NorEast Elite Cycling Team

The Marbleberg

2010-03-28T15:51:00.003-04:00

Oh hey there, Internet readers. It's Ryan. From NorEast!

You know...from before?

We know we were slacking on the blogging. We apologize. We hope for better blogging in the future. Moving on...

Today was the start of bike racing action in New England, with the typical season kick-off race in Marblhead, Mass. The temperature could be described as...unfavorable to the reproductive organs of men. However, that's how things roll.

In the 1/2/3 race, NorEast had returning riders Josh Austin, myself and Mr. Drew "I just bought a house so my life is insanely complicated" Szeliga. We were also joined by Clint "I'm from South Africa so I think I might freeze to death" Borrill. Clint is a very large man, and at an Exeter ride his nose was bleeding. It was awesome. Plus his accent is great, and I get to talk to him about how wonderful America is.

After the morning Hey-everyone/God-it's-cold/what's-gonna-happen-today conversations, all 125 racers lined up. Josh Austin manage to not throw a piece of clothing over the face of one of the most respected cyclists in America and our inappropriate comment-making was at a low. It's early in the season, and we really haven't hit our stride yet. We apologize.

Prior to the race start, Josh Austin loudly mentioned to Jon Bernard (of CCB fame) that he should attack from the gun.

Then the race started, and Jon Bernard attacked. GO FIGURE. Josh Austin must have some low-level hypnotic ability in his lovely grating voice.

Marblehead is an interesting race for a variety of reasons. The most obvious one is that it's the first race of the season, so NO ONE has any idea how their legs feel. Some people might have an idea - because they went south to race/train - but that isn't really an exact indicator of how you'll do back home. This year was especially interesting, as there was no Master's field. So the 1/2/3 race was chock-full of experienced dudes with mad watts who we usually don't race against (read: One billion McCormack Brothers).

So, the race played out somewhat calmly, with the occasional group moving up the road, and then being brought back. So on and so forth. I tried to put my nose in the wind a little bit more than usual, because I wanted to see where I was standing, fitness wise. I had some fun pulling at the front (for no real reason), and then spent some needed time hanging out in the field. Josh also got in the wind quite a bit as well, and it was good to see a NorEast kit at the front of the group lifting the pace.

We both tried to get in moves, but a combination of wind, us not yet having installed our turbo system yet and the activity of the field made those attempts pointless.

At some point, Justin Lindine (BikeReg/Cannondale) got up the road with Cameron Cogburn (CCB), and they started riding REALLY HARD and opened up quite a gap.

After some activity, I found myself in a chase group with five or six guys, and we rode together for four laps or so - without really cutting down the time gap to Lindine and Cogburn, and without opening a serious gap over the field. Had our luck continued (aka had the field continued to be complacent), we probably would have stayed where we were. I would have probably finished last in the group sprint (note aforementioned lack of turbo booster), but I would have been happy with that.

Alas, it was not to be. Around two laps to go, we saw the field billowing behind us, and our time off the front was up. I tried to stay towards the front of the accelerating group in hopes of not totally exploding and rocketing out the back.

Coming up the Marbleberg with two to go, Robbie King ROCKETED past the field, and immediately opened a significant gap. No one was able to chase him down, but the pace certainly lifted. There was some shuffling through the field, some sharp elbows, and Robbie eventually joined us again.

In the final corner, my legs were not terribly happy with the pace that was expected of them. I saw Austin fly by me, move up the group and stay in the mix.

Coming through the finish, he ended up placing in the top 20.

Not a bad first race - no spectacular finishes, but we all have some idea of where our legs are.

This week, the Exeter rides start - and I am looking forward to THAT quite a bit.

Further results as they are posted on the interweb.

Fitchburg

2009-07-13T11:37:00.002-04:00

Here is one rider's rather belated Fitchburg race report, sorry to have such a long gap in between posts but here's a nice long one to satisfy your hunger for news of the NorEast Elite Team.

Going in to Fitchburg we weren’t really sure what to expect, the change of the road race to a finish on the feed zone climb rather than up Wachusett would take out some opportunities for big time gaps but might make the road race a lot harder with people saving less for the final climb. The time trial was new as well, a 9 mile out-and back that was flat with a few gentle rollers.
Although we’ve been having pretty terrible weather all summer, the fog and mist that greeted us at the start of the TT was particularly nasty, especially with the accompanying cold temperatures. We had an almost full team of 6 guys in the 2’s, with Rudy squaring off against the nasty-looking p/1 field. Warming up we were pulling out leg warmers and jackets and cranking up the techno.
I went off right in front of Dylan McNicholas, the odd-on favorite for the 2 race which meant I was resigning myself to being passed by at least one person. Rolling out of the gate I felt decent, and rode the course OK, just didn’t have great legs. Slight excitement occurred when Dylan caught me and I caught my 30 second man right at the turnaround, but everything went smoothly and I ended up about 40th, around a minute and a half down.
With one race in the books we prepped for the circuit race. With no GC contender, Rkelly suffering from sickness and a busted hip from the Giro di Jersey and Rossman a bit under the weather as well, we didn’t have a real plan and that lack of preparation ended up causing some problems, although our only stated plan (“don’t let Dylan (McNicholas) win” –Josh) ended up failing as well. A bit break went in the first third of the race, and to everyone’s surprise ended up staying away after the top 2 on GC bridged up to it with a few laps to go. With nobody on breakaway duty and all of us sort of assuming the break would come back, we missed the 14-man moved and ended up sprinting for 15th. I think we ended up with 19th, 20th, 21st, and 24th. Without a break that potentially would have been 5th,6th, 7th, and 10th. Of course, it probably wouldn’t have worked out like that but we can pretend it would have, right?
For the road race we got a bit more organized, with Carbonetti and Josh trying to get in an early move, Ben and I on late-break patrol, and Rossman and Ryan seeing how they felt. After a bunch of attacking right out of the gate, nobody was up the road and Ryan’s hip gave out the first time up the climb- down to 5. We were all active and would make little breaks that would come back together, and although a move finally went with maybe 5 to go without us we were pretty confident it would come back. I was keen to get in a move as last year I was off for the last 3 laps and was caught halfway up Wachusett, so hopefully this year things would stick. I finally made the break this year with just over 3 to goand things were looking good- the 3rd placed rider in the TT was there, and a few other guys were taking good pulls as well as we started picking off riders from the early break. For whatever reason, we weren’t getting timechecks to the field, just the solo leader who was holding about 1:30 over us.
Unfortunately, we were caught at the base of the decent on the last lap and I was officially 0 for 2 in promising-looking breaks at Fitchburg. Cramping, we all tried to finish as best we could in the sprint- myself, Ben, and Josh, in the sprint for 2nd. Mostly we were just smoked and happy to finally cross the line and get a cold coke. Thanks to everyone cheering us up the feed zone climb (Tom Luther) as the shouts of encouragement were much appreciated.
With nothing to show for our efforts so far, we toed the line at the crit, thankfully the 3rd sunny day in a row and a minor record for this summer. Our plan was to be as aggressive as possible and try to pull something off. A few laps in I tried to bridge to a break, made it halfway then sort of stagnated and was eventually pulled back. For most of the rest of the race I was at the back. I just asked Rossman who is sitting next to me how we were riding the crit as I wasn’t seeing much of the front to which he replied “ALWAYS AGGRESSIVE.” Use your imagination.
With 9 or 10 to go, there was a big surge and I found myself slung around to the very front- someone in front of me put in a dig and I went with him. We realized we were off the front and started rotating well. Then we realized we weren’t coming back right away and settled in a bit- I was hoping to set up Ben who had talked about a last-lap flyer. The lap cards started to stick down and while I was feeling the effects of the break the day before, I was stoked to be off the front at Fitchburg. With 2 to go, we realized we were probably made it and knew for sure when our 15 second gap was still in place on the final lap. My breakaway companion looked a lot bigger than me, so after pulling through the final two corners into the long, headwind/uphill drag finishing straight, I slowed down and hopped on his wheel when he accelerated. Coming into the finish I was sitting right on his wheel, and I jumped as hard as I could with about 75 meters to go. Unfortunately, he’d been watching me and as soon as I went, he accelerated and held his advantage to the line, beating me by maybe a wheel length.
While the win for the team would have been great, I was happy with 2nd- we shared the work evenly, he led out the sprint and simply beat me so I can’t be frustrated with how I rode. I also found out later that he was a very strong track rider so I felt less bad about my loss in the sprint.
I’m writing this from a hotel in Quebec, where a contingent of the team (myself, Rossman, and Rudy plus guest riders Patrick Goguen and Chris Hillier) are holed up waiting for the second day of racing tomorrow.
We have marveled at milk sold in a plastic bag, enormous speeding penalties, maple frosted mini wheats, ridiculous haircuts, the French language, and the difficulty involved in getting from our hotel to the start of the race 10k away. Rudy had a good dig to bridge to the break that went on the last lap but didn’t quite make it while the rest of us suffered in the heat (what, heat? In Canada? After a cold wet summer a few hundred miles farther south?) and Pat experienced a 70 mph tow on the neutral support truck back to the field after they fixed a broken chain. More reports to come as the race progresses.

*Update: due to internet issues, I wasn't able to publish this when it was written so we've actually finished the ToQ... race report coming soon.

On A Horse With No Name

2009-05-01T10:03:00.002-04:00

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.

90210

2009-04-20T21:44:00.002-04:00

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.

Uh, Sorry Mr. McCormack

2009-04-06T15:28:00.002-04:00

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.

Double Amputee

2009-04-02T13:52:00.002-04:00

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...

Game On

2009-03-31T12:32:00.002-04:00

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.

El Fin

2009-03-20T09:07:00.003-04:00

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.

Wrecked

2009-03-18T16:58:00.001-04:00

Another 6 hours on the bike. Another 100+ miles. I am COOKED.

Amazing scenery here in Charleston.

Southern Hospitality

2009-03-18T08:04:00.002-04:00

After my experience with last night's group ride, I am amazed the South wasn't able to win the Civil War. These Southern folk know how to kick some serious ass.

Our day started as usual. We had a bit of breakfast, checked some local maps and got the pedaling started. The plan was to ride to Folly Beach, an area just SE of Charleston, then we would get back for a quick shower and food before heading out to a group ride we found on the interweb. Once again, the ride we picked was jam-packed with cars on roads with no shoulder. Unfortunately, we survived to ride again at the group ride.

We pulled into the church parking lot from where the ride leaves and only one other guy was there. He was there early to get some extra miles in, so we chatted a bit and rode along the group ride course. Like all other roads in this area, the course was flat. But, it had little traffic, good pavement and plenty of turns. The dude told us the group rolls easy for five miles, then goes hard for ten miles to the parking lot of a school. Here, everyone regroups, and rides back over the same roads. Doesn't sound too bad, no?

Back at the parking lot, there were 20+ guys waiting to start. We did the normal can for fast riders and weren't terrified by any pros. But, we should have been. After the brief roll out, the fireworks started. Guys started attacking and our small NorEast contingent chased and countered. It seemed to me they were ready to turn the screws on the Yanks, and looked to us to chase down breaks. Attack. Counter attack. Repeat. We were riding ourselves cross-eyed at over 30mph until we finally pulled into the school lot. The group was exploded, and our new Southern friends seemed to be impressed we were so enthusiastic to put in the big efforts. At this point, I was ready to call it a day. But, there was still business to be had, so we rolled out again. The return trip wasn't as chaotic, but still insanely fast. My legs were on the verge of cramping the entire time and my ability to respond to attacks was NO WHERE TO BE FOUND. Thanks to the headwind, the group stayed together and we survived the battle. RKelly, Carney and I agreed it was probably the fastest group ride any of us have ever ridden. But, not without consequences.

We left the ride and crawled into downtown Charleston. Dinner was spent questioning the aches, spasms, and knots in our legs. By our ragged appearance and how we shoveled food into our faces, other diners were probably losing their appetites. Let's see them after 134 miles.

Doing it all again today...my leg will not be happy.

Denied

2009-03-16T18:04:00.002-04:00

We had a soggy day on the bike today. The morning greeted us with rain and cooler-than-appreciated temperatures; however, considering we just left the New England tundra, 65 degree rain is not much to complain about. Still, four hours pedaling in the rain puts the cold into your legs that only a hot shower can cure. Before we could enjoy that shower we had business to conduct.

