So, I did what anyone else would do and signed up for a crit with a 100 foot climb every lap.

A bit of back story here.. I’d actually pre-registered to race monsters of the midway today.  It’s a nice flat oval with only one real significant turn in it, almost tailor made for a bigger guy like myself.  However, I’d heard some rumblings about this race, and that XXX has won the cat 4 race two years in a row, so I thought it’d be a pity if we didn’t even show up to defend our title.

Fortunately, I wasn’t alone in the race.  I rode up with Ben O’Malley - one of our ultra-light climbing juniors, and Nick V was at the race as well when we rolled up.  This was good, as I’d seen Ben in action at camp when it came to going up, and he’d had some good results in races with climbs recently.  Nick was our climber on back side of the wall day, so I was starting this race optimistic.

The start of the race faces up the second part of the stair step climb.  It’s quite literally an uphill race start.  I knew we were racing for 40 minutes, and started doing the math in my head as we stood there awaiting the whistle.  I’d done one warm up lap as hard as I could to get the lap time, which was a bit under 3 minutes when I did it.  So, we were looking at 13 or 14 laps.  That meant that I only had to get up this little hill at most 14 times, and I was good to go.

Lap 1.  The whistle goes, and I’m in the second row.  Perhaps because it was uphill, many racers, myself included, bumbled the clip in a bit.  I got it sorted long before the guy ahead of me did, and charged up the hill to settle in 10-12 wheels.  At the crest of the hill almost immediately the road levels off for a moment, then heads downhill into the single turn of the race.  A very wide, slightly rough right hander that could be taken at full speed.  We of course did not take it at full speed lap one, as I think some of the guys were a little afraid of that turn until they got comfortable.  As we reached the start/finish, I was in about 3rd wheel…

Lap 2. Which is where from experience I know I need to be if there’s a climb.  I’m going to move backwards on every hill.  It’s a given.  Now, if I move backwards from 3rd wheel, to mid pack, I haven’t lost much in the way of position, but if I move backwards from the back of the pack, I’ll be chasing on when the group accelerates at the top.  That’s bad.  So, reading reports from years past, I know that both Will P and Ryan F have won this race on the downhill, somehow.  I decide to see what the deal is with this, and take a flier as hard as I can.  Which gets me about a foot on the pack.  No, there’s no breaking off today - this race is going to end together.  This pack isn’t letting anyone go, so further attacks may not be a great idea.  One thing this does do though, is put us through the turn at the full speed I want to.  Perhaps this woke the rest of the pack up, because we wouldn’t have too many more slow downs into the turn for the rest of the race.

Lap 3.  Now I hurt a little.  That attack wasn’t the smartest thing I could have done.  The lap counter still isn’t set, so I have no clue how many more times I have to get up this hill.  I drift back a little far for my liking and get back on the group on the downhill.

Laps 4-6. The race settles into a groove here.  It’s go hard up the climb, coast, go hard down the hill, slow, turn, fight back up to the front,  move backwards, fight up to the front on the rest of the lap.  It’s starting to get ugly when I climb the hill.

Lap 7.  Lap counter is in action now.  7 to go as we cross the line.  So it’s going to be 13 laps.  The fact that I have one less lap to climb makes me happy.  I begin to start talking to myself in my head.  7 more times Bill, you only have to get up this thing 7 more times.

Lap 8. Six more times Bill, you only have to get up this thing 6 more times.

Lap 9. Five more times Bill, you only have to get up this thing 5 more times.

Lap 10. Four more times Bill, you only have to get up this thing 4 more times.

Lap 11. Three more times Bill, you only have to get up this thing 3 more.. Crap, too far back, move up again or you’re doing this for nothing.  Where’s my team?  Nick doesn’t look happy, but Ben’s 5th wheel.  Move up to talk to him.  “When are you gonna go, Ben?”  “I’m not strong enough to go.”  Ok, then I suppose I’ve just become the de facto sprint finisher for the team.  I start to hope it’s going to slow up as the final laps start.

Lap 12. Two to go.  Noone’s attacking.  The field wants this to end in a sprint.  I’m feeling better going up this hill at this speed.  Contrary to every other crit I’ve done, I know I want to be first wheel across the start / finish (for the reasons mentioned above).

Lap 13.  This is it, last time up this thing.  And it’s a charge.  The climbers have let loose, the sprinters are moving up with all they’ve got, and I’m.. going backwards.  It’s ok though.  Don’t panic.  This is why you wanted to be first into this lap.  You’ve heard rumblings from wisconsin teams to each other about first one out of that turn is the winner.  You know they are wrong.  It’s 600 meters from that final turn, on very wide, open roads.  Noone is going to take that to the line in this race.  Not when it’s flat for 450 meters of it.  You’re safe letting them fight this out to the corner.  And they do.  We overtake some dropped riders through the corner and up front I see panic and chaos.  That’s not my fight though, It’s not my fight until.. now.  After the last corner I start my long slow rev up to speed.  I’m heavy, and my sprint is not what anyone would call explosive, but give me a long enough launch pad with enough room to move, and I can hit 40 mph in a straight no problem.  37 today.  I moved from near last and overtook all but one man in the field.  I feel like a rocket amongst firecrackers for a brief moment.  You’ve all made the mistake of giving me time to get going, and now I’m going to win.  Well, except for this UofW rider who’s done the same thing and I can’t hold his wheel.  Crap.  Oh, and look at that, my legs aren’t really responding to my commands anymore.  That’s because we’re going up now.  Another guy sprints past.  I’m overgeared for this, but if I stop fighting and shift, I won’t have a chance at the top ten.  I muscle through and mash my way to a photo finish bike throw for third place.  My legs nearly completely give way as we cross the line, but I don’t want to be that guy who causes a wreck in front of the field, so I push it far enough to get half way up the hill and then the glorious downshift to get the searing pain to go away.  I audibly grunt when I can finally let up. 

And I’ll take third, happily.  I put my 180 pound behind up that hill 13 times, and while I couldn’t hold our streak, at least we can say we’ve been on the podium three years running in this race.  This race ended playing textbook into my strengths, and made me fight it every single lap.  I hit 193bpm in the sprint, which is apparently a new max heartrate for me by a beat.  I’m not sure I would do anything different, other than maybe going one gear lower in the final sprint, but then, that might have put me further back anyway.  I exploded at the finish, so I can’t say I had anything else to give that race.  Perhaps being mid pack instead of rear pack when I started winding up?  Probably would have just led someone out then.  Anyway, that’s Bike Racin, as Luke would say. And Bike Racin is fun.

My first experience at Leland was in 2011 – the year of legend.  When people were freezing to their bikes, and polar bears were attacking, and all that.  I shouldn’t joke, the conditions really were dangerous and awful, but luckily I went early in the morning before the temps really dropped and the sleet started.  I just had to contend with the gravel-paste, the nice clay we had to bike through for 40% of the race.  It was freezing, windy, cold and I hate gravel of any kind, but it was a real mental win for me last year when I powered through it, a lot of it alone, and finished 5th.  And I had a really good time in the process for some reason, so I had been looking forward to returning this year.

You know when you just feel it – those days that you are on, and everything goes perfectly, and you know you’re invincible?  That wasn’t today.  The previous week I had spent dealing with my swollen Popeye arm (what some people were calling it, sigh) from my Hillsboro crash, as well as two business trips in 3 days.  I was absolutely exhausted when I got home Friday, and when the alarm went off Saturday morning before the sun even came up, the negative thoughts started creeping into my head: “you’re a crit racer, and this is a gravel road race – what are you doing?”

