sharp loose left hand turn onto dusty climb where I continued to move up.   Then a soft switchback and the climbing continued. The middle of this portion was loose dust with a wider trail of grass on the left and a narrow patch of trail on the right side.  As I expected everyone went left and I took the right side and moved up. 

There was a long downhill on gravel that claimed more than a few riders. My daily commute includes a short gravel section and my training from that has taught me to shift my weight back and let it ride.  That worked well and I was able to survive all five laps of my race.  On the last lap a rider from Blue Rooster was in a heap and had to leave the race in an ambulance.  We were then slaloming around big trees before attacking the final climb.

After the climb we were spilled out on a short section of single track. The single track here started the day with a couple patches of dusty potholes and evolved into a long skinny beach of loamy quicksand.   That sand grabbed two riders in front of my on the first lap and pulled them down on the right side as if they had been tacked by linebackers.  I jumped from the right to the left side and, adopting the racers mentality, I dismissed them with narcissistic indifference.  I wouldn’t see them again today.

A short steep descent on a glass smooth road with a dusty sheen led to a sharp left onto loose bark then some grassy turns, two more barriers, again at speed, and then you cross the line. 

I continued to move up and can’t recall being passed by anyone.  I was catching single speeders who started a minute ahead of us and I spotted Spinner John struggling just ahead of me on his single speed. I had been chasing a rider in my cat and he passed Spinner John and John asked him if he was a Cat 3 racer. 

There are three races at my time; single speed men, Cat 3 men 45+ and Cat ½ Women.  Now let’s fire up our powers of deduction.  The guy who passed Spinner John was on a geared bike and he didn’t have boobs.  It therefore strikes me as a dumb question. Although it was only the second lap, John was gassed and couldn’t have chased anyway.  Just before entering the single track I blitzed past John on his right and said, “All us 3’s look the same.”  It startled John and I felt bad for a second. Maybe two seconds, no… as I think about it just one second.

I moved up and up passing riders on single speed bikes as well as my own category.  On the last lap I was passed by the first woman who gave me a warning shout; “on the inside.” I gladly swung wide and thanked her for the verbal warning.  Riding her wheel was a guy I had passed earlier.

“Hey, I opened that spot for her,” I said out loud as he pulled along side me on a sweeping right hand turn.  Before he could respond his front wheel slid out and he went tumbling off course as I smiled and realized there was no need to say another word. 

Evo looking fast.  No I don't have braces, that is dirt in my teeth (just like last week actually)

I settled in and on my last lap I committed my own mortal sin of waiting to pass a rider I was chasing.  I was behind him at the barriers eighty meters from the line and he remounted and cut off my line as the course swung left and I tried to go right and ran out of room.  Will I ever learn?

I finished 24^th of 42 fast guys and know I can do better.  I was pleased. Blood and Guts grabbed a top ten with a ninth.

Evo and the Hardman himself, Blood and Guts !

I had dust in my eyes on my teeth and my legs looked like I had spent the summer in Arizona.   I was tired and glad to be done.  My fans came over and we had pasta on the deck and enjoyed our Indian summer evening.  Or is that a Native America Summer now?

Woodland Park MFG Race Report

Note the muddy legs, face and bike...THIS is Cyclocross

This weekend the race was the final in the MFG series. Almost down the street at Woodland Park it took less then thirty minutes from driveway to parking lot.

Joining Hottie once more was my dear mum who has been there each week and must surely be dreading the looming conclusion of Cyclocross for 2011. Joining us was my son Tim who came to cheer and observe the spectacle.

I didn’t sign up until late in the week as the MFG series is not my primary objective this year. It may well be my focus in 2012, but I’m all about SCX in 2011. I wondered if I should even bring my pit bike, the red single speed Fetish (brand) that I made from eBay deals and scrounged parts.

It bombed rain in the days leading up to the race and I was expecting a muddy mess. I put the Limus’ on the orange crusher and opted to go ahead and bring the pit bike. I knew Spinner John would get a call up and I would have to wade through riders to catch him. I was pretty confident I could beat him again and once I dropped my $20 I was all in.

I pre-rode the course and did the things you are supposed to do. I had trouble with a section and I got off my bike and walked back and did it again and again until I got it right. I also pulled off the Limus’ and went back to my Grifo-Fango combination that has worked for me so often.

The course was a perfect Cyclocross course with grassy sections, slippery muddy sections, a long power climb, twisty technical sections and off cambers. “Tires and brakes,” I told my teammate Dave, when he asked about the course.