Our lack of Charleston knowledge makes the riding business a bit difficult. Looking at a map doesn't give any idea of traffic volume nor does it prepare you for the conditions of the streets. So, we instead just pick a general direction we would like to travel and attempt to connect various roads together in an effort to meet our hourly riding goals. We were far from successful today. Along with the cold rain, we were forced to deal with heavily traveled highways with little to no shoulders in which we could ride. Cars here drive fast. Roads are often rough. Streets are NEVER labeled. We found ourselves a couple times riding with 60+ mph traffic with no where to ride. Stressful is an understatement. Fortunately, we made it home safe. A little cold and covered in road grime, but safe.

Once again, we find ourselves occupying our recovery time with internet and some small errands. We were very unsuccessful on the errand front and were denied at every store we entered. First, the bike shop wouldn't fix RKelly's broken spoke tonight. So, he had to leave it at the shop. Then, the liquor store lady wouldn't sell us booze needed as rent for our host house. Apparently, every member of your party in the store needs an ID and RKelly was sans passport, the king of all ID forms. Finally, Hollywood video had no copies of Role Models for sale. We're now being faced with a night of Battleship instead of relaxing movies. I'm sure you're jealous.

Tomorrow's riding includes five hours of training in the morning followed by a group ride later in the day. It's advertised as a very fast ride, but after attending the last turtle trot I will only expect fast once I'm bleeding from my eyes trying to hold the wheel in front of me.

Modern Marvels is on now. Bye.

Manufacturing Tan Lines

2009-03-15T17:03:00.002-04:00

The NorEast training camp is underway! After 18+ hours of driving and breaking into houses in Washington D.C., we arrived at our host housing in Charleston, SC. RKelly, Ryan Carney and I have previously spent training camps in Florida; however, this year we decided to experience some new riding and take advantage of a free place to stay. So, here we are.

Just as cycling revolves around a healthy life-style, road tripping is an immersion into the the depths of unhealthy fast food dripping with the delcious goodness of sodium, trans fats and mega calories. Given the damage done to our bodies consuming a vast array of this food (or edible death if you'd rather), we were fully expecting to spend the first ride encouraging and pursuading our legs to pedal just a little bit longer. Fortunately, this was expected, because today turned out to be a lesson in navigation errors and non-descript, interchangable countryside.

We began the day early hooking up with a local group ride. Unfortunately, the fast, long ride we were hoping to jump into was neither fast nor long. After a brief chat 'n ride, we learned about a marked 100 mile ride to the coast and decided to give it a shot.

Most of the ride was uneventful. The roads are flat. The architecture ranges from posh, stone plantation houses to mobile homes more mobile than home. Drivers are friendly and there is a church every ten yards. I don't think there are enough people in the state to fill the number of churches here, so I guess they must bus in homeless hethens from other states and countries. After riding past the churches for five hour, we realized our marked ride was no longer marked and we were lost. Every house looks the same. Every scary dog has the same bark. Every church advertised Jesus' love for their people the most. Making our predicament worse were the empty waterbottles snickering at our thirst for just one sip of water. Fortunately, RKelly's nerdiness rivals that of Screech and he was armed with an internet machine complete with GPS. I normally prefer the traditional atlas, but my jersey pockets just aren't that roomy. Finally, we determined from where we had started riding and used the last of our determination to make it home where ice cold Cokes beckoned to be consumed.

Now, it's lunch time followed by snack time. Then maybe some dinner and another snack. 125 mile. 6 hrs 15 mins. 2 mini oatmeal cream pies. 1 granola on the go bar. 2 sore legs. Most importantly, 4 sweet tan lines.

Please Don't Kill Me

2009-03-11T10:27:00.002-04:00

On my way into work this morning I almost became crow food. A woman in a Volvo wagon, no doubt jonesing for her morning hit of DD coffee, failed to realize the moving objecting coming towards her at high speeds. She turned across two lanes of traffic and nearly had a Josh Austin Missile burst through her passenger side window into her face. Fortunately, the hours spent training in snow and ice prepared me for the brake locked, tire skidding fish tail action I experienced as I attempted to avoid embossing my face in the indestructable Volvo frame. As you might imagine, I was both unhappy with the woman and unsure if the mound in my chamois was JUST road grime and mud from the wet roads. My mood, made sour by the soggy conditions, compelled me to follow the woman into the parking lot and yell at her through her closed window. She responded with, "sorry, I didn't see you" and a shrug of the shoulders. I'm no doctor, but I don't think that excuse saves my brain from looking like pasta alfredo a la tire tread after being run down by a 2,500 lbs car. Everyone, PLEASE WATCH WHERE YOU'RE DRIVING.

In other news, RKelly, Ryan Carney and I are driving to South Carolina for some warm weather riding. We leave Friday. I can barely contain my excitment of having the chance to dine at Sheetz, Waffle House and Cook Out ALL WITHIN A 24 HOUR PERIOD. There will be plenty of time for bloggin after rides. So, check back in later.

Also, I've noticed a direct correlation between weather and blog posts. As temperatures warm, we ride more and have more stories to relate to our faithful reader. The winter hibernation is over.

NorEast February Escape

2009-02-15T19:48:00.004-05:00

(AKA here is all the awesome stuff you guys missed because you have responsibilities.)

As you may have seen from Ryan Carney's forum post a few days ago, he and I headed to North Carolina this weekend for the Wolfpack Classic. We raced this last year, and it was a ton of fun (not to mention about fifty degrees warmer than New England) so we decided to go back down there.

What follows is quite long. So sit back, grab a cup of coffee, and enjoy our tales of warm weather and enjoying horrible food.

WE'RE REALLY DOING IT! The journey south.

Originally, the car was going to be filled by Carney, myself and Josh Austin. Unfortunately, Austin bailed on us at the last minute because he has a "job" and he enjoys being "employmed", so he wasn't able to make it. That left us with just one driver (as I am not able to drive stick) which isn't super fun for a 13 hour drive.

But Carney and I remained undeterred. We made arraignments to crash at a friend's place outside of DC on Thursday night before getting to Raleigh Friday afternoon. We departed Dover at around noon on Thursday, after picking up two variety packs of Smuttynose for our hosts.

What followed was roughly ten hours of me screaming at my Garmin for dispensing questionable directions, horrible odors coming from both of us, a visit to a UNH Cycling Historic Food Stop (the pizza place right before the Tappan Zee Bridge) and the discovery of many fantastic radio stations.

The radio station discovery was great - if you happen to be within radio coverage of Queens, check out 88.7, THE PULSE. It also helps if you enjoy the kind of dance music pumped out at the dance floor of sketchy clubs. It's also enjoyable when sitting in traffic.

We eventually made it to DC, watched some news and caught up with UNH Alum Arley Kemmererererer before Carney and I snuggled up on a double-sized inflatable mattress in her frigid ice-cave of a house.

Friday morning we headed out from her place at around seven a.m. in what was a successful attempt at beating beltway traffic. Carney and I were pretty psyched at this point, as we realized we were going to make it to Raleigh around noon - giving us plenty of time for a ride. On our trip last year, we dawdled quite a bit in the driving, but Carney and I (with traveling skills honed by years of collegiate cycling) were models of efficiency.

On the way to Raleigh, we realized that the kid we were staying with (An NC State student) wasn't going to be out of class until about 1:30, so we killed some time by completing one of the goals of the trip - a stop at Waffle House.

For those of you who have never ventured south of the Mason-Dixon line, Waffle House is a southern institution. It is a chain of restaurants which are alarming in their consistency - that is to say they are consistently greasy, cheap and fast. Waffle House has earned a special place in my heart, as I love gross, cheap breakfasts, and due to the frequency with which the UNH team stopped at it on our way to and from Florida. So, in my mind, as soon as I see that giant sign shining like a beacon of trans-fats, I think "WARM WEATHER. RIDING IN SHORTS".

So Carney and I stopped at a casa de waffle in Rocky Mount, and treated ourselves to some fantastic training food. Carney had a bacon, egg and cheese along with hash browns covered in chili. I had two waffles and hash browns "all the way" - which means they fried bits of potato with mushrooms, jalapeños, ham, American Cheese Product, other items, and topped the entire mess off with chili. I also went ahead and followed the waitresses advice and threw a packet of ranch dressing on there.

I mean, I was doing a Pro/1/2 race the next day, so I needed the fuel.

We got back in the car, and before we knew it we were pulling up to our weekend home. Knowing our host wouldn't be home for a bit, we squeezed our Waffle House-filled butts into our teamkits and spun around the neighborhood for a bit. Brian, our host, got home about thirty minutes later, and then took us out for some "openers" (either we were riding hard, or our legs felt like garbage due to two days in the car and roughly 10,000 calories of grease) and a tour of downtown Raleigh and the NC State campus.

After some much needed showers, Carney and I joined Brian and his friends for a pizza dinner and a discussion of drag racing with 19 inch rims.

Saturday: Road race and accomplishing goal number two

Saturday morning brought something amazing - it was fifty degrees at eight a.m. Not three degrees. Not even thirty degrees (which, sadly, has become my definition of "good weather"). FIFTY degrees.

Our host had already left, as his school was hosting the race and he had to go prepare gauze for the eventual collegiate D crashes. Carney and I had some food which we purchased at Food Lion the previous night, and headed out the door listening to our new favorite Raleigh radio station - 88.1. Which plays Ratatat and Gorillaz remixes. Fantastic.

After some more Garmin issues (nothing like seeing your car icon floating in the ether of an nonexistent road), we got to registration and waited in line for quite a bit before getting our numbers. It was drizzling a tad before we raced, but, probably due to Carney and I screaming "JUST A RADAR BLIP", it soon cleared up. It remained overcast and around 60 for most of the day, but the sun eventually peeked out and my arm warmers were stashed in my jersey pockets.

My race was only 76 miles, and Carney's was only 54, so we really didn't have to worry about feeds too much. The most interesting thing about racing in North Carolina is how people dress when it's below seventy - there was one guy in my race with full tights and New England-certified booties, and many people in long sleeve jerseys. Carney and I were definitely the standouts, as we were giddy with the anticipation of racing on salt-free roads.

Another interesting thing about racing down here is that, obviously, the fields are totally different. No Fiordifrutta, no Met-Life, and very few familiar faces - although, Isaac Howe, NorEast alum turned pro, was in my race. Also present was Ben King, member of the Livestrong Developmental team and U23 road race champion. Other big guns included a MASSIVE Team Type 1 rider, a full DLP Racing squad, several Mountain Khaki riders (Isaac's team, formerly known as Time Pro Cyclnig) and a handful of the always strong Lees-McRae College riders.

From the gun the race was on - and I was pretty much tasting egg and cheese sandwich for the first half of it. The course was like a flatter version of Turtle Pond, with some gradual uphills that were only difficult due to the speed we were hitting them at. Riders were attacking, groups were forming, splits were happening - but nothing was sticking. I found myself (a few times) off the front in a group that I thought had promise, but was eventually pulled back. There wasn't a ton of organization in any of these moves, which always seemed to kill them.

I sorely missed having teammates in my race, as there was no one to joke with. As a result, I was just saying stuff out loud and everyone thought I had mental problems. Which may be true, but typically Austin and I will pass our time in the field making inappropriate jokes.

Ben King would frequently have a go off the front - but people seemed too terrifiedd to try following him, so he'd just languish off the front for a bit until someone attempted to bridge up to him or an organized chase would bring him back

So the race continued like that with nothing terribly exciting happening, aside from the taste of breakfast sandwich creeping out of my mouth and back into my stomach. The race was strung out, single file, probably 80% of the time. Which is always fun.

With a lap to go, a group of four got off the front. For the most part, the field seemed okay with letting them go, but they never got a huge gap. Because I didn't have any teammates with me, I was comfortable letting someone else (Like DLP or Mountain Khaki) do all the chasing.

But neither of those teams really seemed up to it. So with about 9 miles to go, the Team Type 1 rider and his giant quads got to the front and started up the pain train. He was riding like a mad man to bring that break back, and I stupidly found myself up there with him for a bit. He was very vocal, aggressively reminding me to pull through and keep going.

I eventually remembered that there were no NorEast riders behind me, so all this work was probably for the benefit of everyone else. After a few miles with my nose in the wind, I fell back into the strung-out line which formed behind the guys leading the chase.

The pace was still pretty high, and the break was in our sight. I realized that we were getting a few ks away from the finish, and started moving my butt up towards the front in the hopes of magically having a decent sprint (which would be shocking as I have never had a decent sprint).

Everyone started really moving a little before the 1k to go sign, so I started hopping on wheels. With 200 meters to go, we rocketed by the four men who had almost stayed off the front...and soon after that my fuel tank was empty. I tried to keep my position, but slid back a little more than I would have liked - eventually coming in 19th.

