Fox River Grove (reposted from verizoncyclingteam.com)

Photos

Although 86 guys showed up for Saturday’s Monsters of the Midway, apparently some Chicagoland racers were scared away by Sunday’s tough Fox River Grove race near a ski jump hill. Only 30 guys showed up to race Fox River Grove today, and since we had a nearly full squad the onus was on us to win. [The notable absentee was birthday boy Hogan Sills.]

With only 45 minutes of racing, Brian Dziewa of ABD lit it up from the gun and people were already going out the back. I rode pretty conservatively the first couple of laps, waiting for more and more people to fall off the pace. I was also feeling my efforts from the day before- mainly attacking all race but also the 50 mile round trip commute down to Hyde Park from Evanston.

Fortunately, as more riders went out the back my legs came around somewhat. By about halfway through the contest it was down to Freund, Sherer, myself plus Bryan McVey (Recycling) and some strong XXX dude [Dave Moyer], so we had pretty good odds. I was pretty confident that Mike would have the race locked up if we all went to the line together, but why risk it? The three of us started trading attacks and Ryan made a good dig with 3 or 4 laps to go that stuck for a while. However, a strong move by the XXX rider on the climb brought Ryan back so I hit out hard again. I was able to hold everyone off for the last two laps to win solo. Mike cleaned up 2nd behind for a nice Verizon 1-2.

Hopefully, this race was a sign of things to come with big races at Champaign and then Memorial Day coming up.

A huge thanks to our sponsors as my Madone felt really great on both the climb and descent today, and also thanks to everyone who was out there cheering for us on on the climb.

Will

PS

Great work to the rest of the NU riders out there. Ian "Too Pro" Murray completed his sweep of the weekend, winning his sprint by a huge margin (can you say, "time gap"?). Bryan and Andy looked strong on the climb as well. Axie battled hard for fourth in the women's open, and I hear Dane and Tommy and Eric (on his hot new Felt AR bike) did a great job in the 5's, though I got there too late to see it. And everybody was kind enough to stick around to cheer for me on the hill after their races were over- I appreciated the encouragement. So thanks, and let's keep representing NU cycling well as the summer continues!

The Track Laboratory

Tonight was opening night at the Northbrook Velodrome and reminded me that I love track cycling. The races tonight were a 10 lap scratch, Miss-n-Out, and a 10 lap points. The scratch race was effectively a super short criterium on crack. A swarming pack and flurries of attacks created a race where I was never sure if I was off the front or dragging the peloton. Eventually, the final lap saw me sprinting from a few bike lengths behind a Cat 2 flyer and not quite catching him whilst being thrown on the line up track. Getting 3rd sucks, but it seems to be a theme for me:

The second race was a Miss-n-Out, which is track for hating on people in the back of the group. And making you cry, but that's another story. I was recovering well from the short efforts, so I decided to play it safe and waste energy in the wind to ensure that I made it to the final 3. After Surfing the boards for the first 11 pulls, things got serious and I had to drop the hammer on fools. Unsurprisingly the top 3 from the scratch made the selection for the end of the race. With 1.5 laps to go I got an unintentional 10ft gap on the other two and decided to have a go. If either of them hesitated I'd be gone, but sadly they did not, and caught me in turn 4 for another agonizing 3rd place finish.

The last race was a two-sprint points race. I tried to establish a break early and failed, so I ended up with 5th in the first sprint and 3rd in the final for 4th overall. That was a pretty poor performance, but I still netted 3rd in the omnium for the night, which comes with upgrade and rider of the year points.

Racing at Northbrook is a great way to get in touch with your strengths and weaknesses. Tonight I learned that 450m is way too far for me to try and stick an attack. 250m is probably my best bet in a situation where I want to launch an early dig. Also, I was able to recover and re-attack very quickly relative to the rest of the field, so expect me to try and shatter monsters with some repeated efforts and counter-attacks. Those little moves are inconsequential for me, but force new people to the front to close the gaps and allows my teammates to sit on. This ensures that everyone is good and tired when I go to whip them in the sprint.