The start was on an off camber that sloped down to the right. I was on the extreme left, so I was on the uphill side. This was by chance, but proved to be a godsend. After call-ups (which did not include Evo), they called us up by last digit in our race numbers. I was in the middle batch and slithered up an extra row. At the whistle, I took advantage of the high ground and moved up well. I was sitting just outside of the top ten and had Spinner John in my sights. I decided to just sit on him a while.

The first turn was in a greasy pile of fallen leaves. The yellows, orange and gold would have been beautiful if it weren’t for the riders with misbehaving rear wheels. I was in a group and if someone passed me, I generally passed them back to try and hold my spot.

A slippery off camber that had been a death trap in years past had some grass on it, so it was much more readable than in years past. On later laps riders, including Evo, would have rear wheels slide downhill. I kept it upright, but others did not.

I took the lap to follow the advice I had read in CX magazine, and watched where John struggled and where he did well. He was fine on the power sections, though not as strong as I expected. He fought the corners and technical sections and I knew that was where I would make my move.

Near the end of the first lap we were catching riders from the 35+ group. At a particularly slippery corner a fallen rider got up and swung his bike into my path and I found myself cartwheeling with my bike. I completed the roll like a stunt skier and was up and on in no time and in less than a minute was back on Spinner John’s wheel.

I chased him through the power sections and moved past slower 35+ riders with ease. I was on his wheel as we hit the barriers. The steep down hill that followed led to a slick left hand corner that he had slipped on during the first lap. He cut to the apex and I came in wide and took the inside as his line took him wide.

“I didn’t know you were here,” he blurted out with a tone of panic that I must confess pleased me. I moved past some women riders as the road narrowed and we approached a single file section. “Coming through,” I heard him shout behind me, followed milliseconds later by “Oh Shit…….Sorry.” His apologies continued and I worked to build a gap. At the stairs I had an Old Town rider start at the far right and end up at the far left (the course went right so I’m not sure if he was trying to chop me or was just hypoxic). I heard John grunting a fair distance behind me and I kept the gas on.

Another run up and then a long climb where, if John was going to catch me, that was the place. Going up the long climb it is a gravel road with two lines. On the left side a rider was on a mountain bike and was swerving side-to-side so much that when I passed him he hit me from the side. “Hey,” was his response. “Hold your line,” was mine. I wouldn't have gone if I had thought I couldn't fit. Unscathed I pushed on and blasted the down hill. Grabbing my brakes at the bottom I powered up the ensuing wet, leafy off camber. I could tell I was nailing the technical sections.

Being able to ride fast and brake late was a key on this course. The muddy sections between the downhill and the finish line was where riders were dropping like bricks. I kept my eyes looking ahead and rode around carnage every lap (except when I was taken down on the first lap.)

Past the finish line I started the third lap feeling strong and riding smart. I had distanced John and was ahead of the Old Town rider who would end up ninth. I rode the technical sections fast. I wasn’t following any rider in my category, but was passing riders from other groups. Blitz the road, slow for the turn.

I could hear my mom cheering. “Tear the legs off those pussys,” someone screamed. I’m not sure if that was my mom or not, but I thought that a bit vicious for a Masters race. Alas, speculation is not my gift.

I hit the stairs well and passed riders on them and the run up that followed. On the downhill that followed I tapped my brakes and my rear brake felt soft. On the pavement I looked back and my straddle cable was flying free. It must have come unhooked I thought to myself.

I considered my options and realized that I needed both brakes on the course and the best time to fix it was before the climb that was about ten seconds away. I pulled to the outside (don’t you wish everybody did?) and dismounted, grabbed the cable and and realized the cable was free because the slot it hooked into on the brake arm was missing. My brake was broke.

Riders I had passed zinged by as I stared at my bike. I was frozen. Then I got on and soft-pedaled trying to decide what to do. It was a full thirty seconds before I remembered I had a pit bike. During that time my mind had considered stopping, riding to the finish, and all manner of panicked thoughts. Why had I forgotten the pit bike?

The downhill was a different story with only a front brake. The slippery muddy turns were likewise a different adventure rear-brakeless. I hit the pit and as I approached a guy grabbed a set of wheels that weren’t mine and said, “what do you need?” “Prop my bike,” I said as I dropped the orange crusher and grabbed my single speed.

The higher pressure of the tires on the single speed was apparent as soon as I swung my leg over and pedaled. Around the corner was the finish line and I heard one to go. I had to throttle back on the corners and the rough stuff was, well, rough.