And the massive Team Type 1 rider managed to not only pull the break back, but sprint, open up a gap, and win handily. Which is why he gets the big bucks.

According to Carney, his race went in a similar fashion, with no moves staying away. He managed to pull out a 7th place finish.

After our race, we had some food and Coke before heading out to ride some more - as it was sunny and sixty, weather which we will probably not see in New Hampshire until March. We both got in close to 100 miles, between our race and spinning around.

We then changed and headed back to Raleigh, where we completed task number two: Eat at Cookout.

I'd be surprised if anyone other than Josh Austin was familiar with Cookout, as it is located only in the Carolinas and Georgia - and is deceptively tasty. For $4.25, you can choose one main item, two sides and a drink - an combo known as the Cookout tray. Carney and I eagerly raced to the Cookout off of Buck Jones Road (what kind of a name is that?) and consumed our fast food sitting on the curb next to his car.

We then headed back to our hosts house, realized he wouldn't be home for an hour, and killed time in a fantastic coffee shop. Our evening was spent watching the NBA Slam Dunk contest and the Tour of California prologue, both in HD. I stretched out on Brian's eight-foot long couch and passed out.

Sunday: Crits and getting in the van.

Once again, Brian headed out before us as he was racing at nineish. I wasn't going off until 2:15, and Carney wasn't going off until 3:30. Which meant:

1. We had lots of time to kill.
2. Our drive home was going to be quite un-fun.

But a long drive is the price to pay for racing in shorts.

After some breakfast, we suited up and rode to the crit course, which was about three miles away at NC State's Centennial Campus. Centennial Campus is essentially a massive office park, filled with university programs and various bio-tech and computer science companies. Which makes for a very simply-planned crit.

We watched a few laps, rode a few laps, and registered before we rode back to the house for lunch and getting ready to race. The morning ride did my legs some good, as they were hurting and stiff from the previous day's efforts. While we were checking out the earlier races, we got to talking to some Raleigh locals who were enjoying some interesting beverages at 10:30 in the morning. But they promised to cheer for us if they were functioning when we raced...four hours later.

After a spin back to the house, some lunch and loading up the car, we headed back to the course. I was going off first, so I got dressed far too early for my race. But this gave me time to ride around with my reflective sunglasses on, listen to my iPod and catch up with Isaac.

At one point I was waiting in line for the port-o-potty, and the previous day's winner (The Team Type 1 rider) was standing off to the side. I thought I saw some sort of flesh-colored rock behind him...but then I realized the protrusion I saw was just his MASSIVE QUAD MUSCLE. Which was terrifying and depressing.

I also saw another interesting fashion choice - a Master's rider racing a crit with a psudeo-scarf covering his MOUTH. Which makes zero sense. I can safely say that no NorEast members would make such an egregious fashion and racing mistake. People in North Carolina must like sucking oxygen through a polypropylene filter.

The Pro/1/2 field eventually lined up, and it was announced that our race was going to be cut to 45 minutes, instead of one hour. Which I was pretty bummed about. Both because I had traveled all this way to race, and missing a quarter of my crit was pretty lame. And also because the loss of time lowered my "dollars per minute of racing". With a 60 minute crit, I was paying 41.7 cents per minute of racing...with a 45 minute crit, I was paying 55.6 cents per minute of racing.

Despite the increased cost per minute of racing, we were off. The course was quite short and technical - it wasn't much longer than one kilometer. It had a long finish straight, followed by a short, small hill, and a downhill into a chicane and a left-hand turn back to the finish straight.

The group was together at the start, and then the attacks started coming. And, like the road race yesterday, nothing seemed to have any legs. Two or three guys would get a small gap, but it would quickly get shut down.

I (unsurprisingly) spent a good amount of time on the front, or trying to get off the front. I did try to be a little wiser than in the past, so once I realized all my work was futile, I'd get back in the group and hide from the wind.

With about three laps to go I was sitting third wheel, but let myself fall back a little bit as it was far too early to be that close to the front. I wasn't too worried about moving up, as I found I could do so easily by being aggressive on the hill. I made it back towards the front on this part of the course, and on the last lap I was up there jostling for position.

Like the previous day, I certainly had the speed required to be towards the front at the end - but I wasn't able to turn it up to 11 and discover my nonexistent sprint. Which is certainly something to work on. I did end up 14th, though, which I was happy with.

Carney's race was next, and after a short spin and changing, I got down to the course and loudly reminded him to go faster. His race definitely shed a lot of people, and some moves did manage to stick. With a few laps to go, there was one guy off the front - but no one in the field was taking the necessary initiative to close the gap. As soon as the gap would become small and bridgeable, no one would finish him off, the group would ease up, and his gap would open up a bit more.

It made sense for Carney to wait for someone else to do the chasing - like me, he was racing sans teammates, and it made no sense for him to chase this guy back just so his cooked legs could get slaughtered in the sprint. So he sat in, and got what appeared to be a top ten finish.

I say "what appeared to be" as we hurried out of there before his results were posted.

We packed our bikes in the car (maximizing our mpgs), headed back to Brian's to say farewell, wolf down some food and grab showers so we wouldn't add horrible B.O. to the embedded smells of dirty chamois and bananas of Carney's car.

so now we're sitting in the car, and I'm uploading this to the forum using my work phone, the internet, gigs and ram.

I highly recommend that other NorEaster's join us next year...perhaps we'll give more than a day's notice!

Maintaining sanity

2009-01-15T16:32:00.003-05:00

As Josh previously posted, it's been stupid cold lately. Like the high for today was 7.

Seven degrees.

That doesn't make any sense.

As a result of the lovely January temperatures - and my desire to continue having functioning lungs,fingers and toes - I've spent quite a bit of time on the rollers. But rollers are not ideal, because the entire time I'm on the rollers, I just want to break a spoke off my wheel and push it through my chest.

To prevent this, I try to do something on the rollers - movies, music, occasionally video games.

Here are some specific recommendations:

- The recentish Transformers movie. It's about two hours and twenty minutes long (a perfect roller session length), and contains GIANT ROBOTS FIGHTING.

- Almost any stand up comedy DVD/illegally downloaded file. Most of these are an hour, obviously funny and entertaining, which will help to keep your mind off of the diminishing blood flow to your reproductive organs.

- The following albums, for a more energetic ride: The Slip and Year Zero (Nine Inch Nails), Songs for the Deaf and Era Vulgaris (Queens of the Stone Age). And to calm down, listen to High Times by Afroman.

- The ORIGINAL Star Wars Trilogy. About 4.5 hours. Plus it gives you some sweet bragging rights. Not everyone can watch an entire trilogy while riding their bike.

- Go to hulu. Watch "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia". It's fantastic and twisted. "Burn Notice" is also great, as it's mindlessly entertaining. If you want to learn, there are six seasons of the PBS show NOVA on there as well.

- For video games, you probably want to go with an XBox 360 (or other system with wireless controllers). The advantage of the XBox is that it has a pretty good store where you can buy cheap ($5) and entertaining games - including Mega Man 9, a good selection of Dreamcast games and many puzzle games. Plus you have the added challenge of paying attention to both a video game AND staying upright.

So, as much as I hate riding the rollers...I'm going to get back on them tonight. HOOOOOORAY!

What's Colder than Cold?

2009-01-14T12:39:00.004-05:00

I am generally very averse to riding the trainer for too many days in succession. However, this taste of the Arcitc weather we are experiencing is looking to be more like a three course meal rather than just a taste. With cold, and when I say cold I mean cold enough to probably begin the freezing process in Hell, temperatures expected through Sunday, I will be in the trainer a lot. RKelly listens to music in ride. I watch movies. I finished the 2003 and 2004 Tour, 2008 Giro and Tour of Ireland, 1996 World Champs, Breaking Away and some other videos. Now I'm out. Good time to go to Exeter and pretend I'm waiting in the lot for the Wed. Night World Championships.

More Tips to Attain Mediocrity

2009-01-08T12:30:00.003-05:00

I don't know if I spelled mediocrity correctly, but spelling is just another skill in which I find myself to be mediocre. Fortunately, I have excellent skills such as: riding no-handed on the rollers, playing video games on the rollers and riding no-handed, one-legged with two beers on the rollers. Clearly, I have achieved my life goals.

As you can tell, I have been spending some time doing base mileage on the rollers and trainer in the recent weeks. The nature has not been ideal for riding, so New England cyclists have been forced indoors. If you have spent time pedaling on a trainer/rollers, you will know the many complaints I have with such training. I will not go into detail on any of the hardships I have encountered. But, you can imagine your ass hurts after extended hours indoors, your psychological stability becomes suspect, and your ability to quote movies, verbatim mind you, becomes perfect. What's a cyclist without a pro contract to do?

Like the Canadian Geese flying overhead in fall, cyclists find it necessary to migrate south at some point in the winter. These trips need not be month long stays in training meccas like Mallorca or the Canary Islands. A simple long weekend or week spent lavishing in the sun of the southern U.S. is ample time to clear the mind of any weather-beaten New England cyclist and put some color on his legs. It's just about time for one of those adventures.

This year, like last year, I will be taking two trips to warmer climates. If you are hoping to attain mediocrity, I suggest you take notes. The first trip is a multi-faceted training trip for both cycling and traveling. Over the Valentine's Day weekend, there are two races in North Carolina. We will be traveling down for a three day stint of riding and enjoying the sunshine. The cycling training is obvious. Between getting in some early race miles, we will have the ability to do additional riding and lay the ground work for impressive cyclist tans. But, more importantly, we will be strengthening our traveling skills. A weekend trip of this distance makes the need for efficiency imperative. Inefficiency=Less Sun. So, we train our bodies to go longer without food and nature brakes. We learn to urinate in gallon jubs. We perfect our skills at reading traffic and make note of important exits containing Sheetz and Cook Out restaurants. In short, we create a model of efficient traveling to be implemented in the real trip.

The real trip is our week-long training trip. This has typically been located in Florida where warm weather is normally guaranteed. The riding is sub-par, no climbing and lots of traffic, but pedaling in shorts and short sleeve jerseys is well worth the lack of scenic riding. During the training "camp" we ride for 4-5 hours a day, BBQ, sit poolside and relax. There is nothing better than sitting in your shorts eating hamburgers while it's snowing back home. NOTHING. Plus, you return from the trip fit, tan and mentally prepared to deal with one more month of Mother Nature's antics.

One month and counting until I find the warm weather. Back to the rollers until then.

Night Time Commuting

2009-01-06T16:12:00.003-05:00

For those not in the know, I have established a training program to rival the likes of The Cyclist's Training Bible, Training Peaks, Chris Carmachael and any other coaching services/books available in the world. The title, How to be a Mediocre Cat 2 Cyclist with a Full-Time Job, will be available at your nearest book retailer shortly. Until then, I will provide the secrets to my lack of success through a series of brief training suggestions.

As you are probably aware, the days in the winter are about as long as...well, let's just say the night's are about as long as Dirk Diggler. Slaving away for 40 hours a week to pay bills often cuts into those daylight hours and makes training difficult at best. During the summer, I ride to and from work daily. Not only does the commute save gas money, but it also provides me with 2+ hours of easy training time. This is a habit I manage to continue into the winter months; however, I'm forced to combat the encroaching darkness on my rides home. So, I invested in a light system for my bike. With a bottle cage battery and wide angle beam, I'm capable of navigating the black ice and snow banks along my 25 mile journey. This does not come without its hardships.

Above all else, the worst part about commuting at night in the winter is the cold. I can deal with riding in the dark. I can deal with riding in the cold. But, the synergy of the two has the plants a seed of hatred in my soul: a hatred for Mother Nature and her incessently blowing cold winds, snow storms and terrible winter weather pattern in general. If you would like to learn more about my hatred for Mother Nature, please join me this weekend for a long ride in the tundra...George Carlon would even cover his ears.

Shadows are another problem I have been forced to deal with during my nocturnal commutes. Cars approaching from behind cause your own shadow to race infront of you. Like Mark Cavendish, this shadow is impossible to beat. And, it seems intent on hiding every pot hole large enough to swallow both of RKelly's feet and ginormous calves. These problems exist even without a riding partner. If you're lucky enough to be joined by a fellow masochist on your commute home, you will find his light system causes your shadow to appear on the roadside trees. This 30+ foot tall shadow crouched over his metal steed appears angry and ready to destroy any baby, puppy or kitten in its path. It hides the shoulder of the road from your view and dares you to ride into the "transfer station" river on Lee Camp road. Its 10 foot long fingers can be seen shifting gears, always one step ahead of you and knowing your next reaction. Basically, this shadow is a giant d-bag and tries to crush your motivation.