For those who don’t know Leland, it is a 25K flat course with 3 significant gravel sections.  That plus the winds almost guarantee that the race will absolutely shatter.  My race would consist of two laps of this and then a left turn down a long stretch to the finish. We got there nice and early and conditions were dry, chilly and windy.  But it was sunny, and that almost seemed too nice for the battle ahead.  I was just happy the gravel was dry.  I had volunteered to take Tamara’s registration spot since she was still injured, and she was sending me the ever encouraging texts that I could eat this gravel for breakfast.  We saw Ellen (our newest cat 3, hooray!) off in the W1/2/3 race, and then I went back to my car still completely confused about what to wear.  I didn’t want to freeze, but I didn’t want to overheat either, and settled on just a jersey, arm warmers and vest.  Not going to lie, my warm up consisted of me riding around in the parking lot for about 5 minutes, I just wasn’t feeling it.  My plan was to camp out near the front but not on the front, and just keep my eyes open.  This race can blow up in mere seconds.

We took off and were neutralized down the sprint stretch approaching the start of the lap, as groups from earlier races were coming around and they wanted to safely merge us in.  Once on course, our lead car honked once to signify the start of racing, and the fun began.  This was not Hillsboro – people were on the far side of the road in the other lane, ignoring the center line and trying to charge ahead.  On top of that, things were a lot more physical in the pack.  Moving all over the place fighting for positions, and I was on full defense mode protecting my bars like Randy teaches in skills clinics; exchanging some elbows and shoulders. This was enough to make up my mind that I would happily burn a match or two to get into that first gravel section near the front of the pack, not to attack but just for safety.  Until then, I was quite content to move near the outside and grab Kristi Hanson’s wheel, a solid Spidermonkey who I know and trust as I couldn’t find Jess and Sandra in the chaos. 

We had a few attacks, one strong one coming from Eleanor Blick, and I took off to go with her.  We made a turn and both soon realized that what we thought was the start of the gravel section was actually farther down the course.  She had the same plan as I – get to that gravel first.  We tried to compare notes before getting lost in the pack, and a mile or so later, I started to recognize the course and knew exactly where we were.  No time to mess around - I took off as hard as I could, only looking back once to see if everyone came with.  I felt a wave of relief as I realized I was going to hit that gravel first, and thus could choose my line and my speed going in.

I hit the gravel and tried to steady myself.  Gritting my teeth and trying not to stiffen up too much, I was cursing myself for choosing a shaky gravel race for my first race back after a crash.  Ok, just breathe, keep going, this isn’t so bad.  I was wondering how our resident cyclocross champion Sandra was doing behind me, and didn’t have to wait long to find out.  People always seem to advise that the key to winning Leland is being first into the gravel.  I’m sure that is true 99% of the time.  I was pretty pleased with myself for being first in until the entire contingent of the Chicago Cross Cup blew by me.  “Freaking cross racers!” I thought in my head, and tried to pedal faster.  Ellie, who I am learning this year to be one of the nicest people in bike racing, cheered as she zoomed by “great job Sue! Keep it up!”  Sigh.  Doing a little evaluation, I realized I was seriously feeling not well and started worrying that I wouldn’t be able to even finish this race with the pack.  Trying to shove those thoughts aside, I transported myself back to Gapers when I thought I was completely done and then still managed to pull off numerous attacks and a crazy sprint, and kept forcing myself to keep up.  When you don’t think you can go on – you can.  So do it.

That section of gravel seemed to go on FOREVER.  I was getting so tired of it when we finally hit pavement.  Thank goodness, I quickly got back into my normal position near the front and found we still had a great deal of people with us.  I overheard Ellie saying that she thought the third section of gravel would have a tailwind, and that would be the place to attack.  Most of the attacks were either dying out on their own or being caught.  We hit the second gravel section in what seemed to me like only moments after we left the first, and this time I noticed had a strong tailwind pushing us along.  I made note of that too, and quickly looked for Ellie, curious if she would attack here.  Back on the pavement, we were a bit more strung out and then it was into the third gravel section.  I was about 8 or 9 wheels back, and we were all in a line.  There wasn’t a tailwind, but I looked up and saw the front girls charging away.  And the girl in front of me, who had kept up the rest of the time, started letting a large gap open.  I sat there a few more seconds seeing if the attack would die, and of course it didn’t.  Reality hit me like the Hillsboro pavement – this is it.  That is the break, and you are being dropped.  You now either dig deep and put in everything you’ve got to catch those girls, or you will be racing for scraps.  And I charged.

I chased the rest of the gravel section.  I saw people falling off, I felt my legs burning, but I kept going, carefully picking my way around exhausted riders.  We finally hit pavement, and to the lead ladies’ credit, they did not slow down.  Neither did I, and I just kept fighting and fighting both physically and mentally.  I kept telling myself just GET there, get there, and you can rest, and enjoy a draft, and it will be ok, and for as close as I was, I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it.  But I refused to give up and put in another hard effort, and I suddenly found myself at the back of the four remaining attackers, and what riders at that. 

Eleanor Blick, who won the Gapers overall and who I’ve spent time with in a break before.  Excellent.  Kristi Hanson again, a strong rider who definitely knows the way of the rotating paceline.  Christina Peck, who I don’t have much experience racing with but I know she is well respected in the Cat 4 peloton, and Mara Baltabos, probably an unknown rider to most of the Cat 4 group but who I have lots of experience with as we battled for the overall at Fall Fling last year.  She is solid, and that girl has NO fear of sitting on the front of a group driving the pace.  I could not have had better breakmates and looking over my shoulder, knew that if we organized, there was no way we would be caught.  Kristi vocalized this immediately and called us to a rotating paceline to take quick strong pulls and then recover.  No matter what the experience level in our little break, everyone picked up on it quickly and we worked extremely well together as we started lap #2.

In the gravel sections, completely unplanned, we worked out a nice little system where someone would take a long pull at the front, drop off to the left into area a bit more compacted from the left tires of car traffic, and move back over to get in back.  I know bike racing can be so strange, where you work together with these wonderful people just to know you’re eventually going to have to turn on them to try to win, but we were a pretty cohesive unit.  I think everyone was just happy to have the teamwork getting us through the race, and it was further improved when a strong junior named Carson joined our paceline (we could work together because we started at the same time).  He was with us for a while and then took off in the third gravel section, and I was curious to see if anyone would go with him, but we all stuck together, content with the company and worn out.  I started mentally talking myself up for what was to come: this was going to be a sprint, and I like sprinting, and if I position myself right…

Approaching the final turn where confusion has happened in the past, Mara was on the front.  I thought this might be her first time racing Leland, and yelled “Mara, go left” as some riders make the right to go back into the feed zone and do another lap.  I believe she rotated off as we turned and I prepared for pain, but no one went yet as we were still far away.  I was either 4th or 5th, and it was perfect – exactly where I wanted to be.  I stayed close and Christina was on the front, not wanting to be there but none of us would go around.  She kept waiting, and waiting, and we all were waiting and waiting, and I could see the two little neon orange dots in the distance that were the parking cones on each side of the finish line slowly getting bigger.  Patience…steady…in the drops…

