I have never been to an actual desert. However, this past weekend the Turtle Pond Circuit race certainly felt the way I imagine a desert would feel: HOT. After pedaling around in 50 and 60 degree temperatures, the sudden arrival of 90 degree heat was a shock, both physically and mentally.
My incesant checking of the weather sites before the race revealed the day would be hot. However, I failed to remember how terrible I feel the first real warm day of the year. Racing on a 90 degree day seems to be the equivalent of gasping deep breaths or stale air from a working kiln. Small efforts on the bike translate to large jumps in heart rate. Water bottles run dry before the race even leaves the feedzone. Salt collects in the corners of your eyes and tips of your lips. Basically, you suffer like any other race but the overall uncomfortable feeling of being way too hot adds another level to the suffering index.
So, there we were. We being Rkelly, Rossman and me. There being the back roads of Loudon, NH. Like last year, the first lap was very active. The three of us were on our toes waiting to jump into the right break. Attack. Chase. Counter. Recover. Chase. Chase. Chase. MISS THE BREAK. Yes, the three of us missed the break, but not without trying. Robbie King (damn him and his desire to remain in New England and torture us all summer)countered a move and I jumped on his wheel. After riding this race for a few years, I remember the course well. We were in a section of false flats and small rollers. It was ideal to get a small group formed and storm up the road. Unfortunately, the pace car suddenly turned right and nearly came to a stop at the base of a short but steep climb. SHIT. DOWN SHIFT DOWN SHIFT. As I was scrambling to find the appropriate gear, Robbie was doing the same but his chain dropped (yes?). Our small gap to the field was now gone and dudes were streaking up the hill. I saw Robbie sprint past me and make contact with the leaders, but my meager power barely got me back up to speed before the tail gunners of the pack appeared next to me. The rest of the race was spent drinking water, thinking about jumping in the pond and contemplating ending the race early to find ice cream.
Neither Rossman, Rkelly nor I pulled the plug early. Instead, we remained in the disintigrating "field" until the last lap. As we were simply riding for a finish without ideas of winning, the NorEast contingent felt it was best to have the field work together and just cross the line. But, the other guys felt differently. On the short, steep climb, a Spooky rider attacked...fortunately, Karma decided this was a dick move and pulled the Spooky rider's chain from his bike. We passed him as he was frantically attempting to remount the chain. There may have been some minor heckling involving the line "Karma's a bitch" derived from the NorEasters...can't be sure though. This should have taught the rest of the field a lesson. They should have just ridden across the line content to finish. Instead, guys decided to attack. Without discusssing our actions, RKelly and I went to the front and began pulling each attack back. It was time to play by the others' rules. With the 200m to go, Rossman rocketed past us battling two other guys. There was a slight rise in the road, but RKelly and I could see our teammate win (the field sprint). We were finally able to get some ice cream.
Interestingly, half the field probably dropped out of the race. The heat was affecting everyone and racers were dropping like flies. In the end, we ended with 14th, 18th and 19th. Yay.
Jiminy Peak this weekend. 90 miles and hills. Should be fun or something like that.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
90210
Last week I was in California for 28 hours. I am disappointed to say there were no sightings of Dylan, Kelly, Donna, Nat or the Peach Pit. But, let's be realistic; if I had run into Dylan there would be no way of recognizing him as his face looked like a worn-in catcher's mitt in the early 90's. By now he probably resembles a Sour Patch Kid more than an actual human. Anyway, my trip to Levi's state concluded with a red eye flight to Logan and no sights of movie stars.
After being crammed into a seat by the plane lavatories for six hours, I arrived to Logan at 5am feeling less than stellar. Knowing I would be racing the following day, I decided to do the best thing after flying all night...a four hour ride. Surprisingly, my legs didn't seem to be all that bad. I mean, they didn't feel superb, but they didn't feel like over-sized paper weights either. My ride brought me over Parker and Catamount along with some quick detours through Lee and Durham. The wheels were turnin' and my legs weren't falling off. Ready for Sunday!
I awoke Sunday morning psyched to get to the start line. My sixth sense told me Mark McCormack would be at the race, and I had to make amends after my last start line fiasco. I was again perplexed by my legs' apparent lack of soreness after the week's travels. This would be a good day. I could feel it.
Why the Pilgrims picked Plymouth to set-up shop beats the hell out of me. Durham was sunny and warm. Plymouth was cold and windy. Durham has nice grass and pastures. Plymouth has sand and pine needles over sand. Basically, I would not be the least bit surprised if the Native Americans had perfect abs after laughing hysterically for months as the Pilgrims picked the "prime" location for a village.