There are more problems with commuting by dark. However, I'm about to suit-up and head into the abyss that is winter. Another night of chasing the 30 foot stranger in the trees and another 30 minute shower to thaw my fingers once I get home.

More to come...

Happy New Year

2009-01-05T11:06:00.002-05:00

Last year is behind us as we embark on an adventure into 2009. I won't go into details of my New Year's Eve celebration, but I can tell you I woke up with nothing short of the worst hangover of my life. The throbbing headache, new snow on the ground and broken shifter cable meant 2009 started with a rest day.

With my head back to normal the Mother Nature just barely cooperating, I've been getting in some decent riding. I braved the frigorific winds over the weekend and pedaled over the Parker/Catamount loop as well as a shorter loop through Nottingham. I was alone as others were less manly (and maybe smarter) than me and rode the trainers. I can't complain; I nearly froze to death, but at least I didn't get bored.

So, the blog is back up and running...for now. The 2009 racing season is quickly (I hope) approaching. If you are a Cat. 1 or 2 rider in need of a team for this season, please contact me at jaustin at timberland dot com. We have room for two more riders and would like to gave a full roster going into the season.

Anyway, happy New Year and enjoy the wonderful Arctic training grounds.

First Week Back

2008-08-06T11:21:00.002-04:00

The weekly to commute for bike racing was much shorter this past weekend. With races in Bow and Concord, there was little more than an hour spent driving. Good for the environment, good for the legs and good for the wallet.

Saturday was the Concord Crit and my first race in about a month. I was skeptical how my knee would feel. The tendonitis is by no means healed, but I was hoping to at least get through the race without pain. During the warm up, I became overwhelmingly aware our team is perhaps the funniest, most obnoxious team in New England. I pee a lot before races, but I found myself close to wetting my chamois from laughing too much. Anyway, we warmed up then crammed onto the starting line. So far, the knee was holding up. Suddenly, we were racing. Round the corners, up the hill, down the hill, repeat. I was surviving. My heart rate was THROUGH THE ROOF. But, I was surviving. Forty minutes into the race, a break formed and I found myself sitting fourth wheel in the pack. The three guys in front of me clearly wanted to hangout with the guys in the break, including Vinnie, so I was desperately trying to hold their wheels. Normally, this is no problem. However, on this day, after three weeks of no racing and little riding, I was nearing death. My pack slide was what I imagine snow tubing down an icy Alp d'hueze would be like, unavoidably fast and unstoppable. With the field pulling away from me, I decided to sit up and soft pedal until they caught me. I very shortly had the pace car honking at me and Vinnie pulling alongside me. He was still in the break. Good. I waited a second longer and the field overtook me. I ramped up the pace and stayed with the peloton until the finish. All I needed was that little break. Unfortunately, coming through the second to last corner, a small crash took out Duncan, Dylan and Ryan. Everyone was okay, thankfully, but it took a bit of steam out of the finish line express.

After the race, I made the WONDERFUL decision to ride home to Durham. My knee felt fine the whole race, so why not get in some extra hours? Bad idea. About 30 mintues from home, my knee stiffened up and was really hurting when I pulled into my driveway. Obviously, 2+ hours is okay, but 3+ hours is overboard at this moment. What can I say, I am dumb and anxious to get my legs back to racing shape.

Sunday...I skipped the race. My knee was sore and racing 64miles was a bad decision even I wouldn't make. I guess it rained and was cut short at 32 miles.

Racing resumes this weekend with Gate City Cyclone in Nashua. My knee continues to feel better, so I should be there. Hopefully, some hard riding this week will get my legs and lungs jump started. So, keep an eye out for us at Holman Stadium.

(Imagine the Jeapordy Song)

2008-08-01T09:31:00.002-04:00

Sorry for the lack of updates on the happenings with the team. Unfortunately, I have been out of the loop with an annoying knee problem, and the rest of the team has been hard at work racing...I think. There have been some good results since Fitchburg. Working Man's stage race was a success with Duncan and Rossman taking first and third, respectively. RKelly and I rode there to give our emotional support in the form of loud, obnoxious screaming. Honestly, I think we contributed to that strong performance. There have also been some other top 10 results. But, I wasn't there any they are posted on the side of the screen. Turn right.

This weekend we'll be racing in our backyard. The Concord Crit and Bow Road Race will kick-off tomorrow. I've been going to Access Sports Rehab Center for p.t. the past few days, and I'm hoping my knee will hold up. The crit is your normal crit with a slight rise in the third and fourth corner. The road race, on the other hand, is pretty tough. From the start/finish line, there is a long climb. It's pretty steep in some areas and seems to go on forever. Then there's a quick descent before climbing up the KOM climb. I'm sure it's going suck. I don't mean to be pessimistic, but I remember this course as being pretty brutal last year...and that was in the cat 3 race. Please, if you see my knee laying on the side of the course, pack it in ice and return it to me at the finish line. Thanks.

So, it's already August. There are only two months of racing before the Portsmouth Crit, my last road race of the season. Then 'cross.

A Week Ago Today

2008-07-14T14:30:00.002-04:00

One week ago, I was sitting in Maine enjoying my first day of vacay from the bike and work. Fitchburg and New England Race Week was over. Like most other cyclists in the North East, Fitchburg was a major goal for our team. We knew we had the strength to win the overall AND the points competition. We started the race with a strong TT by Rudy and went into the road race with the expectations of working him into the leader's jersey. It was a tough 92 miles. We were great tactically. Dangerous moves were smothered and Rudy, the Hebrew Hammer, was allowed to conserve his energy for a majority of the race. With two laps remaining, a break went up the road and Vinnie and Duncan jumped aboard. From their accounts, the break was rolling along nicely until the finish climb up Mt. Wachusett. They hit the base of the climb 2 minutes ahead of the peloton where the whole NorEast contingent was waiting. Isaac drove the field hard into the first steep pitch of the climb and let Rudy take over. At the same time, I witnessed an incredible explosion of someone's Zipp 404 front wheel as they introduced it to another rider's deraileur. It was an awesome sight. Unfortunately, it helped open a gap I needed to ride through to catch the back of the main field. If this had not been the case, I certainly would have witness the Hebrew Hammer stomping on the field to take third on the day. I also would have seen Rossman, Captain Invisible, charging from the tail gunner slot into 11th on the day (I have no idea where the hell he comes from, but he always seems to appear at the right spot/right time at the finish line). Regardless, Rudy just missed the orange jersey by 14 seconds. We would try to pull back those 14 seconds over the next two days. But, with a quick circuit race and a flat, non-technical crit, it was not to be. Still, I think we are all happy with a 5th place GC ride and a 3rd overall in points.

Since the conclusion of Fitchburg, I have not even looked at my bike until today. I took the week to relax and recuperate from the chest cold pestering me for the past week and a half. Instead of riding, I decided to go backpacking for a few days. However, I soon realized a 26 mile, three day backpacking trip does not necessary last three days if you hike 20 miles the second day. Similarly, I realized 20 miles of hiking in one day, up and down the Sandwich Mountain range, makes your legs feel as if someone took a roofing hammer to them a few hundred times. Even now, three days after my excusion into the woods, my legs are in pain. It's nice my personal soigneur isn't too averse to giving massages.

I heard my teammates were in action of the weekend. Rudy repeated his 4th place from last year's Attleboro crit and Isaac sacked 7th at New Britain. It will be nice to get back into the racing this weekend with Claremont and Yarmouth. From here on out, watch for NorEast throwing down at any race our team enters...we hope.

WHOA!

2008-07-02T16:06:00.003-04:00

It's been a busy few days for bike racers in New England. Let's take a journey down memory lane, shall we?

So many Cox

As you may have seen by Austin's previous post, we finally got our first win of the season at the Cox Charities Crit in Providence on Saturday in the 2/3 race. A fantastic course (that ran right near RISD, so there were all sorts of cute hipster girls that I'm sure were checking me out the entire race...) that was a little technical - a gnarly climb, some interesting corners and a nasty headwind on one of the longer straights.

It was one of those courses where it was a good idea to have a front or near-front row start.

Naturally, I got a second to last row start after taking a final lap around the course. Yay! So I got to spend the first eight or ten laps working my way through the field as the rest of the NorEast team was on the front throwing down. By the time I got up there, a small group had gotten away.

Then I saw Gavin "I'm 16 and weigh 120 pounds but put out more watts than a 175 pound 23 year old" Mannion launch off the front with Isaac sticking right to his wheel as they began to build a bridge constructed solely of watts up to the five-man move.

Yes.

And of course they got up there.

Then, it was time for me, Austin, Duncan, Rossman, Rudy and Vinnie to sit in and shut people down. And did we EVER shut people down. We certainly didn't make any friends during that race as we (along with a few Targetraining riders and another Hot Tubes kid) jumped on every wheel that tried to initiate a chase. It was pretty much textbook.

Rudy had a few lap solo flyer, nabbing himself a prime, so that was great.

And then Isaac won.

Then we ate indian food:

FREE BURRITOS

The next day was a circuit race in Newton (The Boloco Circuit Race, to be exact). It was just Austin and I heading there (Rossman was busy getting 9th at a crit in East Hartford, everyone else was relaxing or busy living in Northern Vermont) and it was a pretty stacked field - basically all the guys from the Pro/1 NRC race at Providence the day before. And since this was day two of a week of racing, we decided to just hangout, go with the big splits and make mom jokes to each other during the race.

The course was, again, great, but a little dicey at times. There was this interesting, fast and tight turn thingy going on after the start finish that I was sure was going to either launch me over the curb or send me skidding along the pavement (thankfully, neither happened). There was also a long, gradual hill that was going to get annoying after a while.

So, we lined up for the race, waited for Richard Frieze to call up olympians, former national champions, etc. and then we were off.

And my sitting in began! I spent most of the race moving around slow people on the hill and generally doing very little work - at times it was much easier than an Exeter ride. Occasionally the group would string out, but then it would bunch up. Eventually a group of 12 got off the front - and then that was the race, basically. Almost everyone had someone in the move, so there was no real organized chasing.

Then there was a downpour that would make Noah go "Holy shit!", along with some lightening. And we went from 6 laps to go to 1 lap to go. Which was sort of nice, because my brakes weren't working that well and the three manhole covers per corner were getting a little scary.

The only thing of real note during the race was that Tim Johnson pretty much sat up on the long descent that led into the finish...and I went around him.

So I beat Tim Johnson.

After the race there were free burritos. I had three. I was also soaking wet. Our friend John Lamb came out to see us race.

Then Josh and I drove back to New Hampshire.

So...that's that!

Maybe I'll write about Exeter in a bit?

Sweet, Sweet Victory

2008-06-29T11:42:00.002-04:00

We finally got the elusive victory this weekend with Isaac sticking the break and beating out the other six guys. The rest of us played defense in the field SHUTTING EVERYTHING DOWN. Report and photos to come.

Housatonic Hills

2008-06-17T15:00:00.002-04:00

So, either the promoters were incorrect about the race length, or the average speed of the race was slow due to the MASSIVE AMOUNTS OF CLIMBING. Regardless, this was one beast of a race.

I was disappointed to miss out on RossMAN's sprint to 3rd on Saturday, but I had family stuff requiring me to skip Monson. Instead, I found myself driving to Woodbury, CT Saturday night to stay at RKelly's house where they have GOLD sheets on the bed. There is truly no better way to prepare for a race than sleeping in gold sheets with another dude.

Waking up Sunday morning was scary. Not only did I have RKelly standing in the doorway in his underwear, but I also had to race 81 miles with close to 9,000ft of climbing. It was going to be a rough day. Fortunately, Ryan's family supplied us with plenty of breakfast food. We ate while Ryan's mom, Kathy, begged Drew to find Ryan a girlfriend. Apparently, she thinks one cannot go into a bar sporting a mohawk and screaming to pick up chicks. Very funny morning and a good way to keep the nerves calm before my nearing death.

After arriving to the race and signing in, I tried to get my feed situation ironed-out. I made a mussette bag last week and was planning to hang it from my repair stand in the feed zone. Unfortunately, I forgot my repair stand. There was a mailbox nearby, but it was on the left side of the road and feeds were limited to the right. RKelly soon found out Vinnie's family was there, and they were quickly enlisted to provide feeds. The only thing needing to be done was race. And race we did.