The next part happened so fast, and it was just instinct taking over.  Christina went into the drops, and as I expected, Mara came flying past me all out, causing Christina to really drop the hammer.  I was ready for this and jumped on Mara’s wheel, and then it was a blur. I can’t remember exactly but I remember the cones, I remember the line, and I remember thinking – it’s a ways out still, but you must go NOW.  I stood up and went around, and just kept going as hard as I could.  I was waiting to sense someone on either side of me, but I didn’t, and the line was still getting closer.  In my all-out effort, all I could focus on was that line, and getting to it, drowning out everything else around me.  In the final seconds, I remember thinking “I might just pull this off” when I saw motion to the right of me as Ellie pulled into sight.  NO! Just…a few more…AUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGHHHH.  I was actually yelling from the effort at this point, and knew a bike throw could be crucial, and next thing I know I crossed the line.  First, by about half a bike length.  There were a few seconds of absolute shock and disbelief “I did NOT just win LELAND?!?” and then suddenly it hit me.  Screaming at the top of my lungs, fist pumping down that entire stretch, almost tearing up from sheer emotion.  Normally the first thing I do after the finish line is look for my teammates, or my breakmates, and congratulate everyone, but today, I took a liiiittle extra time for myself to shout like a crazy person down that long stretch. Then I stopped, turned, and the five of us met for congratulatory high fives and appreciation of all the hard work everyone did during the race.  It was finally starting to sink in when Sandra came barreling across the finish line not too far behind us, and asked how I did, and I just raised one finger.  She looked at me and more screaming commenced. 

Of course Tamara was the first person I called to let her know I did her registration spot proud, and it was so fantastic to spend the rest of the morning celebrating with all the xXx men and women who braved Leland, as well as get our traditional women’s team group victory photo after the podium.  Leland is such a fantastic and unique race that everyone should experience.  I may always hate gravel, but I will always love Leland.

It rained, it poured, it was cold and it was muddy.  Oh the mud, we all had so much fun in the mud.  Highlights-  I passed a man in the first lap, that is always the true highlight of my races, how many men did I pass?  I also made a racket of noise with my bike, clickity clack but no shifting, oops

Oh I almost forgot , Don Edberg got me a present, he shouldn’t have.
No really, he should NOT have, but non the less I got a medal and the 5th podium spot in my age group (5/6 age group 10/21 overall)

My next party will be June 17 in Rockdale, WI.  WORS#4

Arriving at 9 am, I had plenty of time to pick up my number and pre-ride the course.  After picking up my registration stuff, I headed back to the car to kit up. To my surprise I heard my name being called and met two other xXx members behind me. They introduced themselves to me as Mark and John. Great guys! Very encouraging and made me feel like part of the team already!

The three of us headed out to check out the course. The trails were a little slick but firm. Not bad at all. My legs were getting warmed up and my nerves calmed a bit. Also, made me feel good to hear the nice compliments from the guys behind me on my riding style. Thanks, guys!

So, we went to line up for the CAT-3 race when the heavens decided to open up. Heavy downpours with pretty intense lightning postponed the start for about a half hour. We all huddled under one of the picnic shelters until the rain let up. They called us to the start. Seriously? After all of that rain? Anyway, in my haste, I left my riding glasses and gloves on the picnic table. Stupid. I realized it about 30 seconds before the women’s division started.  Oh well, live an learn.

There were about 10 women total, all over 30 years old. We started behind the men’s Cat 3s. All I kept thinking was how bad the trails were going to be. I was right.

The first lap consisted of a lot of stops as people were piling up in the corners and walking the hills. I got past the slower mens riders (who started a minute ahead of us) and finally got some open space. Man, was it slick out there!  I caught the first two girls ahead of me and stayed on their wheels for the first half of the race.

Then lap 2 happened. As I was descending into the rock garden across the creek, my wheel slipped to the left and I nailed a log and performed a lovely dismount over the bars.  After pulling the weeds out of my bike and myself, I realized my bars were twisted to the left. I yanked the bars back in place and tried to get up the hill but my drivetrain was so caked in mud, I couldn’t shift! Great. Meanwhile the number 4 rider passed me. After slipping and sliding on foot up the hill, I attempted to clean out the mess that was my drivetrain. I managed to finally get it shifting and it cleared out a bit. Lap 2 almost complete and I was thinking “I have to do that again???” 

I sucked it up and pushed on to the grass flats near the start, passing the rider who had passed me earlier.  One more lap. I can do this. By this time, the field had spread out and I had clear riding ahead and behind me. My goal at that point was to make it through without another wipeout. Smooth and steady was tough with 6” ruts and roots and rocks slippery as ice. I made the turn out of the singletrack and saw the finish line. Hallelujah.  I pushed forward, keeping a steady pace as I noticed there wasn’t anyone around me. Finish line. Yay.  What a mess!

Mud was caked into every part of my bike and me as well!  Mark told me I finished 3rd which made my day.  Found out later that only 5 of us finished on the lead lap. Several DNFs and the other riders who were almost a lap down completed only 2 laps.

This was a race that taught me to persevere and not give up. I so wanted to stop after that second lap but I think wearing the xXx kit gave me that extra incentive to finish.

All in all, I’m very happy with my 3rd place result! 

I’m not sure if the mud is ever going to come out of my kit, but we’ll see.

Special thanks to Ken, Mark and John!  Glad to meet some teammates!

Brenda Culver

All these things I collected in my little mental suitcase, and perhaps because of that, went into Hillsboro calm as ever.  We had, no doubt in my mind, the firepower to podium this race, if not win it.  My goal going in was to work with the girls to keep this race under control, deliver Ellen safely to that final hill, and let her do what she does best – climb like a goat and win races.  I was hoping I could hang in there and grab some upgrade points for myself in the process, but Ellen on that podium was my target.

Target #2 quickly became to safely survive the conditions.  We spent the night in Litchfield listening to the thunder and hearing the rain pound down on the hotel windows.  I slept unconcerned, figuring “good, it will get it out of its system and clear up for the morning”.  No luck.  It was a complete downpour until after 1pm.  I knew everyone was a bit jittery, especially about wet cobbles, so I made sure to ride them in my warm up and test out how slick things were.  I heard them announce the 10 minute warning and call the Women’s 4 field to the line.  I was heading up the stretch to the line when something just felt wrong.  “Oh no, I think I’ve got a flat” and jumped off my bike to find a half full rear tire.  Awesome.

I ran up to the line, grabbed an official to let them know I was going to change it (in under 5 minutes, of course) and was immediately swarmed by teammates.  I know I always say I’ve got the greatest teammates in the world, but it’s times like these when these ladies continue to go above and beyond.  Meg grabbed my bike and started reassuring me I had plenty of time, no worries.  As I pulled the back wheel off, I felt a tap on my shoulder from another official: “Excuse me, where is your time chip? Did you not get one?”  Oh yeah, my time chip.  Which should be around my ankle but is actually back in my car.  D’OH.  I had a sudden flash of doubt that I could pull this off, and no, I couldn’t.  But a team of awesome people could!  Immediately Jess took my bike, Meg grabbed my wheel and instructed me to go get my chip, they would handle the flat.  By the time I charged back to my car, got my chip, and ran back, Meg was finishing getting the tire back on my wheel and with a quick CO2 inflate, I was back in business.  Timing chip on and the official gave me a pat on the back and said “relax, catch your breath, a minute to start”.  We did a quick check of where our other ladies were, and I was thrilled to see Ellen in the first row, right next to Daphne K from Cuttin’ Crew.  Without knowing the locals, I would have put money on that being the 1-2 of the race. 