Grinding it out on the one gear wonder...

Switching from a geared bike to a single speed mid race was a shock to my quads. I tried to brake on straights and accelerating was harder when you only have one gear. I was still racing, so as Jens says, “shut up legs.”

Nobody else passed me and I clawed my way through 35+ and women riders who were getting lapped. I spotted a rider with a number from my category and I chased him and squeezed past. On a loose downhill he blitzed by and I chased him through the muddy turns and he went down just before the pits and I went around him.

Knowing he would be doing all he could to catch me I took the last corner conservatively and then raced a 35+ on the final climb as my single speed spun like crazy on the gradual uphill sprint to the line.

I figured I would have ended up eighth, and expected to be somewhere in the mid twenties as I figure I lost a good two minutes with my mechanical. To my surprise I was 16^th and Spinner John ended up 11^th. Dave F had crashed and rode a conservative race and finished a couple places behind me.

I didn’t see Spinner John after the race, but he did talk to Hottie. She he reported he was surprised I caught and passed him as he figured that without a call up I was doomed. He also confessed he was frustrated he couldn’t keep up with me on the technical sections.

I put my single speed on the roof rack and went back and collected my fallen orange warrior. I stopped by the SRAM tent and the SRAM rep told me the part that broke off (or just disappeared..) wasn’t one that was supposed to come off and therefore they didn’t sell replacements. He suggested I go to my local SRAM dealer and that they would warranty it. I stopped by Gregg’s Greenlake Bike shop and a few minutes later I walked out with a new rear brake and a smile as my bike would be fixed and my wallet was unscathed. Good job SRAM and great job Gregg’s.

I had two muddy bikes and six muddy wheels to clean when I got home. Tim was impressed by the whole event and we reminisced about mountain biking down Mt. Pillar in Kodiak Alaska this summer.

Ride down this when it's wet..

After cleaning my bike and eating dinner I was so tired I did something I almost never do. I went to be early. Way early. I went to bed at seven and got up nearly twelve hours later.

I can’t catch up, I’m so far behind

I remember the sunshine....

RAMROD

Back in April, my name was drawn in the lottery and the ride is next Thursday. Six training days left. Climbing is all about strength to weight. Since there isn’t enough time to get any stronger, I’m trying to lose weight. Hank on my cycling team was also among those picked to ride. We had planned two big training rides, one was on the Fourth of July and that was fun. The other was set for last Sunday and we delayed the start of the ride by having a cup of coffee and waiting for the rain to let up. The rain kept coming and completely washed away our resolve. After an hour in the corner coffee shop, we bagged it.

SICK

After the ride on the forth I had a great week of eating light and training heavy, but it was a lousy week for sleep. On Friday afternoon, I felt my body going to war. Headache, warm, throat getting dry; this isn’t good I thought to myself. The battle was on and I lost. I missed a solid week. Then the rain last Sunday capped it. I resumed just this Monday. I hit the weights yesterday and tried to keep the same weights (pounds) and just do fewer reps. My quads are absolutely screaming.

DEUCE OF SPADES

My old Single speed ride has been reborn as my commuter bike. I put a Cane Creek Drop-V lever on the left side of my Cross racing rig and pulled the SRAM shifter and put it on the commuter. Now it is a two speed bike. It is as black as the ace of spades, but because it is a two speed it is the Deuce of Spades. Big fat tires, fenders, a rack, and more lights than a Christmas tree.

The Road to Hell

The Road to Hell may be paved with good intentions, but I have no doubt the bike lane is full of glass and all kinds of crap.

I feel almost unworthy to complain about commuter bike lanes when I only commute a day or two a week. I do, however, feel I am exceedingly qualified to complain, so here I go.

One minute I love the urban planners who laid out the bike lanes. The next minute as the lane disappears, I wonder if the planners thought I could just fly now that the lane is gone and the road has narrowed. I am wondering how bold I should be in challenging a dump truck for the single lane. I yield. Then a couple minutes later I again have space and I can think about how much I love my fellow beings.

My bliss doesn't last long as I realize the bike lane is full of glass, gravel and last winter's rock salt. I also see bolts, trash and parts of cars. Not only did the county clean only the part of the road where the cars drive and not clean where the bikes go, but it APPEARS the crap from the auto lane has been swept INTO the bike lane.

I find myself recalling riding in Davis, California where they treat bikers like their lives depend on it. It was spooky how nice they were. Maybe the adrenalin will get me in the mood for Cyclocross season...