This course was hard. The 2+ mile climb to kick things off was interesting. It was steep in some sections, but other sections were ridable in the big ring. Then there were some other climbs. A lot of other climbs. One was a wall. I felt I would have been better suited using a climbing rope and shoes rather than a bike. The KOM climb was after a left hand turn at the bottom of a long descent. It was not too long but not too short either. It was actually the perfect area to yell "Anchors Away". And many people did.

Basically, the hills took their tolls rather than a team or strong riders thrashing the field. Mid way through the second lap, there were only about 45+ guys left after starting with 85. I was almost not included. On the second time through the feed zone, I could not find Vinnie's family. So, I slowed and waited for the front group to pass through. Finally, I found a woman holding out a bottle and I snagged it. It seemed she was holding it for me, but I reallyl didn't know who she was. I didn't care either. I was thirsty. From there, I was left chasing for about three quarters of the lap. Upon reaching the peloton, I tucked myself into the middle and spent the rest of the race trying to conserve energy. Thankfully, on the next and final time up the feedzone climb, Beth was there to give me bottles without having to chase wheels.

A lot happened during the race, but the most exciting part, for me, was the last 5 mile section. Knowing I would certainly make it home alive, I began to work with Ryan. We attacked, chased and countered. It was action packed with Metlife, CCB and a few other teams trying to put a guy over the line first (first from the field, but we were now racing for 20th). But, no one wanted to crack and we ended the hostilities in a sprint. I say we, but I mean they. My legs were pretty cooked at the 200m to go sign, and I really wasn't a factor.

So, we raced. We survived. RKelly, RossMAN, Vinnie and I made it through. Unfortunately, the previous day's efforts and a small crash finished Duncan's day early. Overall, I would say it was one of the hardest races I've done this season.

Funny/odd things that happened: some dude yells at Dan Vaillaincourt and calls him a Cat. 5 (Toshiba-Herbalife pro rider), Collin from CCB standing in the road bikeless while Merlin (SRAM guy with awesome beard) searched for a bike down an embankment in bushes, Ryan Fleming getting SO ANGRY when my legs were cramping and I decided not to pull through anymore.

NHIS Summer Solstice on Thursday.

Ballin'

2008-06-17T10:52:00.003-04:00

This past Saturday, June 14th, was the Monson Road Race. If you look over there on the right hand side, you'll see that Matt "Zen Master" Rossman snuck his ass into a third place finish. Which, sadly, I did not see as someone decided to crash on the wet train tracks in front of me. Despite my best attempts to bunny-hop his body and his bike, I went down.

But before that. The race as a nice little rolling 56 mile stroll through Southern Mass, a good opener before the Housatonic Hills Race of Pain and Climbing and Hurt that was coming up on Sunday. There were only three NorEasters in the Pro/1/2 race - Myself, Duncan and Rossman - and we decided from the beginning to chill out and conserve our limited energies for the more difficult race tomorrow.

The first lap was interesting, as occasionally a small group would get off the front with what appeared to be the right mix of riders...and then eight people would bridge up to it. Then it was too big to be let go, and the field would chase it down. I did a little, tiny bit of work in some of these instances, but I was mostly just hoping to stay fresh for the next day.

One of the most interesting things to see was Dan Vaillancourt put in one hard pull once a large group had a small gap, which motivated the field to chase it down, and then to see him sit in and get pulled up with everyone else.

Another thing to note was the fact that the motorcycle that was pacing us either hated cyclists, was drunk, or had no friggin' clue what was going on. As he occasionally stopped in the middle of intersections, almost killing us. And he started us out in the wrong direction from the gun.

So after a little bit of climbing, some descending, we came to a long flat section with train track crossings. I went down on the first one, tried to chase back on, but it wasn't going to happen. Probably the best crash ever, as the only real casualties were my team kit, bar tape and a bit of a scrape on my elbow. It was a good thing it was wet out, as I just slid.

But according to Duncan and Rossman, shortly thereafter, a break got away, which Duncan was in. So much for chilling out that day. The break stayed away for most of the second (and final) lap, until a few riders decided to chase it back - and Rossman intelligently hopped on their wheel, and got a free ride up to the break when it was caught on the base of the finishing climb (or...rise. Not much of a real climb). From there, he unleashed all the power that he contains during a race by chilling not near the front, and came in third.

Yaaaaay!

Then a few of us stayed at my parents house, where they outfitted a sofa bed with the most ballin' sheets ever.

HE'S HEATING UP!!

2008-06-09T16:37:00.002-04:00

I've had two days to sit and dwell on the terrible experience that was Balloon Festival. As mentioned in the previous post, the weather was hot. Like 80+ degrees at 9:30am hot. My personal race was over rather quick. The race got underway and I was feeling fine. With three quarters of the first lap done, we came to the one major climb/feedzone of the course. There was an acceleration and I was hanging right there with the front group. My legs felt great, so I figured it was time to cover some attacks. BAD MOVE. Regardless of how my legs felt, my heart rate higher than I've seen it in a long time. For a few minutes, I sat on a break only to realize this would not work. I faded away from the break and was caught quickly by the field. But, my backward progress didn't end there. I slid through the pack until the only person left was RKelly who sounded like he just sat in a burning cigarette factory for a few hours. My legs were good. My lungs/heart were not so good. My race ended there. One hundered yards away, RKelly was popped at the same time. To my dismay, he did not hear my yelling for him to wait for me. So, I rode the rest of the lap on my own and DNF'd at the start/finish. YAYYYY.

The other guys were doing great. Rudy was in a break for a long time but was eventually caught midway through the last lap. Isaac was riding well but suffered an umtimely flat (all flats are untimely, but this was more so than others). Rossman thought about DNF'ing at one point. But, RKELLY, still riding with other stubborn/pyschotic riders, convinced him to continue. They all finished the race. I sat in the car and ate a brownie.

This is a race I'd rather forget. However, there were some fun moments. For the first 20 minutes, we were able to talk a lot about Big Slams, Elios pizzas and NBA Jam. Also, when I was exploding, I tried to yell "He's heating up!". But, with the lack of lung power, it was more a whisper than a yell.

**********************************************************************************

Yesterday, RKelly and I decided we need to train in the heat to force our bodies to cope with 90+ temps. So, we did a 5+ hour ride up through Maine to Kennebunkport then down the seacoast to Portsmouth. It was a great ride and we eventually met up with the Polish Hammer. My legs felt great and the heat was not bad. But, we also weren't riding at 25+mph. So, I capped off the weekend with a 90+ mile ride, an iced lemonade at BNG and some gnarly tan lines.

This weekend is Housatonic. Weather looks to be cooler, thankfully. Anyone want to carpool??????

Is it the shoes!?

2008-06-07T07:06:00.003-04:00

I'm sitting at our accomodations' computer right now preparing for the race. It's 7:01am. That may seem early. However, RKelly and I have been up since 5am talking about Big Slams, Cool Ranch Doritos and NBA Jam for Sega. Clearly, this is the most ideal race prep. The only thing to possibly enhance our riding performance, besides EPO/blood transfusions/steroids/better training, would be the addition of a 13" lcd tv for the car on which to play Sega NBA Jam before the race.

Today is the Balloon Festival Road Race. 85 miles. 90 degrees. NO ONE TO FEED US. It should be great. Let's hope we all keep it rubber-side down.

Boomshakalaka!

Crash and Burn

2008-06-04T10:42:00.003-04:00

Racing bikes is not the safest sport in the world. It's not exactly cage fighting, but it's certainly more dangerous than curling. Riding at 25+mph in a large, tight group leaves little room for error. The touch of wheels, a careless swerve, or even a dropped bottle can quickly prove the laws of gravity. As I sit here writing, the dull ache of crashing reminds me of these dangers. Unfortunately, none of those dangers are to blame for my wounds. There were no riders around me. No wheels to cross. No bottles to impede my wheels. Just me. Riding with my head down. I was riding across a split in the field when I was suddenly airborne. A bump in the road sent my bike skyward. The harsh, unexpected jolt pried my hands from the bars and sent them searching for pavement. At the same time, my stem was finding a cozy resting spot just below my belt line. Like many crashes, I had what seemed like minutes to think about how much I was about to hurt.

I lay on the pavement in a ball praying the riders behind don't collide with me or my bike. As they come rushing by, I can hear their breathing and feel how close they are. But, there's no contact. Inventory time. What's hurt, broken, bent? Ripped shorts and jersey. Minor road rash on left knee, chest, arm. Bike seems fine excluding the ruined bar tap and torn hood cover. Oh wait, where is that pain coming from? Oh, that's where the stem slammed into my stomach.

For the most part, everything seemed to be okay. No major issues with my bike or body, thankfully. My race was scrapped, but everything else was alright. And, in becoming a spectator I got to A)see Rossman SPRINT for 8th B)talk to the women's P12 winner who was very cute (results give her name as Debony Diehl) C)enjoy the pain of washing out road rash.

PS-I must add, I have not crashed in a year. It was exactly one year ago in the same race, 100 yards from the same spot. Guess who's NOT going back to Lake Auburn next year!?!?

Balloon Festival this weekend. 90 degrees. 85 miles. Anyone want to give the NorEast team feeds??

Fast to Not-So Fast

2008-05-28T16:53:00.002-04:00

The blogging has been slow recently, but the team has been fast. In the past two weeks, the NorEast elite team has had nearly full rosters at both Sunapee and Hartford. Sunapee was our first team race, so it was interesting to see how our riding styles complimented eachother's. Fortunately, the whole team races aggressively. Before we even left the traffic circle, we were sending guys up the road. Once the dust settled, Isaac and Vinnie were in a break undoubtedly prepared for the one-two finish. Unfortunately, bad luck struck. Vinnie lost is crank (yes, the FSA K-Force crank) and was stranded on the side of the road. Then, late in the last lap, Isaac's legs had their revenge after all the hardwork and decided to shut down before the finish line. Back in the pack, Rossman, Ryan and I were busy covering ill-fated chases and the one CCB clown of the pack. We raced well as a team, but the cards just didn't play out.

The Hartford Crit is a fast, non-technical race with little to no need for braking. Again, we were nearly a full squad with Isaac, Vinnie, Ryan, Duncan and me taking the start. Unfortunately, this race was not a course suited for breakaways. We each tried numerous times to get a move off the front. But, with speeds in the high 20s to low 30s, any rider deciding to skip a pull would also doom the break. We banged our heads against the wall for nearly 60 minutes until a break got a good gap. Josh There Are No Such Things As Dragons Lipka (Frutta) attacked and Isaac grabbed his wheel. Vinnie and I immediately sat on the front hoping to nourish the gap a bit with only three laps left. But, like all the other breaks, two riders from a team in green decided to stop pulling and the pack swallowed the five riders coming into the last lap. The finish, from my perspective, was a bit sketchy. Or, should I say some of the riders were a bit sketchy in the finish. Realizing I was out of contention, I sat up and watched from a safe distance. The boys did some fine sprinting and Isaac bagged 8th. Another successful race for the team. Certainly, we didn't pull in the W, but we proved our ability to race cohesively and aggressively. It won't be long before we start tallying our own wins.

This weekend: Lake Auburn.

To Infinity And Beyond

2008-05-15T15:17:00.002-04:00

This weekend will begin the Elite team's Summer Campaign of Leg Removal. Cycling is a friendly sport, but I think every one of us on the team is excited to get on the road and make every other team suffer and hate life. I'm sure the results will come as long as we turn the screws.

Sunapee is notorious for bad weather. I think every year I have attended this race, there has been cold temperatures and rain. So far, the forecast for the weekend calls for chances of showers and warmish temps. Let's hope Mr. Weather Man is on top of his game.

Anyway, look for us out there in the red/white kits and flashy Giro Ionas helmets. If we're by to fast to say hi, be sure to stop by the podium after...at least I hope that's how the weekend works out.

Check back on Monday for a full report and results. Until then, brace yourself for pain.

Leg Breaker

2008-05-12T12:39:00.002-04:00

Racing is a funny thing. There are some days you and your teammates can jump into every move going up the road only to have every move be reeled in. Then, there are the days when you find yourself in THE break without trying and without seeing the peloton again. Saturday was one of the latter.

We rolled out of the Sterling school after some typical parking lot shenanigans. I realized very quickly this would be tough day. There were no long hills, but the short, punchy climbs were enough to cause pain.

The first hour of racing was filled with the normal aggression. Attack. Chase. Counter attack. Chase. I was content following wheels and waiting for the finish 80 miles later. However, with three laps nearly complete, a large group splintered off the front. The usual contenders were there. But, more importantly Damien and Fleming were there. If I wanted to hangout I had to ride over a small, five second gap. The decision was easy, and I soon found myself getting pull time with our eight man breakaway. Unfortunately, the hanging out part was difficult as my legs were being rebelious. For the next 30 miles, I pulled through and pulled off. Pulled through and pulled off. During this time, I was arguing with my legs for every pedal stroke.