We took off, and I had to smile as I already heard Meg expertly yelling commands from behind me, telling me to get up the side and get in position (near the front).  Which I did.  The pack as a whole did a great job of following the center line rule, something that was not the case last year, and communicating about turns and trying to keep everyone safe.  Within the first two miles, I kept moving up, then saw the familiar red and black in the first spot and knew it was time to do my job.  I let Ellen know I was coming to the front and advised her to stay on my wheel and let me take the wind.  She replied laughing “I know, I know…but I’m restless!!”  I looked down at my computer and started thinking….3 miles in…could she do 26 miles herself?  YES, I have no doubt, but we wanted to make sure she was as rested as possible as there were some talented ladies in our midst.  Just take it easy, patience, wait for the right time and right breakmates.  Not yet.

I spent a lot of time at the front, just drilling away, thinking about all the time I was in the same position at Gapers and how I knew I could do this.  I knew people were going to sit in the whole race, and they’d probably get to the sprint a lot more rested than me, but we HAD to protect our teammate.  Sandra joined me near the front and we started plotting and actually got Ellen and Daphne a bit of a gap with some blocking until enough people decided to chase.  Again, once all together, I told Ellen to rest and recover.  It became apparent that everyone was quite content to let me pull, as even when I slowed to try and get a rest for myself, no one would come around.  So on the front I remained. There were a few attacks, and I was starting to wonder if this group of ladies would ever let a break go.  I finally went to the side of the road, knowing I would be useless to everyone if I couldn’t even hang on the whole race, and the pack went by.  I tucked myself in to rest a bit, and there was another surge from an attack.  I looked up to see black and red on the front again.  “ARGH, Ellen, I haven’t had enough time to rest!” I thought, but then saw it was Jess taking charge at the front!!  With Ellen close behind.  Man, I love racing with such a great team. 

The next big attack came from Katie Tomarelli, who took off like a missile with several strong girls.  “Ellen! GO!” but she was already on it! I smiled and watched as the group started getting a gap, and thought “this might be it”.  And then I noticed TWO pink jerseys in that group – both Daphne AND her strong teammate, Marie Snyder, both amazing track racers.  Flashback to Gapers – when Ellen was forced to sprint against two girls working together because I didn’t think I had it in me, and I just heard my brain say “NO, I will NOT leave Ellen to deal with this solo”.  I shot around the pack and chased as hard as I could, and approaching the group of about 7 girls, was screaming “GAP!  GAP!  KEEP THE PACE UP LADIES, STAY AWAY!” There was definitely suffering near the front, so I went up there and tried to pull as hard as I could.  “ROTATING PACE LINE!!  QUICK PULLS, C’MON!”  Sometimes I wonder if people get sick of me yelling in a race.  The girl who pulled after me dropped to the side, and next up: Ellen.  Who with her “strong pull” managed to ride us all off her wheel.  Even while struggling to keep up, I had to grin, she’s a beast.  Eventually the group caught, and we were back together, but slightly thinner in numbers.

The rest of the race went by pretty fast.  Marie Snyder took a long turn up front with Daphne on her wheel and put in some impressive efforts.  I had already told Ellen that if we were with her at the end, we’d do our best to lead her out.  If we weren’t with her at the end, she needed to stick to Daphne like glue as I assumed that would be her best lead out. 

I finally looked ahead and saw that huge climb approaching.  Happy knowing it was near the end of the race, happy we had gotten Ellen safely there, happy Sandra was close by me and I knew she was anxious to attack that hill too.  Without hesitation, Ellen took off, drawing a few other girls with her and the rest of us chasing.

I couldn’t stay with that group but settled in with the fallen riders behind and started gaining spots on the hill.  I wasn’t too worried as another big piece I learned at Gapers is that I’m starting to have confidence in my sprint and can make up a lot of spots in a short time.  That was what I was banking on; unfortunately I didn’t have the chance.  We were all beyond soaked at this point and the rain still hadn’t stopped.  Approaching a 90 degree left turn, I heard the rider on my left start yelling in panic and I called out “you’re fine!” as we turned into it.  She was heading in a diagonal line over to my side of the road. I think in normal conditions she could have saved it but not today.  BOOM.  She went down hard right in front of me and in the seconds before impact, the two thoughts going through my head were “oh no, I’m going to crash, there’s no avoiding this” and then “oh NO, I’m going to run RIGHT OVER HER”.  And I did.

My left forearm took the full impact onto the pavement, followed by my shoulder and then a loud thud of my head.  I have to credit my college volleyball career as diving and rolling is second nature to me, and I still don’t know how I didn’t break anything (besides my helmet).  I was completely shocked and could hardly focus on anything but the pain in my arm, but our bikes had gotten tangled and as we were trying to get them free, I saw several riders go by.  Finally the bikes were untangled, and after asking if I was ok, she took off.  I was SO frustrated that all my hard work had come down to this, and was in so much pain, that I didn’t know if I should throw in the towel and wait for help or continue on.  After doing a quick evaluation of the rest of my bones and my bike, I figured I needed to suck it up and get my tail to the finish, as there were still a lot of people who hadn’t gone by.  I quickly realized my arm was swelling and I couldn’t extend it to reach the bars, so it was a cautious one armed ride back to the finish, where I crossed the line 15th, still in the top half.  I made a beeline for the ambulance, and as they were patching me up, again, I was swarmed by my teammates who immediately sprang into action to help. I know crashing is part of bike racing, and I don’t have any others to compare it to, but I think this crash became a lot easier for me to handle when I learned my teammate took FIRST PLACE! Ellen never looked back in her attack, and when the others reached the top of the hill and attempted to recover, Ellen just kept charging.  All the way to the finish line, second place not even close.

So that was Hillsboro, and I am so thrilled for such a huge win for our women’s team!  Even more honored to be on a team with such awesome people on and off the bike.  Sandra, Meg, Jess, Ellen, April: THANK YOU so much for taking such great care of me after the race and making sure I was ok with dry clothes, food, good company, everything.  You girls are the best.

I decided to quit competing in triathlons after a couple of years and focus all of my energy on cycling.  I spent the entire winter of 2010-2011 on the trainer in preparation for my first season as a pure cyclist.  I watched Fabian Cancellara (like I assume all of you did as well) complete the Tour of Flanders-Paris Roubaix sweep about 20 times.  I can probably recite the entire 6 hours of commentary by Paul Sherwen and Phil Liggett from both races if you want me to.  The excitement of those races and the solo attacks from Cancellara sent chills down my spine every time I watched.  I think the reason those races intrigued me so much more than the Tour, Giro, or Vuelta was because the classics looked so familiar to me.  Granted I have never been on true cobblestone roads, but the flat countryside is where I’ve always trained and I enjoy it.  We Midwesterners embrace those classics races in Europe because we can relate to them so much better than the grand tours.  Don’t get me wrong, I love going out to Colorado for huge climbs like Mt. Evans and Vail Pass, but nothing really compares to racing on familiar terrain in front of friends and family.

So, fast-forward a year and a half to last Friday night.  I’ve had Hillsboro on my calendar since the middle of November as a race I wanted to do well in.  My training had been primarily focused on improving my endurance and being able to compete in these long road races.  Going into the race, I was definitely confident with my ability to be able to stick with the lead group throughout the race.  However, I did not know if I had the form to put in an effort worthy of a podium finish.  With this mentality, I decided to let my teammates know this beforehand and to just let things play out.  My thinking was to stick near the front quarter of the peloton, and put in work if the opportunity presented itself.