Anyway, I encourage everyone to get out there at some point.

Learning to Lose—Nationals RR

Virginia Woolf walks with rock filled pockets into a lake. She breathes no more air.

F. Scott Fitzgerald writes of unrequited love while nursing the drink. His heart stops beating suddenly.

Hemingway loads a gun. He pulls the trigger. Neurons fire no more.

And when Scott Rosenfield rides the Blue Mounds course, his dreams are dashed.

Were this any other race and were the results any different than they are, this would be an exaggeration—the emotional writings of a boy too close to the action to write objectively. But it’s neither an exaggeration

nor a fiction. For today, Spider Monkey threw his bike in rage. And Will pulled out. Clearly, all is not well in a world filled with suffering and madness.

But certain races require suffering. In order to achieve victory, one must be willing to lose all. Not metaphorically, but actually.

One must walk up to George Hincapie with open eyes and say, “I grant you my body and soul.” He will laugh, possibly shed a tear, certainly flex a varicose-vein-ridden calf out of habit and say, “Are you really willing to do all of that?” You will say yes. He will smile crookedly. And if you win—another part of your soul will be forever lost, consumed by the great GH.

And at Blue Mounds, suffering is requisite for mere completion. To cross the finish line without the abscess of a DNF, one must be wanting to suffer and be yearning to bleed. You must watch with glee as your own soul evaporates before your eyes.

Today, it was clear who was heartless and who fancied himself a man with soul and morals. As the road tilted down in rain and gravel to explode up in steepness and pain, the few who had paid their dues road away.

As they—they tormented but weightless—moved up, we moved back. There was no denying it. We were unwilling to suffer the suffering that victory, even mere completion required. There were no excuses.

An exploded shifter cable and slowly leaking front flat—neither an excuse, but the work of a GH rendering judgment from on high. If my steerer tube must sheer, He says, you will flat and your cable will certainly break, too.

GH is an uncompromising god. He has no mercy. There is only cold logic. But it’s a logic with rewards great and understandable. The rule is simple: If you are unwilling to hurt, He will be unwilling to grant you victory. And if you are willing to hurt, He will throw in bad luck just because.

So tonight, I do not march toward the lake or drink or pull the trigger. I laugh—for I understand His game.

Postscript—Yeah, it's more than a bit too emotional, but it was written right after my race and the emotion carries some currency, I think.

The Fog of War

Often, bike racing is compared to war. And the similarities are real: In both, bodies become mangled, men and women lose all respect for health and decency, and one’s true character is revealed through the juxtaposition of misery and ecstasy. There is no hiding from yourself at the conclusion of a stage race in a foreign country. Similarly, there is no denying your identity after a tour of duty.

Sadly, the comparison has become cliched. As Orwell would say, it has lost its utility. Yes, we know bike racing is tough. But war, I would think, is far tougher. Between an IED and a pothole, I know of no one who would choose the latter.

Despite this, I could not help but thinking in terms of conflict as I lined up to start the Fat & Skinny Tire Festival Cat 3 RR (FS). When Will and I exchanged hugs and salutations on the start-line, I imagined myself being waved off, departing on some large ship for Europe or the East. I knew I had six laps (what, six months?) ahead of me. Oddly, I really didn’t care to win, but I didn’t really feel like losing. Vietnam War redux, anyone?

In all seriousness, USCF racing teaches the glory of collegiate racing. The rain soaked regionals at Purdue where I crashed and missed the break on alternating days was far more satisfying than my victory at the FS. Why?

Well, it all begins with the drive. Heading to a collegiate race begins with running late, stuffing far too many bodies and bikes into far too few cars; heading off with the music blasting and the camera’s flash firing (unless it’s my camera).

Then there’s the hotel–at which we arrive no earlier than 2 a.m. We sleep two or three to a bed. We have no Maginot Line, we have “protection pillows.” And we wake up at 5 a.m. Sleep—screw that.