My commute

I’ve been riding to work a day or two a week for about a month. It took some time to secure a shower facility and get things squared away. I brought my camera last Wednesday and snapped a few pics. It was sunny, which was a first.

It is just over nineteen miles each way and my times have varied from 1:16 to 58:44. The route features several small hills, but no categorized climbs. I have considered doing it on a single speed, but my knee is telling me to just keep riding the geared bike.

I roll out from our place and cut through the parking lot of an elementary school. Then I get the view you see here.

After making my way through a sleepy neighborhood or two, I catch a bike lane and head toward the interurban trail.

While this may look like a flood basin, it is in fact the interurban bike trail passing under a pretty busy street.

The route follows the remnants of an old streetcar line that went from Everett to Seattle. A lot of the route parallels I-5. This is a view in Lynnwood Washington of I-5 and the many souls heading to work in Seattle.

After a moderately circuitous route, I am riding next to I-5, which is to my left hidden by a grassy hill. Along this area I typically see a rabbit or two each day. The rumor is the rabbits were liberated from a testing facility, and then let out here. It seems the stuff of urban myths to me..

A few years ago they put in this pedestrian bridge over I-5 and I personally appreciate it.

This is an area I call the green river. Because it is green and like the infamous green river killer, it is a perfect place to kill people and pile the bodies. It is generally deserted and could be kind of creepy to those more vulnerable than myself.

After this I come out by a mall and then a short jaunt on surface streets brings me to my destination. You all know what surface streets look like, so you’re on your own there.

Nationals 2010 day two

Busy days here in Bend. After I slept like a piece of furniture, it was time for Hottie and I to get moving. After brewing some coffee and eating our oats we were off to the races, literally.

After parking the first racer we saw was Brian Volkert who was battling it out in the 60-64 race. There were guys as old as 75 mixing it up. I was keen to check the course conditions as my race on Friday would be at this same early time so I heightened my powers of observation. Ice, mud, slippery grass, and rocks; this course has it all.

Tow of our juniors, Henry and Aidan had time trials today to determine their starting position for their age group championships on Friday. Henry is sitting 16th and is talking like a veteran. Catrena had TT’d yesterday and we saw her race this afternoon. She kept any trepidation she may have had well hidden. Her race was super competitive and she held her ground and brought honor to the brown kit.

Everyone's friend Cosmic Miller earned a top twenty finish in the masters 55-59 race. Some dude named Ned Overend took the rainbow jersey in that one.

Local hero Craig Ethridege flatted fifty meters past the pit on the first lap and called it done. Keri Studley had the best TT time of all the single speed women and she crashed out less than a minute into the race. She left holding her left shoulder. Bummer.

Brad arrived and was perhaps a bit awestruck by the spectacle that is Nationals. We are settled in and getting ready for our TT’s tomorrow.

Henry and Aidan race tomorrow. We haven’t hooked up with Keith yet. It stayed above 40 all day and we only had light sprinkles. It is raining now and we are hoping it does not freeze too hard.

Hottie is getting some great shots.

Boot Dryer DIY

UGLY, but fully functional
For almost nothing I made a boot dryer. I bought a bathroom ceiling fan for $13 and used wood from a drawer. I cut off the cord from something that went into the trash and found some PVC pipe and I was in business.

This is the fan unit. I mounted it to a two by four and mounted that into the drawer.

Then I drilled the holes for the PVC and glued them in place with gorilla glue

Tux made sure I did a quality job....
Then I used some bathroom caulk and sealed around the PVC.
I used wood from the bottom of another drawer and sealed it off.
After last week's SSCXWC, it got put to the test.

What is good about this is there is NO heat, so you can leave it on overnight and not cook anything. It was cheap, it is quiet enough and by plugging, or opening the tops, you can dry one to five pairs of boots/gloves, etc..

Cyclocross Equipment Failure

Short version: After the SSCXWC the bottom bracket on my single speed will turn no more.

Excessive pontification version:
For much of my life I made do with second rate stuff; actually, third rate stuff. When other kids rode Schwinn Stingrays, I had a purple bike from Montgomery Ward (I split the head tube landing off a jump). When other kids got Levi’s I had jeans from JC Penney that were made of polyester so they never faded. I remember rubbing the knees of my pants on the sidewalk trying to get them to fade. Not only did they never fade, my mother put patches on the knees.