Waking up to a forecast of rain the entire day oddly made me happy.  I’d raced in rain before at races like Snake Alley and Tour de Grove and it was scary.  I did not feel confident cornering or descending.  So, your guess is as good as mine as to why I was creepily smiling on the hour-long drive through a drizzle from Springfield to Hillsboro.  Maybe it was the idea that this was “classics weather”.  Not only was I going to be racing on the crummiest roads in Central Illinois, but also I got to do it while soaked to the bone the entire time!  There’s really no way of rationalizing a jubilant attitude like this going into it…

I parked, got kitted up, small talked with teammates and other racers I knew, and then warmed up.  Rolling to the line, I felt a sense of calm.  So many times last year I would roll to the start line and feel very nervous.  I did not have teammates usually, so I’d get to the start line and usually keep to myself.  Hillsboro was different.  I rolled up with six other XXXers whom I had trained with for a few months and talked to a handful of other races from around the area.  It was a relatively relaxed environment, considering we were about to essentially ride into two and a half hours of cold, wet, hell.

The first lap went smoothly.  Besides a near collision on a downhill at mile 15ish, I came out of the bricks about 20th wheel and was holding position well.  I tossed a full water bottle not wanting to carry the weight on the next lap, shot a GU, and was feeling great.  The whole team was there and I tried to stay near a teammate whenever I could. 

As with any race, the fun started near the end.  We hit a section going due south and two riders about three spots in front of me started to lock handlebars and shoulder one another.  The rider on the right went down and I swerved to the left in order to keep from being taken out myself.  I ended up running into the guy on my left and nearly crashing.  I remember my front wheel zigzagging its way all over the wet pavement and somehow keeping the bike up.

Flats seemed to be occurring about every five miles or so.  Around mile 45ish (never actually looked down at the computer so these are all very ballpark figures) I saw a XXX rider go off into the ditch, keep his bike up, and signal for neutral service.  Andrew informed me that the rider was Will (our pre-race hopeful) and that he had flatted.  Without Will in contact with the peloton anymore, tactics changed.  I decided that if I were to make a high placing I would need to advance my position on the tailwind section heading North, hold until the bricks, then get up in the top five in order to lead out Adam or put in a sprint myself. 

So, mentally I was there.  We were about to hit the downhill that goes into the tailwind section on the highway, when I blinked and my left contact fell out.  Vision is certainly a key sense you want to have control of in a race like Hillsboro.  It didn’t help that I knew the finishing circuit was all left turns.  So, I made a mental note to blink very very carefully as not to lose the other contact and have to pull out of the race completely.  I squinted and tried my best to simply hold my line and keep position. 

We came into the stretch right before the last hill and I heard someone say, “This is where the fun begins!”  About ten seconds later, with police trying to bottleneck everyone to the right side of the road, a rider on the left went down.  I skirted around the carnage and ended up in about 20th position with two slower climbers in front of me and no way to get around them.  There was a gap opening in front of them and it was getting larger.  I decided to take a risky line and cut it narrowly close to the centerline cones and accelerated hard to make contact with the group before the descent. 

The move worked and I was faced with my first tough left-hand turn, without clear vision in my left eye.  I figured I would simply try and take the exact line as other racers and hope that they picked a good one.  This idea worked, and I got onto the descent upright.  I do not think that many of the racers grasped the fact that pedaling on a downhill section was an option.  Before the very steep descent began, I noticed that everyone seemed to be coasting already.  I decided this was a perfect opportunity to go ahead and move up six or seven spots.

After that little acceleration, it was time to hang my butt off the back of my seat and stay upright for the 40+ mph descent on a wet, bombed out, brick road.  Everything went fine and I was able to follow another racer’s line taking the tight left onto the long brick section before the finishing straight.  This was where I knew moving up in position was possible.  With the centerline rule was no longer in effect, I darted up the left side of the road around the 15-20-rider group.  To my surprise, someone else had the same mentality as me.  Last years cat 4 winner, Jostein Alvestad, darted around me and continued to pull to the front of the pack.  I passed Nick (putting in a superb effort off the front) who shouted words of encouragement while Alvestad pulled me all the way to the end of bricks.

Alvestad peeled off and I took the left-hander onto the finishing straight in first position.  From warming up and a recon down to the course in December, I knew that this corner could be taken at speed.  I got through the turn fine and started my sprint.  So, with 500 meters to go, I had my first “duh” moment in the race.  I was out of the saddle putting in a pretty hard effort and looked up to see the finish line almost a quarter-mile away.  I had gone out way too early.  I sat down, decided to lull a little to see if I could let someone else lead for the last 400 meters.  Looking back, this was probably a mistake.  Had I simply put in a full 500-meter effort, I might have been able to hold everyone off.  Who knows?  I ended up seeing a couple wheels on my right out of the corner of my eye starting to advance.  By the time they had gotten in front, we had hit the 200m sign and I had to just dig deep.  I put in a pretty ugly sprint and managed to roll through the line in second or third (couldn’t tell at the time).

I collapsed on my handlebars and was just glad I made it through Hillsboro unscathed.  Adam was right behind me and put his arm around me saying I had done well and managed a podium spot.  We rolled through the intersection before the climb and I pulled over to the side of the road.  The ensuing round of high-fives and “nice jobs” was awesome.  I had not had that feeling of team camaraderie before and it was great to be able to celebrate a podium finish with all the cat 3 guys.

Meanwhile, my mom and sister had come down to catch the last lap of the race.  Both of them had not spotted me coming through town after the first lap or the second.  My mom assumed the worst and my sister later told me that her recent Google Maps searches included “hospital”.  Needless to say, my mom was a wreck.  I rolled up to her and my sister with a beaming smile saying something along the lines of “I podiumed at Hillsboro!”  My mom broke down mumbling the classic “I was worried about you” speech and I gave her and my sister a big hug, reassuring them I was okay.  It was a pretty touching moment.

I don’t think I quit smiling the rest of the day.  I ended up calling my dad, girlfriend, grandparents, and told them the same story.  I walked away with a new pair of socks, $75 for a nice celebration dinner with my girlfriend that night, and a brick from Hillsboro.  While it wasn’t a win, it felt pretty good.  I cannot thank my teammates and family enough for supporting me.  I’m looking forward to a successful season and hopefully an upgrade to cat 2 by the end.  Until then, I’ll be out every weekend busting my butt to try and put an XXXer on the podium.  Leland, you’re next.

I didn’t win the Burnham Racing Spring Super Crit on 31st.  The race didn’t even start on the 31st, that’s just when it ended. The race started months before, early in the morning in a small little room on a trainer watching other races and after work isolated in a gym doing a workout that would look strange to others. The final lead out didn’t start on the final lap, it started weeks prior on Highway 101 in California as we ran into town. And “I’ is not the correct word, it should be “We” or “The team.” Those are the times when I knew the team would win Burnham Racing’s Crit and we did.

“You’re a good kid, it’ll come to you.” Kyle Wiberg

I didn’t win Elk Grove. And the “I” is the right word. I provided the opportunity for others to win, it was tactical error, a wrong spot, a sprint to soon. After the race Kyle said that to me, and as I played the race through my mind, I came back to that line, “it’ll come to you”.
And so I worked to meet it.