Me: Come on boys, let's keep moving. Full speed ahead!

Right Leg: Wooooo. Wo. This ain't right, man! I'm more cramped than three families and four dogs crammed in a mobile home!

Left Leg: Dude, this is full speed. Go find me a Lazy Boy. Maybe a hammock.

Suddenly, my argument was interrupted by Dan Cassidy and Alec Donahue. Apparently, there pulled a chase group up to our break. Clearly, they had no intentions of hanging out, because Dan, Donahue and McCormack decided to ride away. Cool kids.

With three laps of misery remaining, I beat my legs into submission. They gave up the argument and just pedaled. They were probably a bit embarassed by RKelly who was standing on the side of the hill yelling. Our once united breakway turned into a war zone as the finish line loomed ahead. Attacks were numerous but the chases were successful. At this point, Fleming decided he was too cool and wanted to hangout alone. Despite our efforts, Damien and I weren't able to pull him back.

The last time up the finish climb was hard. My legs had been cramping for about 20 miles and they were finally completely cooked. Maybe even overcooked. So, I limped in for 12th. Overall, I'm happy. It's my best result to date and hanging out in the break was "fun". Matt Rossman came through with the field sans RKelly. As previously mentioned, Ryan found the only sharp metallic object on the course and shredded his tire. It made a pretty cool noise but killed his chances of racing more than 5 miles.

Anyway, this weekend is Sunapee and we will have the full team together for the first time. Any chances of winning? Ohh I hope so.

Into the Blue...er, Grey

2008-05-03T19:42:00.002-04:00

With my rest week coming to its conclusion, I was excited to spend a weekend doing something other than racing. It was a great opportunity to get in a long hike. For the past few weeks, I've been wanting to make the trek up to Tuckerman's Ravine and watch the carnage brought on by skiiers flexing their muscles in the bowl's boiler-plate conditions. So, this was me weekend to go North.

I awoke slightly before 6am and quickly got myself and Byrdy ready for the trip. A glance at the Mt. Washington Observatory's site revealed the weather would be okay with precipitation holding off until the evening. Within hours, this meteorologist, ranked in terms of cycling categories, would probably be ranked a Cat. 7.

Hiking is a great way to keep your legs active and use similar muscles used when cycling. Climbing up snow covered trails over rocks and fallen trees is quite like pedaling. And, if you're like me, the workout is even better as you climb with a pack stuffed with various odds and ends I might need if I were to deviate from the trail and find myself spending a month in the Himalayas climbing Mt. Everest. So, there I was early Saturday morning following Byrdy up the Tuckerman Ravine Trail. Every so often, I would peak through the trees and catch sight of the Observatory. Up there, probably sipping hot cocoa, was the meteorologist I put so much faith in that morning. Temperatures in the 40s he said. No precipation until evening or Sunday he said. Never did he mention the RAIN, WIND and FREEZING temperatures would set in at 8:30am Saturday! If I were a braver, more hardy man, I would have stormed through the wind, rain, ice and snow to knock down his door and drag him out to experience the weather he failed to predict.

Anyway, regardless of the less than ideal weather, I was enjoying my hike. The trail was riddled with skiiers and snowboarders bound for the snow fields. My fitness from cycling was evident as I sped past groups of heavy breathing hikers. The air was cold, but my quick pace forced me to remove all but my base layer and gloves. Within an hour of starting my hike I arrived at Lunch Rocks ready to provide the dramatic OHs and AHs for the skiiers and boarders making an assault down the headwall.

Unfortunately, the wind blown rain was now beginning to make me shiver as I cooled down from the speed hike. Rather than the OHs and AHs, I added my complaints of how cold I was. So, within minutes of arriving to my destination, I was once again on my feet lugging my pack.

Hiking UPHILL is similar to pedaling bikes. But, hiking DOWNHILL is not. No, hiking downhill, on snow no less, is more like taking a roofing hammer and tapping your knees over, and over, and over again. The loose footing of rocks and slipping on snow and ice stresses muscles I never knew existed. The Tuckerman Trail, as it was on my ascent, was still riddled with skiiers and boarders. But, rather than climbing past them as they labored to pull in a full lung of air, I was forced to wait as they waddled up the icy steps. As I stood on the trails edge attempting to avoid falling into tree wells but looking like I'm rehearsing for a Captain Morgan commercial, my legs shook like the needles of a sewing machine. It was uncontrollable. Every step was labored. A slip here cramped my hamstring. Catching myself before falling there pulled my groin muscle. By the time I was back at the car, I felt like I had just raced Battenkill again followed by match of Thai kickboxing.

So, I'm sitting here writing my account of the day's hike and my legs are still achy. But, unlike most weekends, the aches aren't from Fiordifrutta taking away my flashlight in the pain cave. With a long race season stretching from February to October, it's crucial to get in some time away from the bike and keep the mind and legs fresh. For me hiking is an incredible way to spend time off the bike, and I'm already looking forward to my time off after Fitchburg.

NorWest

2008-04-30T14:12:00.005-04:00

As the sole NorEast representative in the Northwest (this is Duncan), I was looking forward to flying the red and white kit of New England out here in Walla Walla Washington. Unfortunately, as some of you know, I was diagnosed with mono (actually epstein-barr, the virus that causes mono) at the end of March. Funny how these things go... after hammering out the hours on the trainer, cold, wet, winter miles, and feeling awkward and out of place at the gym, when it finally gets nice I can't ride! On the plus side, spring hasn't been nearly so nice as it was last year. Although I admit, that means in the 50's and 60's and partly cloudy rather than upper 70's and sunny. Back in New England I would have killed for a "bad weather" spring like that. Anyways, I'm finally easing back into riding after a bunch of time off, and hopefully I'll be healthy if not in shape by the time I get back to NH. So I'll present a quick accounting of my "bike racing" season so far:

January: Get back to school. Work my class schedule so I can ride pretty much all the time anytime. Don't take a full load of classes, because all my time is going to be spent riding, right? Ride. Eat. Look funny in the gym squatting large weights and doing arm exercises with 3lbs. Eat more. Do some homework. Go to class. Dream of racing. Get big legs tele skiing. Eat. Sleep.

February: The same. Only with more eating and riding.

March: Be excited for spring break. Get what seems to be a nasty tonsil infection the week before break. Go to Boise, ID to spend some time with Whitman alums and cyclists, including the legendary Sam Johnson. Feel better, start riding a bunch, including beautiful long rides up to a reservoir, over a mountain (on closed roads!), and on my 'cross bike in the amazing MTB trails around Boise... enjoying all the new terrain. Still have a nagging sore throat but feel better when I enter an individual TT- on my 'cross bike. Do poorly in the TT, not helped by the fact that a) I'm on a 'cross bike, b) I have mono but don't know it yet, and c) there's a 20+ mph tailwind going out on a downhill, and my largest gear is a 45x12.
From Boise I headed over to Bend, OR, outdoor mecca for a few days before the first collegiate race. The TT hadn't gone that well so I decided to lay low before the first collegiate race to recover. When I arrived, the mother of the friend I was staying with informed me that I had an appointment at Rebound Sports Performace Lab. She works in physical therapy and had set me up for a bike fit/analysis, which was pretty cool, especially when I walked in and none other than Adam Craig was chilling out doing intervals in Rebound as it snowed outside.

Feeling better on Friday, I arrived in Oregon for the first collegiate race of the season. The road race was first on Saturday, and it was aggressive. The course was an 11 mile loop that was basically two climbs connected by a tiny bit of flat. It was WAY faster than I remembered from the year before (remember, at this point I think I'm just over a mild flu), and I pretty much just hung on for the first couple of laps until a break went and things cooled down... I even manged a decent placing in the field- I think it was 5th on the uphill finish for a top 10- OK, but not nearly as good as the year before. The TTT in the afternoon was fast and fun, we were 7 seconds behind second place for 3rd overall. The crit, however, was the tipping point. Warming up my legs felt like cement and racing didn't improve them at all- I was blown off the back and rode straight to the vans after maybe 3 laps.

I finally realized that something was up and went to the school health center, where after 5 days of needles and tests they finally determined that it was mono. It looked as though it was a pretty mild infection (hence the difficulty in diagnosis), and may have been around since last fall when my roommate had mono and I got sick as well but rested up and was able to just push through it. I had to take time off then start riding slowly and ease back into training.

April: No riding at first. LOTS of TV and movie watching (remember, I had arranged my schedule to be light and optimized for 20+ hours of training a week as well as travel to and from races). The films watched are too many to list, suffice to say that I was averaging upwards of one a day plus TV. In fairness, I am in a class entitled "Introduction to Television Studies" so watching entire seasons of Rome (2 seasons), Firefly, Entourage, The Office and The OC in addition to a lot of random shows was not ENTIRELY wasteful.
I gradually started riding again, easy spins that reminded me just how much I love cycling and was glad to have the full support of the NorEast team while recovering. Actually in one conversation with Josh and Ryan I'm pretty sure they said I wasn't allowed to not plan on racing. These are helpful words when you're suddenly deprived of something that you formerly were spending 20+ hours a week working towards. Ryan's advice for recovery? "Spend all the money you would have spent on racing on an x-box." Recovery successful so far (minus the x-box).

One of the highlights of April was the USCF Tour of Walla Walla, a 4 stage, 3 day race in and around my westcoast hometown. I'm happy to say that Whitman showed up in dominating fashion, with Ben taking 3rd in every cat 3 event and the overall, Zac and Colin in the top 5 in almost every event in the 4's (including the overall) and Colin winning the cat 4 TT (on my TT bike, thank you very much), Chelsea winning the women's 4 road race, and Kendi 2nd in the womens 1,2,3 crit. Previously mentioned super-alum Sammy J. won the p/1/2 TT by 30 seconds. I like to think that by yelling through a megaphone all day during the crit I made everyone go faster. Whitman continued their winning ways in the collegiate races and I was especially proud that Colin piloted my bike to another 3 TTT wins with Ben and Zac against defending national champions Western Washington University. Is it bad that I never even did well in a TT and then I loan my bike to someone else and it starts winning? So in addition to living vicariously through the team I continued watching movies and am now at the point, with May just around the corner, that I'm ready to start some training. This weekend I'm going to try doing some longer stuff with a bit of tempo thrown in. If I feel good in the two or three days afterwards, I'll keep going and build it up, hopefully getting some real training in before the end of May when I hope to start racing again.

I'm excited to get back to New England where the team looks to be strong and motivated, because as fulfilling as television is, it doesn't give you funky tan lines or the ability to eat a pound of pasta in one sitting.

UNCLE! UNCLE!

2008-04-30T10:24:00.003-04:00

With three weeks of hard training in the books, my legs have built up considerable fatigue and they seem to be missing that snap. So, I'm enjoying a rest week. Coincidentally, my rest week is during a stretch of some crappy weather. It's so much easier to put in a good recovery interval when the sun isn't begging you to get on your bike so it can etch in those tan lines.

I've dedicated my rest week to reading and spending time with my pup. So, during my lunch break yesterday, I headed into Exeter for some soup at the Loaf and Ladle (highly recommended). With food in hand, I found a secluded corner by a window where I could peacefully enjoy my soup and book. I layed everything on the table and just started to open my book when another diner asked about my book. Apparently, he saw my open book and took it as a sign I was more interested in hearing about what he heard on NPR that morning. I was not. But, I listened anyway. Before he finished, another Loaf and Ladle patron was about to pass by my table before she glanced down at my table and noticed my book. She changed course and took sat at the table closest to mine. This book was like an eight week old puppy, and people were flocking to my table. I had, regardless of my wishes, formed the first Loaf and Ladle book club.

Eventually, I found a suitable excuse to evacuate from the restaraunt. I was no further along in my book, and I definitely did not enjoy my peaceful, SECLUDED table. Tomorrow I will have to attempt my plan again at another restaraunt.

Anyway, I'm resting this week. The Tour de Cure is happening this weekend and I'm skipping Jiminy. I organized the NorEast TdC team and will be leading our group on the Century ride. It should be a good time and an easy way to conclude a rest week with nice 6 hour ride.

Race for Baconator

2008-04-28T16:20:00.003-04:00

We raced 150 miles this weekend. Sturbridge and Palmer were both hard and frustrating races. It seemed everyone wanted to be in a break, but no one was content with any of the moves to form. So, Ryan and I basically banged our heads against the wall chasing moves and attacking with little to show for our efforts. Matt put in a solid sprint to claim 14th, 4th in the field sprint. Anyway, that's racing.