Oh yeah, back to bike racing. I kitted up and began to ride around for a couple minutes. Still, my legs were not hurting, but the power being generated from them was likely not even enough to power the light in my hear rate monitor. I rolled around the rolling one mile course and found the start line. As I had sensed earlier, Mark and his two brothers and three other teammates were standing around ready to ride. The only thing worse than one McCormack is more than one McCormack. This was gonna be good.
I started the race with the goal of minimizing my aggressiveness. Things were going as planned and I was doing little work. Fuji guys, including the McCormacks, were attacking. NEBC guys were chasing. Things would come back together and we would repeat. Eventually, a small break formed with NEBC guys and Fuji guys represented. I missed the move and instantly realized I was screwed. Time to chase. With a group of Fuji and NEBC guys sitting in my group, my chase was basically futile. I would pull a bit hoping to have another rider give me a hand. Unfortunately, the small field was comprised mostly of three teams and those teams were in the break. So, for nine laps I rode around the course suffering into the strong cross/head wind. It was not fun and my legs were not happy.
This week I finally get to start my first road race of the season at Turtle Pond. As of now, I'm hoping my legs will come around and decide to cooperate with me rather than secretly working for Team Fuji. If not, they will find themselves pedaling home the forty miles after the 70 mile race. Stay tuned for more reports of my suffering.
The other guys were in NY this weekend racing Battenkill. RKelly will hopefullyl give a run down of the joy and excitement of riding 30 of 80 miles on dirt.
After being crammed into a seat by the plane lavatories for six hours, I arrived to Logan at 5am feeling less than stellar. Knowing I would be racing the following day, I decided to do the best thing after flying all night...a four hour ride. Surprisingly, my legs didn't seem to be all that bad. I mean, they didn't feel superb, but they didn't feel like over-sized paper weights either. My ride brought me over Parker and Catamount along with some quick detours through Lee and Durham. The wheels were turnin' and my legs weren't falling off. Ready for Sunday!
I awoke Sunday morning psyched to get to the start line. My sixth sense told me Mark McCormack would be at the race, and I had to make amends after my last start line fiasco. I was again perplexed by my legs' apparent lack of soreness after the week's travels. This would be a good day. I could feel it.
Why the Pilgrims picked Plymouth to set-up shop beats the hell out of me. Durham was sunny and warm. Plymouth was cold and windy. Durham has nice grass and pastures. Plymouth has sand and pine needles over sand. Basically, I would not be the least bit surprised if the Native Americans had perfect abs after laughing hysterically for months as the Pilgrims picked the "prime" location for a village.
Oh yeah, back to bike racing. I kitted up and began to ride around for a couple minutes. Still, my legs were not hurting, but the power being generated from them was likely not even enough to power the light in my hear rate monitor. I rolled around the rolling one mile course and found the start line. As I had sensed earlier, Mark and his two brothers and three other teammates were standing around ready to ride. The only thing worse than one McCormack is more than one McCormack. This was gonna be good.
I started the race with the goal of minimizing my aggressiveness. Things were going as planned and I was doing little work. Fuji guys, including the McCormacks, were attacking. NEBC guys were chasing. Things would come back together and we would repeat. Eventually, a small break formed with NEBC guys and Fuji guys represented. I missed the move and instantly realized I was screwed. Time to chase. With a group of Fuji and NEBC guys sitting in my group, my chase was basically futile. I would pull a bit hoping to have another rider give me a hand. Unfortunately, the small field was comprised mostly of three teams and those teams were in the break. So, for nine laps I rode around the course suffering into the strong cross/head wind. It was not fun and my legs were not happy.
This week I finally get to start my first road race of the season at Turtle Pond. As of now, I'm hoping my legs will come around and decide to cooperate with me rather than secretly working for Team Fuji. If not, they will find themselves pedaling home the forty miles after the 70 mile race. Stay tuned for more reports of my suffering.
The other guys were in NY this weekend racing Battenkill. RKelly will hopefullyl give a run down of the joy and excitement of riding 30 of 80 miles on dirt.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Uh, Sorry Mr. McCormack
The first race of the season is under the belt. I will be the first to admit, my initial foray into the 2009 season is under the belt but far, far, farrrr from pretty.
Before I entertain you with the three bonehead moves of the day, all commited by the author of this post, I must give a quick recap of the race. It was 38 miles on a 2+ mile course in Marblehead. The start was windy and cold. The finish was warm. Teddy King won. Teddy King is going to Europe to race in Pro Tour races. Tim Johnson placed second. Tim Johnson just raced the Tour of California. I felt like crap. RKelly rode a good race and finished 16th.