“To fully learn, one must have a teacher, a colleague, and a pupil. So that you can replicate, practice and then teach. That is how you master something.”  Adam Herndon (I forgot who said this, so I did. I’m pretty sure that’s how quotes work.)

The Cat 3 squad that lined up at Blawkhawk farms was not just 8 strong, motivated teammates. There were the Cat 1’s and 2’s that we had been learning from and the Juniors and teammates that we had been learning from us. Tom can beat me in a sprint, but after each sprint against him I know that I can beat anyone else. 2nd to Tom is 1st in my races. I can beat Daryus in a sprint with him going full out. But I relearn cycling each time we ride by teaching it to him. I have a team of not only racers but of scholars and students.

“Excellence is an art won by training and habituation. We do not act rightly because we have virtue or excellence, but we rather have those because we have acted rightly. We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act but a habit.” Aristotle

In the winter months, I refocused my training. Each workout was won. Each sprint was a win, each effort stayed away. Winning became a habit. I had no bad workouts. There was something good about each one if not many things. If something went wrong it was not a stumble or setback but a way to improve.  Because of this I entered Blackhawk farms knowing we would win. I’ve had harder, longer, faster workouts. I knew that the team around me was confident and strong. Being able to race with that knowledge made for the calmest race I had ever entered. The nervousness that had been there previous years was gone. That’s when the race was won. And it wasn’t just the seven guys lined up next to me, each of who could have been first over the line, it was won by a team 200 strong.

Hillsboro Cat 3.
YELLOW LINE YELLOW LINE YELLOW LINE |“At one kilometer of the line you get into a cocoon.
YELLOW LINE YELLOW LINE YELLOW LINE |The automatic pilot takes over all movements.
YELLOW LINE YELLOW LINE YELLOW LINE |The brain is turned off and you react on instinct.
YELLOW LINE YELLOW LINE YELLOW LINE |Sometimes you do everything like you should,
YELLOW LINE YELLOW LINE YELLOW LINE |you shoot the bullet at the right moment.
YELLOW LINE YELLOW LINE YELLOW LINE |There is nothing I can do anymore at that moment.
YELLOW LINE YELLOW LINE YELLOW LINE |Just hit the pedals till the line.
YELLOW LINE YELLOW LINE YELLOW LINE |When you pull the trigger,
YELLOW LINE YELLOW LINE YELLOW LINE |the only question is if it will hit the target or not
YELLOW LINE YELLOW LINE YELLOW LINE | And as a rider you know it immediately.
YELLOW LINE YELLOW LINE YELLOW LINE |I immediately felt it: ‘All, wrong. Badly timed’.

But the bullet was shot and my chance was over.” Tom Boonen (rearranged)

That sums hillsboro up.

Sorry for the mustache and vest.

It’s the night before the Illinois Championship Cyclocross race at Montrose Harbor, and William Pankonin is just 18 points away from winning the Chicago Cyclocross Cup Category 3 overall. He has to beat Flatlandia’s Jason Wagner by three places, in order to make up those 18 points. Surely the prophecy laid out by the Oracle will come true. Liam has no doubts. But he knows William has questions. William needs to meet with the Oracle. Only she can give him the confidence to know he is indeed The One.

In a cozy apartment complex on Chicago’s West Side, William enters the Oracle’s domain. He hears her in the kitchen as he makes his way into a room full of small children, all focused intently on the objects in front of their laps. He sees a boy bending spoons with his mind. Next to him is another boy standing beside a bike. The bike is not moving forward or backward, but it is balancing, seemingly like magic. Though it stays put, the wheels suddenly start to spin. Slowly at first, then faster and faster until the wheels become a circular blur. The sibilant whirring drowns out the other boys’ and girls’ conversations, louder and louder. Faster the wheels spin. So still the frame remains. Suddenly both brakes jump inward, grabbing the rims. The wheels stop spinning. The noise dies instantly. The boy looks confidently up at William.

“Do not try and spin the wheels fast. That’s impossible,” the boy says. “Instead, only try to realize the truth.”

“What truth?” William asks.

“There is no bike.”

“There is no bike?”

“Then you’ll see,” the boy continues, “that it is not the bike that goes fast, it is only yourself.”

The Oracle summons William into the kitchen. She looks at him for a few seconds, silently, then turns and flicks the oven off. She stands up from her stool, and offers him a cookie. She knows I’m going to take it, William thinks, but is that because she knows what I’m going to do before I do it, or is it because she knows I’m a cyclist and I obviously love cookies? William takes, and eats.

“You already know what I’m going to tell you,” the Oracle says.

“I’m not The One,” William suggests, through a mouthful of cookie.

“Sorry kid. You got the gift, but it looks like you’re waiting for something.”

“What?” William asks.

“Your next race, maybe. Who knows? That’s the way these things go.”

William turns to leave, past the spoon boy and the bike boy, to bring the news to Liam. But when he arrives at Liam’s house, he looks into Liam’s eyes, and thinks about all the times Liam has mentioned the prophecy. All the times Liam mentioned what the Oracle told him. That he would find The One. Liam believes.

William keeps his prophecy to himself.

“Montrose is a system, William,” Liam says. “That system is our enemy. But when you’re inside, you look around, what do you see? Business men, teachers, lawyers, carpenters. The very minds of the people we are trying to defeat. But until we do, these people are still a part of that system, and that makes them our enemy. You have to understand, most of these people are not ready to be beaten. And many of them are so inured, so hopelessly dependent on cyclocross, that they will fight to protect it. Were you listening to me, William, or were you looking at my red bike?”

William shakes his head sorry, and Liam continues.

“I spoke to the Oracle, William. She told me. You will win the state championship jersey. Wagner will finish fourth. The CCC Overall will be yours. There will be celebration, tears, hugs, Popeye’s Chicken and Biscuits. All of Zion will rejoice!”

William pretends to agree, all the while thinking of his own prophecy. For he is not The One.

It’s the morning of Montrose.

Liam turns to William, blue raspberry Gu in his left hand, red strawberry Clif Gel in his right. “You take the blue Gu, the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red gel, you stay at Montrose, and I show you how deep the pain cave goes.”

William contemplates, glances at each, and knows he has come too far to give up. He grabs the red gel and squeezes it into his mouth.

Liam takes a warmup lap and immediately realizes that the first lap of the race will be especially crucial, as any changed line or tapped brake while in any of the sand pits, sand dips, sand traps and sand turny-up-and-overy-dos will mean getting off the bike, and losing valuable time and places. He goes back and runs through a couple tricky sand areas. William plods on. Tank Seguin already uploaded several cyclocross training programs into William’s head the day before, with specific focus on the course characteristics. William is prepared.

It’s 11:45, and Fowkes is standing beside the Cat 3 bunch. He blows his whistle. Clicks, stomps, grunts, whirs. Chains clunking, heavy breathing. This is good, Liam thinks, slotting into second place. This is so good, I should try this not-sucking-at-the-start every single time I race cyclocross. William is close behind.
 
Agent McVey, in a black suit with sunglasses on and an earpiece in, on an all-black bicycle (which is also wearing sunglasses) passes Liam in the second sticky turn. Remembering back to the mayhem of these first couple sand dips, Liam takes a line to the right of McVey, giving the dangerous man some room just in case. As Liam enters, McVey hits the dip in the middle, and goes end-over-end, faceplanting in some soft sand. Liam groans, and several racers join in an echoing chorus behind him.