As we eat the invariably shitty complimentary breakfast and watch both the rain and mercury fall, we laugh. Loading the cars, we scream and bicker—all in love.

And then the racing. Our D-Graders go first. And we cheer. But this isn’t the tame USCF “Go, Jared, go” cheering. This is Scott dressed in a frumpy one-piece swimsuit, wearing pink tights, jumping up and down, screaming “attack, Redbeard, attack,” thrashing his head and throwing objects into the field—in torrential downpour.

Following the D-Graders and the womens, we race. And As racing is what real racing should be. At it’s best, it’s fast, hard, and safe. There is no BS. Everyone knows each other and the pain flows as freely as the love. Watch Brandt bunny hop a mailbox, listen to the gravel as TK rides on the opposite lane's shoulder, see Spider Monkey attack through the ditch after missing his start... it’s all good.

After the race, some disaster warrants a WallMart run. But we procrastinate: Snack (at Panera), shower (all at once, naturally), eat dinner (at some crappy Italian place) and then head to the Arkansas cancer hub. Invariably, we’ll run into another team playing WallMart bingo. We’ll converse for a bit, buy our supplies and then head home to pow-wow and enjoy a few short hours of sweaty sleep.

When we wake, Saturday repeats itself—except in better dress and with far more insanity. Generally, we break into the Marian Bus (the Death Star), fraternize with the officials (we love you, Andrew) and pester the other riders. It’s all part of the grand plan. (This does not even include—for lack of space and out of deep respect—the drive home or interacting with Sinead.)

So compare this to USCF racing. You wake up—in your own bed. You drive to the race—all solemn and lonely. You cheer on your teammate—and get yelled at for actually showing emotion. The racing is boring—people obey the yellow line. You win (or lose). You drive home—usually richer, but depressed.

Is there any wonder that I’m crying to close the collegiate season?

Rosie

Searching for Indiana

At 2:30 PM today, Nate Harner and I (Joe Hooker) met at Kellogg to go on a ride together. Seeing as no one else came for our Ft. Sheridan ride, we decided whimsically to ride into Chicago via the Lakefront Trail. While we were headed south on Sheridan Road to get to the trail, a lady swings her car in front of us without looking. Nate confronts the lady at the next light, and she apologizes. Hopefully she'll be more cautious next time.

We get to the trail. 5 minute pulls each at a moderately brisk pace. The wind forces us into an echelon-esque formation as we traverse The Windy City. We arrive at the golf course south of the city - the very same place where we rode to and turned around a few weeks ago. This time, we decided to venture forth.

I asked a man approaching us on his bike if there is a good road to get to Indiana. He pointed to the road in front of us and said that it had a great bike lane and it led to a trail that goes to Indiana. The bike lane was lined with potholes, forcing us into the car lane, and the bike path was across an impassable drawbridge.

So with the help of the iPhone, we improvised. Immediately, we decided I90 wasn't the best road to take. An apple and a Clif bar later, we decided on a road going in the same direction as the highway. After a few miles, we ended up on a mainstream road that ran below and to the side of I90. Ahead, we spotted a Welcome to Indiana side. We needed a picture (i.e. evidence of our trip), so we pulled into the parking lot of KFC.

Before going over to the sign, I went into KFC to fill up our water bottles. I open the door to laughter that awkwardly stops as soon as I step in. I guess a purple polka-dotted cycling kit is a little out of place in South Chicago... I fill the bottles up with ice and water and flaunted my school colors on the way out.

Nate and I make our way over to the Welcome to Indiana sign:

Standing in front of the sign was more than a photo op - we realized just how far away from campus we really were. We made it to another state. At this point, we talked about riding up to Wisconsin some day soon. After adequately relishing in the moment, we decided it was time to head back.

Following signs to the Lakefront Trail, we ended up on a rock trail lined with shattered glass and adjacent to train tracks. "Cyclocross practice," we thought aloud. The collective two tubes that we brought now didn't seem to be enough. Surely we would each get multiple flats on this surface. Somehow, our tires prevailed.