As a teenager my fancy turned to backpacking and my dear mother taught me to sew and I began making some of my own gear. My stuff was ugly, but marginally functional. My father was, and remains, mechanically inept. Aside from an ancient hammer, a ten pound crescent wrench and two screw drivers, we had no tools. I’m not sure I ever saw my dad use the crescent wrench.

As I grew older I continued to scrounge equipment and make do with what I could afford. There were some areas where I refused to compromise. Rock climbing ropes were first quality and I cared for them and made them last. I didn’t have fancy cams, but made do with 1970 era stoppers and the like.

In my adult life, my bike equipment has been mid to upper end stuff. My wonderful wife has bestowed Park tools on me for birthdays and holidays. With better tools I have been able to maintain our bikes without spending a lot of money at bike shops.

This is my sixth season of Cyclocross. I have crashed and flatted and had all of the typical experiences. I haven’t had the broken derailleur or shifters that make us all cringe when we see them. Hank, my fellow equipment-o-phile broke his derailleur and his hanger a couple of races ago.

After SSCXWC I was cleaning my bike and the pedals were really hard to turn; as if there was too much preload. So much of my learning has been by trial and error that I assumed it was my mistake and removed the subject BB only to find it was frozen solid. I pried off the seal and the bearings appeared to be welded in place. No amount of solvent could remedy the situation. Although I didn’t check the time, I pronounced it dead at the scene.

I had a choice between ordering another crappy bottom bracket, or for 30% more, getting a bombproof one at cost through our sponsor bike shop. This will be my first, and I expect my last bike, where my BB retails for more than I paid for the frame.

Silver Lake Race Report 2010

2009 Silver Lake.... Same sand, different year.

Aside from some pathetic yoga on Monday after the brutal race on October 10th, I didn’t work out all week. I felt beat up and sick so taking the time off, made the most sense.

Sunday morning the air was crisp and there was frost on the grass. Tux was anxious as I ate my oatmeal; he wanted to come, but this wasn’t the week to bring him. I made my way to Silver Lake with SFW following me.

The early sun created a misty fog that gave the lake a surreal look. The ground was dry and if it weren’t for the sand it would have been a fast course.

Course description:
Crossing the start/finish line you are on the only flat pavement on the whole course. After only about ten rods in distance you are on sand. Riders would invariably try to ride the sand and in two to ten seconds the riders would be churning and wrestling their bikes to stay upright and keep moving forward. With rare exception, everyone would eventually grind (perfect word usage) to a stop and bail and run. The sand went on for about ¾ furlong which wouldn’t be bad except it was sand, so it took forever to run. I run better than most, so I generally made up ground here.

After the sand you had twenty yards before a sharp left hand turn took you to an uphill that had a barrier at the bottom (what idiot thought that was a good idea?). Up and over the barrier and then about one chain later you have a loose climb that you don’t stand a chance of riding up because it is too close to the barrier you just went over. In theory with a perfect remount and lots of power applied instantly it could happen. After ascending the loose run up, you mount up and begin a gradual climb on singletrack. Then a series of tight twisty turns where I did better than in years past thanks to tubies and Sam teaching us about cornering. This emerges onto a gravel road that starts flat and then turns sharply downhill. Then a sharp ninty-plus degree right hand turn onto a short, super steep loose trail and more tight turns including downhill off camber devil turns followed by short, but really steep climbs. Then seventy meters of pavement brings you back onto a sand section which can be ridden by about half the riders. You are trying to float effortlessly over the sand and put our mega watts of power at the same time. The best way to describe it is to imagine applying power through the full cycle of the pedal stroke avoiding the bobbing of only applying power on the down stroke.

After riding the sand you hit a patch of harder stuff followed by sand that 90% had to run. Then you emerge onto a super steep climb that takes you directly to the top of the park with only one short off camber respite from the double digit grade gravel and grass climb. When you get here you are absolutely gassed. Then a series of downhill, off camber turn, stupid steep uphill short flat to the next downhill, repeat turns. The downhills give you a moment to catch your breath and then another series of tight switchbacks lets you practice your tight turning skills. This final series seems about half a league long.

After crossing the start finish line, the sand looms ahead like a debt that cannot be escaped.