But, with racing comes the post-race eating. A while ago, Ryan and I devised a quantitative scale of a race's difficulty. It's a rather simple rating system based on the Wendy's Baconator. For those not fortunate enough to try a Baconator, I can assure you it's a wonderful source of sodium and calories without the unneccessary addition of vegetables. Two burger patties, 2 layers of cheese, ketchup, mustard and a layer of bacon. I believe little Wendy skipped up to Heaven, her little, red pigtails springing about her ears, and returned with this 800 calorie delicacy. They are quite remarkable. But, I digress. Back to the rating system.

Each race, once complete, is discussed in great detail while peeling off the various layers of lycra. Each rider explains, in detail, how they could have won the race but were derailed by a mechanical, cramps, the yellow line rule or so and so from some other team. Finally, we settle into the car. Wiping salt from around our eyes and waving to that guy who robbed us of that elusive win, we begin to discuss our hunger and how many Baconators it would take to satisfy our stomachs' aching. Thus, the numerical difficulty rating, designated by number of desired Baconators, is assigned to the day's racing.

To this date, Battenkill-Roubaix was the hardest race and recieved a 3.5 Baconator rating. This weekend, in terms of total racing effort, probably was close to 3 Baconators. Unfortunately, as wannabe fast cyclists we are only permited to rank the races, not eat the alloted Baconators.

Also, if you are ever racing with a team using radios, it would be a great idea to ask them what they're listening to on the iPod. It not only makes them think you're an idiot, but it also opens the door to make fun of them for liking Celine Dion and the American Idol winners.

The Draft

2008-04-25T13:17:00.002-04:00

From the title of this post, one might expect to find me saddling up the ol' donkey or elephant and ranting some political rhetoric about serving one's country. Unfortunately, I own neither a donkey nor an elephant and my political views are irrelevant. The draft in reference is, in fact, the two to three foot space behind Keith "the Pink Bunny" Button's wheel.

As most are aware, riding in a group is quite enjoyable as the energry required to go fast is minimal. But, sitting on Keith Button's wheel gives a whole new meaning to easy riding. Picture driving down I-95. You see a giant 18-wheeler Wal-Mart truck driving in the right lane. As you slowly approach the mega-hauler, your car begins to shake. Like a Moses and the Red Sea, the Wal-Mart mobile is slicing a path through the wind, and the wind is crashing back down behind. Suddenly, there's silence. Your car no longer feels like it's stuck in an earth quake and the sound air zipping past the windows disappears. You've found the sweet spot; the truck is punching a whole through the wind, letting your car drive with ease.

This is generally how I feel when riding behind Keith. During Exeter rides when the pace gets hot, there is a quiet but aggressive fight to get on Keith's wheel. There is nothing like putting in your pull time and then Pink Bunny Button peels off in front of you. Your legs, once screaming for rest, become content in spinning easily as the speeds approach the high 20s. For this reason, I am excited for this weekend's racing. Keith will be joining us for the P123 race in Palmer on Sunday. I intend to sit in his draft at every possible opportunity. It will be great.

Don't Forget a Flashlight!

2008-04-21T14:16:00.002-04:00

On a sunny and warm afternoon last Friday, I left the scenery-rich town of Durham for a spelunking expedition with Ryan. Unfortunately, I must have misplaced my flashlight while packing, because the cave I explored on Saturday was DARK.

********

I had been anticipating Battenkill-Roubaix for the past month. It's the supposed largest one day race in the country taking over the roads surrounding Salem, NY. However, as the name implies, this was no ordinary race. The course wound up and down the long, steep hills of Upstate New York on both paved and DIRT roads giving it a slight resemblence to the longer, more famous race, Paris-Roubaix, raced on the pave of Euroland.

We arrived in Cambridge, NY just in time to sign-in for the race. Looking around the small town, it became obvious the locals were eager to make us welcome. Shop windows were covered with signs of encouragement, cow bells were being sold on every corner and each restaraunt seemed to have a pasta special. Sensing the impending pain we were soon to endure, we decided to devour numerous plates of pasta, lasagna, meatballs and salad at a pasta buffet before taking a drive on some of the course.

It's funny how a car can make roads seem so easy. Driving up a hill at 35mph hour takes minimal effort. So, when we found the Saturnmobile was having a difficult time climb over the Twin Tops Mountain road, I suddenly felt the urge to put my head out the window and splatter the rock-strewn shoulder with bits of chewed pasta and meatball. The elevation profile, on paper, looked hard. The elevation, in person, looked deadly. As the car turned the dirt road into a cloud of brown haze, I imagined how my legs would be ripped from my body. Battenkill-Roubaix was going to hurt.

********

Most races do nothing to steal my sleep. But, as I lay awake in our mountain top host house, Beaver Cross, my scattered thoughts of how I would survive Battenkill made sleeping nearly impossible. I was relieved when the sun shone through the window, and I was finally able to quit pretending I was getting needed rest.

At breakfast, we sat by the window and scanned the lumpy horizon. The hills were laced with tiny roads and pastures. Certainly, from behind a plate of eggs and glass of OJ, the hills were beautiful. Those same hills would later break our legs and minds.

Ryan, Matt and I got to the start line 15 minutes early. The predicted low 70 degree temps were already passing 80. Our team strategy was easy: survive. The heat would prove to be an ugly opponent. So, like everyone, we had our jerseys packed with water bottles and gels. After a quick word from the official, we were off.

********

The dirt road stared me in the face like a wall. Already 45 miles into the grueling race we had conquered countless climbs on both dirt and pavement. The loose gravel and rocks lead us between two fields. Unfortunately, they didn't farm trees and we were left to suffer with no shade. A bank in the last town flashed 85 degrees on its sign. My brain was boiling. My legs felt like cinder blocks. My morale was approaching catastrophic failure.

Once again, I reached the top of the climb and was rejuvenated by the beautiful downhill winding through the field. But, before I could take a drink and enjoy the breeze, I could see the flashing lights of the pace car going left...and up. Another hill?! Are you kidding me!?! We just climbed a million hills. This was supposed to be a downhill. This was supposed to be a minute for me to rest. But, we're going up!? After fending off the blow from the previous climbs, my morale finally took a direct hit. It seemed I was slowly rolling downhill, backwards, as the front group disappeared.

I thought my race was over until Damien Colfer rode up to me. We worked together (mostly him working and me sitting on his wheel) until we once again found ourselves nestled back in what was left of the peloton. In general, it seemed the mood of the group was rather sour. The day had taken its toll already and there was still more racing to be done.

With a few miles of easy cruising, the pace began to force our small group into a long line. We had passed through the final feedzone and it was only 15 miles to go. Ahead, I saw the orange vest of a marshall. From the dark cloud enveloping the marshall, I recognized this turn would be onto dirt. I jumped to the left and hit the dirt by the front. Behind me, I heard the sound of rock scratching metal. A tube exploded like a gunshot to my left. The soft, beach-like sand covered sharp shale waiting to slice tires. My bike became impossible to control as I struggled up the short hill. In front, I saw a string of riders cranking down the dirt road. I followed until I came to the next climb. Riders from other categories littered the road and served as obstacles to ride around. This clearly was the last straw for many. Bikes once ridden were being pushed. Riders once motivated were now defeated. I rode on.

Back on pavement, four of us joined forces and headed for home. We could see the dwindling peloton ahead, but they were out of reach. We were no longer riding for the win. We were riding to finish. I was riding to get a coke.

After almost four hours and 85 miles, I crossed the finish line. There was neither prize money nor podium appearances. But, I finished. I got my coke. And, I got some sweet tan lines.

Battenkill-Roubaix was an awesome race. In the end, I managed to find myself in 18th, and Matt Rossman and Ryan Kelly were 26th and 27th, respectively. I highly suggest this race to anyone who wants to suffer.

Dummies Guide to Teamwork and Cycling

2008-04-14T14:52:00.002-04:00

For many, associating teamwork with cycling is impossible. Teamwork is for football teams, baseball games and doubles tennis matches. Teamwork and cycling? Never. For those in the peloton turning the pedals, teamwork IS a bike race.

This past weekend, the Turtle Pond road race was a textbook example of cycling teamwork...both good and bad. Let's take a look at the bad.

The Bad
Four miles into the 69 mile race, I found myself enjoying the company of five other riders chasing the winning break. With RKelly up the road, I was in the chase group but doing nothing to help the chase.

"Hey, pull!! We'll never catch them if you don't pull!"

I was being lectured by a younger rider from Hot Tubes. Ceartainly, his enthusiasm was great. He was ready to ride. Ready to win. He was ready to...chase down his teammate.

"Uh, isn't that your guy up there sitting in the break?!" I ask him.

"Yeah, so pull!" he retorts.

Obviously, this kid failed Team Tactics 101: Don't Chase Teammates in a Break. Up the road, the break was rolling along and destined to win, but this kid wanted to chase down his own teammate. Fortunately, my effort, or lack there of, to keep the break away succeeded. Never, never, never chase down a teammate in a well represented break.

The Good
I look back on Sunday's race and see our team's tactics as being awesome. However, the true teamwork professors are the guys from Fiordifrutta. Working with a full team, these guys turned the back roads of Loudon, NH into a lecture hall.

We barely reach two miles into the race and the fireworks started. Attacks were coming in all directions with chases being launched just as quick. Suddenly, a small group of riders steals 10 yards. I get swarmed by Fiordifrutta riders who effectively build a road block. They have a guy in the break. Like a sick puppy, the gap is nurtured and protected by the Frutta guys. Other racers tried to hurt the gap and the Frutta riders shut them down. Every lucky-feeling guy attempting to bridge found a red kitted Fiordifrutta guy clinging to their wheel. Ultimately, their teamwork paid off and the finish line was crossed first by a fellow Fiordifrutta rider.

In the end, it doesn't matter who crosses the line first. It could be you, or it could be your teammate. As long as your team has a guy taking the W then the race was a success.
Lance Armstrong never could have won a Tour de France without his teammates.

Lessons Learned:
NEVER chase a teammate in a break.
Do all in your power to let a gap grow.

Oh yeah, and if you are a Pro, stop complaining and earn your pay check.

"Ryan, look at your stem."

2008-04-14T11:43:00.003-04:00

Usually the first few miles of a road race are somewhat tame, giving everyone a chance to get their legs moving before the race becomes more active. I was looking forward to this, so I could talk to Austin and Jon Awerbuch, figure out a plan for the day and get my legs warmed up.

Not this weekend at Turtle Pond. Nope. Brendan "Stretch Leader" Cornett shot off the front up the opening climb, in an effort that was obviously not going to do anything aside from making the race active waaaay too early for my taste. But that's how it goes.

Once the group caught up with him, I rode next to him and said "Hey, thanks a lot, clown." To which he replied in an overly-enthusiastic voice "I WAS GONNA WIN!" At that moment, I forgot how much I missed riding around with him before cross races as he stole food from unlocked cars.

So from there, the activity of the race continued. I decided to just sort of watch what Josh Dillon and Matt White from Fiordifrutta were doing, because they're super strong and would probably be active in anything that had a hope of staying away. And the way the group was going at this point, I felt like something was going to get off the front. And I wanted to be in it.

After a few miles me being towards the front jumping on wheels and what not, Austin came up to me and shouted "HEY. RYAN. READ YOUR STEM." I looked at him, sort of shrugged, my body language saying "Hey, well, you know how I roll." But I wasn't on the front in the stupid way that I usually am...I was at least watching the guys that were going to do something worthwhile in the race. I eased back for a bit and Austin and Jon covered some stuff as well.

Eventually, halfway through the first lap, a little split occurred that included Josh Dillon, Aidan Charles (Nerac), a Kenda/Raleigh rider, a CCB rider, a NEBC rider and Gavin Mannion from Hot Tubes.

Now, that was something to watch out for.

So I jumped the split up to those guys, and was lucky enough to get there before they started hammering. Meanwhile, at the front of the group, Austin and a Fiordifrutta guy just sat up, giving us a little bit of a gap.

As our little split started motoring away, another Kenda/Raleigh rider and Dylan O'Sullivan from Sakkonet bridged up to us. And from there, it was on. We got a solid double paceline going. And aside from looking back occasionally - and seeing nothing but the wheel car - we continued for the rest of the race, opening up a healthy gap on the main field.

And, at this point, I realized that I would probably be spending 65 miles of a 70 mile race in a break.