We got back onto the Lakefront Trail, where we again exchanged pulls, dodging all of the obstacles on the overcrowded trail: bikers, runners, rollerbladers, walkers, carriages, etc. At this point, we decided to stop at Navy Pier for some food. We both got tuna salad sandwiches from a Deli shop at the Navy Pier food court. Tasty and filling on the spot, but queasy and regretful for the remaining 12 miles of our ride.

We eventually got back to campus. 65 miles, 3 hours & 20 minutes, and a great ride.

Circuit of Sauk

Cross post from my xXx report:

4/5 racing may be the lowest category at most road races, but that by no means makes it easy. Going into the Circuit of Sauk, I’d been racing collegiate for 2 months and seen my form develop as I ascended from Cat C (4) to B (3/4) and finally the last four race weekends where I raced in the A category (1/2/3). I was one of only 2 Cat 4 riders in the A field, but managed to finish 18th-40th in fields of about 60. During the races I was able to mark attacks and get in breakaways and never felt in danger of being dropped. Naturally, mixing it up with the caliber of riders in the A fields gave me a tremendous amount of confidence going into my first USAC race of the season today.

xXx had a good contingent on the start line with Matt, Patrick and William, but we didn’t really talk about a team strategy for the day (it’s hard when you’re not sure how strong everyone is). Ultimately, the Circuit of Sauk is fairly straightforward. Don’t get dropped on the climb and protect yourself well in the crosswinds. You have to stay as far to the front as possible not to get caught behind fading riders. Just my luck, I see a neon jersey roll up right before the start. It’s Tony Damhoff, the other Cat 4 in collegiate A, and he’s stronger than I am on the hills (F!). We banter a bit before the neutral roll out and I introduce the field to his collegiate nickname, the swamp monster (he crashed into a mud pit and rode the remainder of the race covered in mud).

The race official explained that we’d be neutral until the first corner before the climb, but Tony apparently didn’t hear that and attacked the roll out. There was a lot of head scratching in the field and for some reason the pace car driver sped up to 35. I tried to yell at Tony, but he was too far away by that point, so I let the field know that I’d bridge and tell him to come back. I got within shouting distance a few hundred meters from the corner, so that was a nice waste of energy before the climb.

With the field together, I hit the first ascent second wheel but was quickly swarmed by Tony and a few remarkably strong riders. I battled to maintain contact over the top and thought to myself, “what is going on?!?”. Climbing isn’t really my thing, but I figured that I had most of the field out-gunned. At this point, I had to adjust my plan and opt for a more conservative race of marking wheels and staying out of the wind instead of attacking the second, smaller climb as I had planned (boring). As it turns out, there were some really good descenders in that field as well, so I bet on a bunch sprint at the end regardless.

True to form, about 1/3 of the original field came to the line together. I got boxed in for the start of the sprint by some questionable yellow line riding, but at 200m to go the road opened up and I started picking off riders. Damhoff led a train of people up the right side, but neither of his two followers could come around his sprint. I was closing hard on them, but ran out of space before I could throw the 3rd place guy on the line. If the swamp monster had stayed home, I think I might have taken the sprint, but that’s bike racing.

4th place netted me my entry fee and it came with a big helping of knowledge. 4/5 racing is not much slower than 3 racing, which is not much slower than 1/2 racing. I’d been racing with 1’s and 2’s for a month, but still could not control the race. It’s never a good idea to roll up to a start thinking that you’re a sure thing because there will always be other sandbaggers out to eat your lunch. It’s unfortunate that it works like this because it creates a sizable barrier to overcome for newcomers to the sport. I’d imagine that almost every person in that field was seriously training 4-5 days/week. It might be worth making a cat 6 with races that are prize-less and cheaper to enter so that people don’t get discouraged by being destroyed in races like the one yesterday (you could also have a one-and-done, win=upgrade to 5 policy to ensure that everyone has a shot). I’m moving up to 3 after Snake Alley later this month, but hopefully I’ll be able to get a win before that happens.