Bonehead Move #1
Sitting on the start line, I decided to forgo my vest and avoid having to shed clothing during the race. I grabbed my vest and, like many other race starts, chucked it over the field to the roadside. However, instead of plopping onto the dirt, the wind caught the vest mid-air, opened it as if there was an invisible person trying to put it on. Then, this invisible person, realizing the vest smelled of b.o. and dry sweat, threw the vest to the ground. Unfortunately, the ground was inhabited by Mark McCormack, and the vest became wrapped around his head. He resembled a bowling ball under the Christmas tree. There were some chuckles from the field and a sharp glance from the Shark. Oops.
Bonhead Move #2
As the official said you're off (she actually said this a number of times before the CCB guys realized she meant start the damn race), a CCB rider attacked. Obviously, with the field lined up at the start, no one would be staying away for 38 miles unless the break included Teddy and/or Tim Johnson. This did not matter. My brain turned off and I chased. Two pedal strokes into the race and I was off the front. This effort lasted about 1.5 laps during which my legs felt like they were staked to the ground and the stuff coming from my lungs looked very much like guacamole. Pretty no. So, as the peloton rolled up on me. Action started to unfold. Attacks were going off. RKelly chased a few. I chased a few. The field split. I was spent. The front splint rode faster. I gambled my split would ride over the gap. I will never bet on those odds again.
Bonehead Move #3
The wind and cold seemed to lessen with every passing lap. Eventually, it became almost warm, and a MetLife guy removed his vest. In the morning, I pinned my number to my jersey and wore my vest over the jersey for a warm-up. So, as I watched said Metlife guy devest, I thought to myself "shit Josh, you better get your vest off so the cameras can see your number!". Now, if you have read this whole post, you will remember under Bonehead Move #1, I had already removed my vest...it never went back on. So, I'm sitting up and removing what I think is my vest (yes, I know I am an idiot) and realize it's damn cold. Furthermore, I realize I unzipped both my vest and my jersey. SHIT. No, that is not my vest and jersey. My vest, also known as Mark McCormack's face mask, is on the side of the road. The clothing in my hand is just my jersey. It was 50 degrees out and I was riding around the race in arm warmers and a base layer (a blue, collared base layer mind you). I pass Julianne, probably the reason why I'm so jittery all day, and become terribly embarassed. Once again, I'm sitting up in the field acting like I meant to take the jersey off. Adjust my base layer, move my bib straps, put the jersey back on.
So, the 2009 season is underway. With any luck, my idiocy is over for the rest of the year. I don't know if my cat. 2 ego can take any more of my shenanigans.
Before I entertain you with the three bonehead moves of the day, all commited by the author of this post, I must give a quick recap of the race. It was 38 miles on a 2+ mile course in Marblehead. The start was windy and cold. The finish was warm. Teddy King won. Teddy King is going to Europe to race in Pro Tour races. Tim Johnson placed second. Tim Johnson just raced the Tour of California. I felt like crap. RKelly rode a good race and finished 16th.
Bonehead Move #1
Sitting on the start line, I decided to forgo my vest and avoid having to shed clothing during the race. I grabbed my vest and, like many other race starts, chucked it over the field to the roadside. However, instead of plopping onto the dirt, the wind caught the vest mid-air, opened it as if there was an invisible person trying to put it on. Then, this invisible person, realizing the vest smelled of b.o. and dry sweat, threw the vest to the ground. Unfortunately, the ground was inhabited by Mark McCormack, and the vest became wrapped around his head. He resembled a bowling ball under the Christmas tree. There were some chuckles from the field and a sharp glance from the Shark. Oops.
Bonhead Move #2
As the official said you're off (she actually said this a number of times before the CCB guys realized she meant start the damn race), a CCB rider attacked. Obviously, with the field lined up at the start, no one would be staying away for 38 miles unless the break included Teddy and/or Tim Johnson. This did not matter. My brain turned off and I chased. Two pedal strokes into the race and I was off the front. This effort lasted about 1.5 laps during which my legs felt like they were staked to the ground and the stuff coming from my lungs looked very much like guacamole. Pretty no. So, as the peloton rolled up on me. Action started to unfold. Attacks were going off. RKelly chased a few. I chased a few. The field split. I was spent. The front splint rode faster. I gambled my split would ride over the gap. I will never bet on those odds again.