Liam is now in 2nd. Agent Cole is in first. Liam seizes the earliest opportunity to pass, and quickly darts around Agent Cole. Liam now has the luxury of picking the lines he wants, when he wants them. He leads the bike race. Ergo, all is well. Concordantly, parents and friends cheer him on as he reels off lap after lap, putting time into everyone on the power section up Cricket Hill. His gap grows to 10 seconds, and stabilizes. Ergo, the race is Liam’s to lose. He is the one with the choice. Or so he thinks. Behind him, the real game is being played out.

William finds himself in no man’s land, in 4th place. He chases after Agent Cole and, more importantly, Agent Wagner, the man who stands between him and first place in the overall. William destroys himself for several laps, inching ever closer toward the chase group, toward a victory for Zion.

“Why do my legs hurt?” William barks out.

“Because you’ve never used them before,” Tank Seguin says.

On the third lap, William catches the two, and sits and waits. Ahead, his teammate Liam acts as the carrot, and the Agents hunt Liam down with William in tow.

Exiting one of the sand chasms, Liam falls on his left side, and the agents are nearly upon him. He picks up the bike quickly. He remounts, and notices his knee did not absorb the whole of the impact as he originally thought: his left shifter is pigeon-toed in. This pulls the brake cable just enough to cause some rubbing for the remainder of the race. He looks back and sees William struggling with the two agents.

“Stop trying to get up to me and get up to me!” Liam yells.

William, still in fourth place, speaks softly to himself. “Hey, fourth place is pretty good for the championship. I mean, I’m not The One. I’m not supposed to win this race. Will Liam win?”

“William, win already!” Liam yells, at no one in particular.

Agents Cole and Wagner continue to batter and bruise William, forcing him to take pulls. Two laps to go. William knows he must attack. One final effort. He puts his head down, throws all his body’s power into the pedals, and looks behind him. This is the penultimate time up the mythical Cricket Hill. Then William sees it. He has separation. He is successfully outrunning the agents. He is going at a normal speed, but behind him, Agents Cole and Wagner move in slow-motion. Tank watches from the sidelines and cannot believe his eyes. That’s impossible, he thinks, still decked out in a ridiculous Roman gladiator outfit. William comes to the start-finish straight, in second place, Liam just barely ahead, within reach, the two agents just barely behind, still chasing. The pieces of the prophecy are falling into place. William approaches the finish line and knows he has just one more lap. The bell goes off.

All color disappears from William’s world. Trees and bikes and spectators and sand are all replaced by green 1s and 0s against a black background, contoured lines of ever-changing code arranged in easily-definable cyclocross shapes. Everything moves slowly. Everything, that is, but William.

“You have the sight now, William,” the Oracle’s voice, both everywhere and nowhere, booms in William’s head. “You are looking at the world without time.”

“Then why can’t I see what happens at the end of the race?” William asks.

“We can never see past the choices we don’t understand.”

“Are you saying I have to choose whether I win or Liam wins?”

“No,” the Oracle says. “You’ve already made the choice. Now you have to understand it.”

“No. I can’t do that. I won’t.”

“Well, you have to.”

“Why?” William asks.

“Because you’re The One.”

William, near-blind by the perfection of his pedal stroke and the wattage he is outputting, gets closer to Liam. Fourth place thoughts are but a distant memory. His mind no longer remembers that it once expected something other than sheer, dominating victory. William is no longer tired. There is no bike. He moves like a ghost over the course, floating over the double-barrier section, and comes up to Liam.

“Jason’s in fourth,” Liam says to The One. “Just go win and it’s all yours.”

Through the sand pit. Around the tree. Run through the bunker. Remount. Around the other tree. More sand. Pavement, up-and-over sand, slow turn, muddy downhill, through the tunnel, mucky run-up, over the barrier, through the wood chips, up Cricket Hill, down Cricket Hill, back through the tunnel, down the home stretch.

Victory. Zion is free. I am The One. Will, I am.

My race day mornings are a repetitive ritual.  Every little detail must be repeated in the same manner -no question, no deviation.  The brief dialogue above only confirmed what I must do on Sunday in order to repeat what happened Saturday, and also what must continue to happen as Montrose nears.  Not only would physical acts become sacredly repetive, but mental processes would be duplicated as well on this windy, November Sunday.

After the race Saturday, the racer who lined up beside me told me, “You were making these weird [growling noises] as we started, and I thought ‘Dude, go ahead if you want it that bad.’” It’s like Randy says, to not have a top five spot going into the hole shot should be “unacceptable.” It can’t happen. So the noise I make is a primal sort of grunt, kind of like what I imagine the sound would be of a weight lifter maxing out.  And when there are 70 animals behind you going as fast as possible, one’s fight or flight instinct sort of kicks in, drawing out the grunt to more of a…moan/gurgle?  To return to what Luke says about repeating and staying hungry, on Sunday, I would duplicate every emotion that goes into and comes out of the Hole Shot.  As the whistle was about to blow on Sunday, I whispered to my line-mate, “Ignore the growling.”

His reply, “I expect it.”

What happens when the South Chicago Wheelmen team up with CCC on a golf course, for two days? IT AIN’T GOLF! But it does involve a lot of…... Nevermind; I digress.  As usual, great organization, super friendly, highly competitive, and overall a very professional day.

Day 1:

I liked this year’s clockwise rotation better than previous years.  The long grass / pavement 200 meter start with sweeping turn suited me and was much like the Campton start.  The whistle blew and the horses left the gate.  I almost overcooked the turn and nearly ripped through the course tape.  Fortunately for me and those on my left, I held it together and found myself on Andrew’s wheel.  A good start indeed.  We had no problem negotiating the next left turn, little hill, and sand pits.  Andrew mashed the pedals with me fighting to hold his wheel.  There were a few more turns followed by the first tacky mud section, after which Andrew made a little space for me to pull through, which I did directly.  I got out of the saddle and continued the pace he had begun.  I soon noticed there was growing a ten to twenty meter gap.  Upon leaving the triple barrier section, I noticed the gap had grown, and my next concern was whether or not I could hold this pace solo for another five laps.  I shrugged off that notion, punched the clock, and got straight to work.  I pedaled the next few laps as hard as possible and completely clean.  As the laps ticked away, I was fueled by the shouts of encouragement.  More so, I was even more motivated when called the “S” word.  Someone called me “Liam!” YES! Thank you! With two to go, I eased up a bit.  As the bell rang out on the last lap, I dialed it way back and began to think about my post-up.  I thought, “It’s my second win and coming off a bad race, and it’s a statement.  I’m ready to finish this season strong.” I absolutely love how every guy on that front line is a total beast.  They are ten wheels I would follow with my eyes closed.  Respect.  As the finish came into view, with my cross tires humming along the pavement, I brushed off my hands and raised my arms.