I got the call up to the first row. This was the first time I have been in the first row as a result of call ups. For reasons I don’t fully understand our first lap was in fact a half lap with a detour that took us through the first fifty meters of sand and then turned around and caught the end of the sand section on the last half of the lap. To my udder amazement I got the hole shot as we hit the sand. While all are equal in the sand, some are more equal than others. I soon was about tenth as we started riding the menacing hills. Out of the saddle I fought to hold my position and improve it when I could. I did okay on the steep downs and ups and was still about tenth as we hit the sand on the second lap. I rode most of the sand on the second lap and when I bailed I was able to keep my momentum up and moved up a bit through the sand. I tried to climb the loose stuff past the barrier and piled into the ivy. I lost a couple spots but then passed some who had just passed me. The Curtlo was awesome and went where I pointed it. I was a little too cautious and people would catch me on downhills, but I powered back on the climbs and flats. I felt whipped on the third lap, but pushed it on my final lap. I felt I was able to ride the tight stuff better by keeping my outside pedal weighted and just going for it.

I crossed the line 14th which is my season best among a field of 48 finishers. Unlike last week, I was able to speak after finishing. Last week I just wanted to climb into a warm dry sleeping bag and close my eyes. This week I found some post race food and put on some dry clothes and prepared to double up and do the single speed race.

I had changed out my front ring from a 34 to a 38 last week. Kevin was running a 38-20 and said it was the set up to have on this course. My 38-16 was clearly too high and this wasn’t the course to go high. I will revert back tonight. The single speed category is largely young studs that could mix it up with the CAT 1/2 guys. I feel every one of my fiddy years when I line up with those lads.

I rightfully start at the back of the SS race and as we hit the sand ten seconds after the start the carnage exploded in front of me. Sand, arms, feet, and wheels were flying everywhere. I bailed quickly and ran through the Omaha Beach scene and was “not last” as I like to say. The climbs were almost, but not quite, impossible in my high gear, and I held my own through the turns. I moved up a few places among the rear of the SS field and was passed by a couple of the CAT 1/2 Women. The 45+ Master 3 Men were likewise catching me after my ninety second lead was squandered by my slow pace. I took a tumble in the sand and managed to scrape my elbow, but I quickly got up and kept plugging. The sand was beginning to lose its luster and although I continued to do okay, the day was wearing on me. On the third of six laps, at the run up I got someone’s brake hood shoved into my right kidney. Since your power comes from your low back something that rarely enters into a Cyclocross racers mind darted into my stream of thought; reason. I began hoping for a “mercy” mechanical.

As I crossed the start/finish line I looked ahead at the sand section. It looked a mile long. I coasted into the sand and shouldered my bike. I already had a top fifteen finish on the day and was still recovering. My low back hurt where I got jabbed and I was tired. I decided that was enough for one day.

I brushed the sand off my elbow and noticed I was bleeding. My hip had also taken the classic bruise/scrape that is the “I fell on my side during a Cyclocross race today” badge of courage.

I cheered on my teammates and when the race was over I packed and headed home. I was tired, bruised and bloody. By the way, Tux was totally fascinated by my elbow smelling like blood. It was a good day and I am looking forward to the SSCXWC race next week.

SSCXWC 2010 Progress Report

With Cyclocross season in full swing, the chance to bring in some variety to the suffering is always welcome. With Hottie covering the past two editions of the Single Speed Cyclocross World Championships (SSCXWC) for Cyclocross Magazine and my annual race reports for CX Magazine, it has become a highlight on the annual racing calendar for both of us.

This year the race has moved to Seattle and I have been racing part time in the single speed category. At first glance one would think these two factors would help me. Alas, once again the SSCXWC has instituted a qualifying race, so my participation is clearly at risk. I have been finishing in the top 80% at my races. A similar placement in the qualifier would not advance me. I can only hope that bribery and treachery, as in years past, will be rewarded generously.

The single speed mindset is an amazing thing. On days when I have raced both my age division and the single speed events, my perspective shifts almost as soon as I cross the finish line of my age group race. The simplicity of Cyclocross is exacerbated by the single gear. I recall one SS brother who said he preferred to think of his bike as having infinite speeds, all achieved using one gear. Suddenly the complexity of gears and cables seems cumbersome and unnecessary. The choice of what gear to start off the race in disappears. Time spent selecting the right gear is instead spent pedaling. There is no need to ease off while your chain climbs or descends your cogs, you just keep cranking.

I still love my geared bike, but that isn’t the focus of this post.

I am considering my possible costume options. Knowing I will be photographed is a factor in that decision. Knowing that Hottie always slips a shot of me into her CX magazine submissions is also worth noting. The legs are getting in shape, I’ve dropped a few pounds. Although I don’t have any tattoos, piercings, or ratty facial hair, I can pretend to have the single speed mindset. I will be quick to condemn those who show up with white shoes or white kit, shaved legs or carbon frames.