Bonehead Move #3
The wind and cold seemed to lessen with every passing lap. Eventually, it became almost warm, and a MetLife guy removed his vest. In the morning, I pinned my number to my jersey and wore my vest over the jersey for a warm-up. So, as I watched said Metlife guy devest, I thought to myself "shit Josh, you better get your vest off so the cameras can see your number!". Now, if you have read this whole post, you will remember under Bonehead Move #1, I had already removed my vest...it never went back on. So, I'm sitting up and removing what I think is my vest (yes, I know I am an idiot) and realize it's damn cold. Furthermore, I realize I unzipped both my vest and my jersey. SHIT. No, that is not my vest and jersey. My vest, also known as Mark McCormack's face mask, is on the side of the road. The clothing in my hand is just my jersey. It was 50 degrees out and I was riding around the race in arm warmers and a base layer (a blue, collared base layer mind you). I pass Julianne, probably the reason why I'm so jittery all day, and become terribly embarassed. Once again, I'm sitting up in the field acting like I meant to take the jersey off. Adjust my base layer, move my bib straps, put the jersey back on.
So, the 2009 season is underway. With any luck, my idiocy is over for the rest of the year. I don't know if my cat. 2 ego can take any more of my shenanigans.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Double Amputee
Modern medicince has made incredible advances in many areas of treatment including the amputation of people's limbs. Prior to the early 1900's those facing amputation surgery were forced to endure the procedure with nothing but a bottle of whiskey and a strap of leather between their teeth. I can't imagine the pain. Or can I...
Last night was the second and last Pre-Season Wed. Night Worlds Exeter ride. During the summer, a large group of cyclists depart from Exeter Cycles. These weekly rides do not technically begin until next week; however, Damien Colfer, a glutton for pain, took charge of oranizing two non-Exeter Cycle sponsored rides to blow the rust out of the knees. I missed the first one last week but was unfortunately able to make last night's ride. Unlike the normal Wed. Night Worlds, there were only six guys ready to roll: Dylan McNich, RKelly, Damien, Teddy King, myself and a guy whose name I can't remember. So, we got started. Heading out of town single file, I was still unsure how my legs would feel. I just finished a rest week of basically no riding. My high end fitness lacked a little...or a lot. And to top things off, I have a large chicken and pesto sandwich for lunch. THAT always looks better upon its resurrection. Anyway, we were rolling and the 2009 season was underway.
I have no computer on my bike. But, judging from my breathing and the pain in my legs, we were moving along nicely. Pull through, pull off, jump back in line. Repeat. With every turn on the front, I began to realize the pain in my legs was immense. I don't mean I felt like someone was punching me in the leg. I mean I felt like my femur was broken and the jagged edge was tearing apart my quad muscles with every pedal stroke. My legs were literally, okay maybe not literally but felt like literallly, being violently torn from my body. I became completely aware I might be left on the road in three pieces: my body, my right leg and my left leg. But, this was the Exeter ride. There is no stopping in the Exeter ride for pain. It's survival of the fittest. Those left behind are forced to fend for themselves and live off the roadkill as fuel for the ride home (one interesting though during this torture, with all the salt used on roads, do you think the roadkill is salt cured and able to stay edible for long periods of time?). So, despite my desire to stop pedaling and ride the solo ride to Exeter, there was NO WAY IN HELL I would let myself get dropped. And I didn't. And in the end I got a burrito to make everything feel better. The end.
So, if you're driving or riding in Lee/Newfields/Exeter today, please look for my legs. They are out there. Some where. Maybe laying next to a dead squirrel or possum. If they are found, hopefully modern medicine will help me reattach them. But, it is only April and I'm sure they will be ripped from my body many more times before this season is done and gone. Better go find a bottle of whiskey and a piece of leather...
Last night was the second and last Pre-Season Wed. Night Worlds Exeter ride. During the summer, a large group of cyclists depart from Exeter Cycles. These weekly rides do not technically begin until next week; however, Damien Colfer, a glutton for pain, took charge of oranizing two non-Exeter Cycle sponsored rides to blow the rust out of the knees. I missed the first one last week but was unfortunately able to make last night's ride. Unlike the normal Wed. Night Worlds, there were only six guys ready to roll: Dylan McNich, RKelly, Damien, Teddy King, myself and a guy whose name I can't remember. So, we got started. Heading out of town single file, I was still unsure how my legs would feel. I just finished a rest week of basically no riding. My high end fitness lacked a little...or a lot. And to top things off, I have a large chicken and pesto sandwich for lunch. THAT always looks better upon its resurrection. Anyway, we were rolling and the 2009 season was underway.