Day 2

Thanks to Warren Cycling, I had no doubts concerning my endurance or power coming off yesterday’s effort.  I lined up with the other mono-maniacs with the same idea.  I would attempt to duplicate Saturday in every sense.  The only thing that differed from Saturday, was that I did not eat an egg.  I had cheese instead of the egg.  The whistle blew and just like yesterday, I found myself second wheel after the sweeper.  Bryan hammered through the left and put twenty meters on me and 80 other dudes going up the grass hill that leads into the sand.  “If he keeps that up, no way anyone catches him,” I thought.  But the hill was developing a slippery spot right around the middle, and when his wheel hit the spot, the wheel couldn’t hold and slid out.  Argh! Glad you’re okay! I cut a line on the inside and led through and out of the sand.  The wind today was stronger and would play a larger role.  Just as I did yesterday, I pedaled A.H.A.P through the first lap.  Today, however, would be different.  As I looked back I saw concerning company, and some not-so-concerning company.  Jason and Chase were glued on my wheel.  Uh oh.  I breathed a little easier when I saw Liam was with us! The group wasn’t too far behind.  I was following Chase with Liam behind me as we finished the first lap (i think).  Jason was fourth.  I made a motion to Liam, who immediately hit the gas and went by Chase on the inside.  It made me a little nervous, not being a track guy and all, but for no reason as Liam went clear and put on a huge gap.  I think I then bridged up on the starting pavement, Chase right behind me.  Liam remained strong, and I couldn’t hold his wheel.  Away he rode.  “Nice,” I thought! I was second with Chase and Jason behind me.  Liam’s distance increased; he had totally detached us from the pack.  Someone behind me said, “Go around him.” When they did, I caught a break from the wind and then began assessing this situation.  For now, I would follow and allow them to catch my teammate.  If caught, I would certainly go with a counter attack or make the move myself.  I cannot remember where or how, but our group reformed as a foursome, and then became a threesome.  Liam had fallen off a tad, but was beginning to make his way back to us.  I was tiring, and would have to save an attack for later.  Once, I did not take my turn pulling through because my teammate was so close.  I made the mistake, however, of verbalizing my intention.  Don’t show your cards! As Chase and Jason picked up the pace, I had to follow as the three of us -the three CCC overall leaders- worked our way through the course.  We were very patient and worked the course clean and smooth.  At one moment, we almost stalled as nobody wanted to be in the wind.  We then became twitchy.  I needed to make a move.  As we approached the big hill, Chase increased the pace slightly.  Smart, because this is where I was planning a move.  He either was also planning to attack or was keenly anticipating mine or Jason’s.  I attacked up the hill, but Chase saw it coming.  I couldn’t get by.  He also closed off my line and made the turn smooth and tight.  To seal the deal, Chase killed the little down-hill section and rode a fast, perfect line around the tree.  It was over.  He and I would each sprint out the last 500 meters, but the gap had been formed.  I was lucky to hold off Jason for second place.  Liam came in securely holding fourth and in the money.

It was a great weekend of racing. Congrats Chase.  Thanks to everyone who contributed to the weekend: the promoters, organizers, directors, the Hilton, the tweeters, the hecklers, and officials.  And thanks to all the Cat 3 Warriors.  See ya next time!

“I think it can be done,” I said, “but absolutely everything would have to go right.”

I’ve had some modest success this season, but each race has followed a familiar pattern: First I’ll have a terrible start and lose a lot of positions in the argy-bargy rush to the hole shot. Then I’ll kill myself for a lap in order to catch up to the lead group. I’ll hang for a lap or so, tongue hanging out, then bobble a corner and get dropped, doomed to spend the rest of the race cutting my losses.

Sunday’s race in Woodstock was no different. Despite a front-row start, I was maybe 20th heading out of the hole shot. Fortunately the course had great, wide-open lanes and some climbs that suited me, so I was able to navigate through the field until reaching the front group of about 10.

By this point, Tim Yuska of Iron Cycles was setting a blistering tempo at the front, and this group was getting stretched out like saltwater taffy. One by one riders fell off the pace, opening gaps for me to jump across.

When we hit the steep downhill for the second time, there were only five or six of us, and it was here that Lou skidded in a corner and slowed. I took an aggressive line and passed him. “Hot damn!” I thought. “I’m ahead of Lou!” In eight races, this had yet to happen.

(Why on earth was I ahead of Lou? Only because he had a flat tire—and was a long, long way from the pit. Nonetheless he would finish 7th. Respect.)

Soon the elite group was just three: Yuska, Tim Boundy from Verdigris, and some roadie on clinchers—me.

I sat in and measured my efforts. Many times I have found myself unexpectedly in the elite group and gotten greedy: My eyes would get bigger than my legs and I would attack or ride too aggressively, only to crash or red-line and crack. (See an example of this at the 3:45 mark of this video from last season.) So this time I let the others do most of the work,  chipping in only when I felt chasers were gaining ground. I was also concerned that Boundy was easing up in order to let his teammate catch up.

During this time it was great to get so much support from the sidelines, especially the live coaching from Randy and Seguin. Of course Yuska and Boundy were getting lots of encouragement, too—and since they were both named Tim, every “Go, Tim!” counted double. I was being two-Tim’ed! Not fair!

With two to go, Yuska had a mishap on a tricky barrier, and Boundy and I were able to exploit it. Now it was just the two of us, and like the final 10km of a successful breakaway, it was time to stop being friends and start figuring out how to win this thing.

I let Boundy pull for the final lap and a half. We were safely out of the reach of 3rd place, so I had more to lose than gain by helping him. That’s racin’.

This much was clear: This mustn’t come to a sprint. In seven years of racing I’ve won exactly one sprint. Indeed, in both the two previous weeks I had lost sprints by the width of a tire. (Perhaps I should just get wider tires?) To avoid a sprint I would have to put in an early attack at some point. The question was where.

Earlier in the race, one of the Tims had put in a hard effort on the tough dirt climb on the backside. I had been able to mark it and then put in a dig of my own on the paved climb that immediately followed. Although I didn’t keep it for very long, it yielded a good gap. It seemed likely that this scenario could repeat itself.

Sure enough, on the final trip up the dirt climb, Boundy put in a huge acceleration. He got a gap, and it was bigger than I was counting on. I still hadn’t closed it by the time we got to the second hump, which is where I had been planning to counterattack

I gained some ground on the descent and almost caught back up. The mistake here would have been to sit in and recover. Yes, I was at the end of my rope, but as I am fond of quoting Tim Krabbe: “Shift, when you’re really, truly at the end of your rope, to a higher gear.”

We made the fast, sweeping turn into another long, paved climb. I shifted into a higher gear and went all-in.

First I regained Boundy’s wheel. Then our front skewers were even. Then I pulled ahead. Then I pulled away.

I resisted the urge to brake and flew through the next two chicanes. I glanced back. Boundy was maybe 5 seconds back. Good. Now to hold it for the remaining half a lap.

I continued to take risky lines in the corners. Luck was on my side and I took them clean. I focused on the fundamentals, including following Adam Myerson’s advice to jump out of each turn like it was the final corner of a criterium.

Boundy continued the pursuit. He seemed to be closing in as we hit the final barrier. Knowing that it was followed by a slight downhill, I shifted up before the dismount so I could mash a big gear as quickly as possible following the remount.

Finally I was in the home stretch, and only here did I feel secure enough to zip up my skinsuit. Never did I expect to ever win a cyclocross race, so I had never given a second’s thought to a clever post-up. I resorted to the traditional “Pointing to the team logo with both index fingers.”

Everything had gone right. The course suited me, I managed to go a record 45 minutes without a bobble, and I had strong rivals driving the pace.

And of course there was the matter of Lou’s flat. That’s never how you want to see an opponent fall behind. I’m hopeful that there will be another race where everything goes right for me, and I look forward to seeing how we size up on such a day.