I have no computer on my bike. But, judging from my breathing and the pain in my legs, we were moving along nicely. Pull through, pull off, jump back in line. Repeat. With every turn on the front, I began to realize the pain in my legs was immense. I don't mean I felt like someone was punching me in the leg. I mean I felt like my femur was broken and the jagged edge was tearing apart my quad muscles with every pedal stroke. My legs were literally, okay maybe not literally but felt like literallly, being violently torn from my body. I became completely aware I might be left on the road in three pieces: my body, my right leg and my left leg. But, this was the Exeter ride. There is no stopping in the Exeter ride for pain. It's survival of the fittest. Those left behind are forced to fend for themselves and live off the roadkill as fuel for the ride home (one interesting though during this torture, with all the salt used on roads, do you think the roadkill is salt cured and able to stay edible for long periods of time?). So, despite my desire to stop pedaling and ride the solo ride to Exeter, there was NO WAY IN HELL I would let myself get dropped. And I didn't. And in the end I got a burrito to make everything feel better. The end.
So, if you're driving or riding in Lee/Newfields/Exeter today, please look for my legs. They are out there. Some where. Maybe laying next to a dead squirrel or possum. If they are found, hopefully modern medicine will help me reattach them. But, it is only April and I'm sure they will be ripped from my body many more times before this season is done and gone. Better go find a bottle of whiskey and a piece of leather...
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Game On
After my rest week last week, I had to force myself on the bike yesterday in the glorious rain pelting the New England region. Fortunately, the morning temperatures are no longer at the sub-freezing levels so the preciptation was not the terrible flaky stuff we've been dealing with all winter. Despite the rain not being snow, I was still far from thrilled to get covered in road grime. The typical road spray is enough to leave your chamois, gloves, shoes and hair full of sand. But, I compounded those problems with a small mistake.
As I entered Newmarket, an 18-wheeler brushed by my shoulder and was traveling at a managable riding speed. Knowing the draft would be better than any other situation, including sitting behind RKelly's calves, I jumped onto the rig's bumper (I guess trucks like this don't have bumpers but you get the point). Now, imagine standing against a wall and asking one person to swamp you with a pressure washer while another person uses a wrist rocket to pelt you with small, dirt encrusted pebbles. This, my friends, was my experience as I sat behind the truck. The draft was great. Almost orgasmic. But the wheel spray and debris kicked up from the truck nearly turned the situation into a snuff film.
I am sure you have figured out by now I did not die. I escaped with just a "bit" of sand in my eyes, teeth, hair, chamois, nose, ears and anywhere else you wouldn't want to find sand. Not only did I survive, but today's ride into work with the sunshine and warmish temps was payback.
In other news, the New England race season kicks of this weekend with Marblehead. Unfortunately, if you haven't signed up van's full. We also have the annual NorEast kick-off party on Friday night complete with free Smuttynose beer and food from La Festa. I don't know if there is any better way to start off the season.
As I entered Newmarket, an 18-wheeler brushed by my shoulder and was traveling at a managable riding speed. Knowing the draft would be better than any other situation, including sitting behind RKelly's calves, I jumped onto the rig's bumper (I guess trucks like this don't have bumpers but you get the point). Now, imagine standing against a wall and asking one person to swamp you with a pressure washer while another person uses a wrist rocket to pelt you with small, dirt encrusted pebbles. This, my friends, was my experience as I sat behind the truck. The draft was great. Almost orgasmic. But the wheel spray and debris kicked up from the truck nearly turned the situation into a snuff film.
I am sure you have figured out by now I did not die. I escaped with just a "bit" of sand in my eyes, teeth, hair, chamois, nose, ears and anywhere else you wouldn't want to find sand. Not only did I survive, but today's ride into work with the sunshine and warmish temps was payback.
In other news, the New England race season kicks of this weekend with Marblehead. Unfortunately, if you haven't signed up van's full. We also have the annual NorEast kick-off party on Friday night complete with free Smuttynose beer and food from La Festa. I don't know if there is any better way to start off the season.
Friday, March 20, 2009
El Fin
It's our last day enjoying wonderful Charleston, SC. At the moment, RKelly and I are watching Regis and Kelly Live while admiring our tan lines in the mirror. We'll eventually get out for a ride to spin the legs out before the trip home. During a big week of riding like this, I generally try to eat plenty of food to keep up the energy. However, given the long drive and tremendous amounts of sodium we will face at the rest area restaraunts, I chose a light breakfast. Interesting stuff I know you must be interested in hearing.
Sounds like it's warm back home. Should be a good week to get a little rest before the season starts. Yay bike racing.
Pedaling starts now.
Sounds like it's warm back home. Should be a good week to get a little rest before the season starts. Yay bike racing.
Pedaling starts now.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Wrecked
Another 6 hours on the bike. Another 100+ miles. I am COOKED.
Amazing scenery here in Charleston.
Amazing scenery here in Charleston.
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