Awesome. I didn't tell my legs this, though. I thought I'd let them continue on in blissful ignorance.

For a few laps, nothing terribly exciting happened. I pulled through. I pulled off. I ate. I sang Afroman songs out loud to Dylan.

Then, on the finish climb with two to go, Aidan Charles lifted the pace a little bit. But just enough for me to hurt a lot...and for two guys to pop off the back. Over and down the hill, the pace picked up quite a bit. And at this point I realized that a few factors were conspiring to destroy me the next time up the hill:
1. The fact that this was a 70 mile road race without any feeds. So, I'd only had about 2.5 bottles thus far.
2. Aidan Charles was going to do EXACTLY THE SAME THING, and it was going to hurt a hell of a lot more.
3. Perhaps Josh Dillon was going to tire of us, and totally drop the hammer. Which would hurt. Very much.

So we're continuing along, and we hit the hill. I'm sort of spinning up it, hoping for the best, towards the back of the group behind Josh Dillon so I can go when he goes.

And then we're almost to the top of the hill. I can see the crest. There is only one more rise, and I'm still with the group.

Then Aidan Charles puts it in his big ring. And at that point, my eyes do not go to my brain, they feed directly to my legs, and my legs see this and they think "Oh, shit."

Dillon goes around the rest of the guys to get with Aidan, I try to go with them/stick with the group. No luck. A gap opens up. I'm gasping for air and my legs are burning. I see the gap slowly get bigger as we hit the very top of the hill.

And I'm really, really hoping my 175 pounds would help me on this descent.

So I put my head down, put it in my big ring, and go. Trying to close the gap. And I was getting so close. So damn close. I saw them sit up for a bit...then I saw Aidan get to the front and lift the pace.

But I was still trying to catch them, because I knew if I got dropped back to the main group, I was going to be very pissed off. And Austin was probably going to kill me. The wheel car went between me and them, and I knew that I was probably not going to catch them.

I put my forearms out on my bars, dropped my hands, put my head down, and got ready for a eight or so mile ITT.

Not very fun. I would occasionally look behind me to see if the field was there. Every few miles.

Thankfully, nothing.

I reached the bottom of the climb, and no one was in sight, but I still wasn't convinced that I wouldn't get swallowed up. I got up the hill as fast as my destroyed legs would let me, getting sixth.

Thankfully, a few minutes later, the field rolled in. The group was all split up, but I saw Jon come in somewhere in the top 15, and Austin maybe ten places behind him.

So, not a bad second race for NorEast in New England this year. I was glad that I went with the break, and that I managed to stay away even after Aidan decided he wanted to destroy my legs.

After the race, I was talking to Josh Dillon. "Yeah, we thought you were going to catch us," he said. "But then Aidan got to the front and said 'We don't need him'...and that was that." Apparently Dillon launched a solo move halfway through the last lap and stayed away. I'm pretty sure that if my legs managed to survive Aidan's assault, Dillon would have totally demolished them.

Next up - Battenkill-Roubaix.

Yes, I choose to go on rides described as "Death Marches"

2008-04-07T19:20:00.003-04:00

This past weekend was sort of a lull in the early racing season in New England. The rest of the NorEast 1/2 team was either racing collegiately, living in Washington State, or recovering from a cross-country ski season. All that was left in the seacoast region, once again, were myself and Josh Austin.

We threw around the idea of doing the Charge Pond Training Race on Saturday, but then we realized two things: That the weather was supposed to be crappy on Saturday morning, and that I was going to spend every Saturday morning for the foreseeable future driving to a bike race - so why start now?

At anyrate, myself, Josh and Drew "Polish Hammer" Szeliga went out for a lively 70-something mile jaunt on Saturday afternoon after the weather cleared up. We could feel winter slowly losing its icy grip on New Hampshire as the sun poked through cloudy skies and shone trees that should, at some point, sprout leaves.

This ride was one of Josh Austin's "creations" on the site mapmyride.com. For those of you that don't know, Josh works at Timberland. And by "works", I mean he sits at his computer creating hellish rides using Google map add-ons. Which is great for him, but not so great for my legs after spending an entire day going up every damn hill between here and Concord. Drew and I asked him about how he created this ride, and he said "I basically had it go up every road that had the name 'Hill' or 'Mountain' in it."

Thanks, Josh.

So anyway, Saturday's ride was merely a warm-up for what Josh described as his "masterpiece", a 100 mile (or so...depending on whether or not you have complete faith in the accuracy of Google maps) death march up to Gunstock. For those of you who are interested in following along with our suffering, you can see this fantastic map of pain here.

On Sunday I treated myself to a truly righteous ham, cheese and pepper omelet with three cups of BNG's Kenyan blend before spinning into Durham from Dover. When I got there, I saw that Josh and I were accompanied by The Button (sans Energizer Bunny), Bob Gagnon, Larry Driscoll, Tom Pruger and John Healy. From the Whit we headed out to Rochester past the Waste Management Hill O' Garbage - where there were frequent jokes along the lines of "Is this Gunstock?" and "Boy, this is a lot of climbing!"

We hit a few long, gradual climbs before hitting the only convenience store on the ride at about mile 43 or so. This was where Austin busted out his "Bag o' Waffle". This was a little invention he created in Florida. It's quite simple, yet quite amazing. The recipe is as follows.
1. Make a Belgian waffle.
2. Poke holes in it with a fork.
3. Cover it in maple syrup.
4. Let it soak in.
5. Put it in a ziploc bag.
6. Put said Bag o' Waffle in your jersey.
7. Enjoy halfway through a death march.
Basically, the waffle becomes merely a delivery mechanism for the sweet, sweet glycogen that is contained in maple syrup. Austin consumed that, I had my peanut butter and jelly sandwich that had been antagonizing my back for the last two and a half hours and others enjoyed the large cookies the store had for sale. I also picked up a Reese's Crispy Crunch Bar (king sized, of course) for later on in the ride.

Soon, though, the joys of consuming baked goods and soggy waffles would be sucked from our souls as we continued out of the flatlands and began climbing. At this point, there were no more jokes about climbing, as we were smacked in the face after every turn and every rise in the road with YET ANOTHER CLIMB. All the while, Austin had this crazy look in his eye, like a kid in a candy store. Except that the kid eats waaaay too much candy and then vomits all over the back of his dad's new Mercedes.

This was also the first time that I had ridden with a 25 since Tour of the Hilltowns last year, and I've spent all winter grinding up hills with an 11-23. So it felt great to have a few extra teeth up these long climbs. That is, until, The Button came up alongside of me with his 11-23 on and completely demoralized me.

So the ride continued, up Gunstock, down Gunstock. Up another hill, down another hill. Up another hill, down another hill. Until, eventually, people started to lose their minds and proclaim in sarcastic surprise "OH! LOOK! ANOTHER HILL! FANTASTIC!"

If anyone has ridden or driven with me at any point, you'd know that I have a terrible sense of direction and often have no idea where I am, where I'm going, or where I've been. So, I can't give you a mile-by-mile description of the ride. But I can tell you that the climbing started to get really annoying. Also, the fact that the sun and 60 degree weather of Saturday was now a fading memory didn't help either.

According to my poor memory, after Gunstock, there were probably five or six long climbs. Eventually, though, my poor sense of direction hinted to me that we were near Catamount (and thus close to Route 4, and thus closer to my couch in Dover, my TV, and my pile of chicken parm in the fridge) so at this point I loudly enjoyed my Reese's Crispy Crunch Bar. All 500-something calories and many, many grams of fat restored some joy to my cold and tired body. So that was nice.

Also, at this point, it started drizzling.

Thanks, New Hampshire.

Then came Catamount, the final climb of the ride. The last time I went up this hill was in February (and the weather was practically the same...go figure) and had a 23 on, and I didn't go up the road that fast. This time, armed with my 25 and a pair of legs that have already had their first round of abuse from Fiordifrutta, I felt quite a bit better going up Catamount. Not fast, by anymeans, but not as painstakingly slow as last time.

From Catamount, it was back down to Route 4. At this point, Josh and I wanted to go home. Most of the other guys had peeled off at this point, so Josh, John Healy and I tried to go "fast" on Route 4 back to Durham.

I probably could have been dropped by a six-year-old on a tricycle with plastic wheels at this point, though. But it didn't matter, because I really, really, really wanted to go home so I could shower and eat. But I figured attempting to hammer at the end of a ride like this is good training for the summer, when I'll have to go a hell of a lot faster at the end of races that are a hell of a lot harder than this ride was.

Once Josh and I got to Durham, he peeled off and went home, and I began the lonely crawl along windy 108 back to Dover. But this time, something magical happened - I got green on all seven lights that I hit on the way back to my apartment! This is the first time this has ever happened in the history of me living in Dover, so it was pretty fantastic.

It was also pretty fantastic that the Tour of Flanders was on Versus, so I could see what real suffering is like. On most days, I'd like to be Tom Boonen. But when he's doing a 270k race in rain, hail and snow over cobbles...well...I'm really happy to have just finished a mere 112 mile ride and be sitting on my couch shoveling chicken parm into my face.

Webster-Roubaix

2008-04-07T15:31:00.003-04:00

Coming into our final weekend in Florida, we had amassed over 500 miles during the week. My legs were far from fresh. My race preparation for Webster-Roubaix consisted of a century spent rotating in a double pace line. Not the ideal way to get your legs ready for a 108 mile suffer fest. However, we were in Florida to train, not win races.

Like every other Roubaix-esque race in the U.S., Webster-Roubaix is a long race interrupted by sections of dirt, gravel and rough pavement. To be exact, this race had 36 miles of dirt and gravel. And, at 108 miles, it's the longest race in Florida. Also, it's a Florida Cup race, so all the best riders in Florida, including our new pals Danny and Joel Chavez, would be waiting at the start. My goals for the race were modest. There were no dreams of stepping on the podium. I would be happy to simply pass the 80 mile mark.

Ryan Flemming, Ryan Kelly and I sat at the start line waiting for the pain. I went through my mental check list of things I needed in the race. At this point, I was SOL if I forgot anything. But, at least I would know I left my food at the car instead of reaching into my pocket at mile 60 and coming up empty handed. Every box got a check. Nothing forgotten. Suddenly, the announcer makes a small speech and we're off.

The Start/Finish was on the 2.5 mile dirt section we would see 12 times. The various pot holes, sharp rocks, tree roots and washboard were all new now. But, by the day's end, I would have the ability to ride this section with an armadillo wrapped around my face. The first lap was nice. We rolled along at a leisurely pace and talked with other racers. With every turn, I expected a change in speed, and with that my legs would scream a few explicatives before walking the 1300 miles back to NH.

Coming into the third lap, the peloton became single file. We hit the dirt and the blue sky became masked by a brownish cloud of dust. I make my way to the front. There is nothing more thrilling than to leave the grasp of a dust wall and find clean, open air. At the front, I ride my line, avoid wheel-eating holes and miss tumbling water bottles. Behind me, the field was strung out. I was inflicting pain (I think) and loving it. We rounded the last corner and once again get our wheels rolling on the pavement. As I pulled off, a group attacks. How dare they attack after I put in such an effort!!

The attacking group begins to gain time, and they're slowly out of sight. I contemplated ending my race and simply enjoying a nice group ride for the remaining 70 miles. Instead, I ignore my brain and decide to chase. With all the teams represented, there were no riders interested in helping. I put my head down and pedaled. Finally, I hear RKelly arrive next to me.

"What are we doing?" he asks.

"We're chasing." I respond

Without anything else side, Ryan pulls through and takes up chase. Still, it's only me and Ryan. The roads are flat. It's warm. We were riding our legs into the dirt, two-man TTing with a whole lot of dead weight in tow. After chasing for about a whole lap, nine miles, we see the tail end of the break. 300 yards. Chase. Don't puke. 150 yards. Still to far. Pray the break slows. 20 yards. Oh thank God, some help. A guy we met on the San Antonia ride bolts past the peloton on the left. Ryan and I jump on his wheel as he pulls us to the break. Once again, we're all together. I found Ryan Flemming, a member of the break, and he was astounded we had pulled back the break. He couldn't believe it. If he could only feel the pain in my legs.

For the remaining 50 miles, we roll around the laps at a brisk pace. But, few are interested in really trying to break. However, with only four miles to go, a small group of seven riders gets a gap. Neither RKelly nor I are there.

After a brief conference, RKelly decides to crank up the speed. The already strung-out field starts to form gaps as the seven riders slowly get reeled in. As we round a sharp left corner, I decided it's time to ride over the gap. With Ryan's help, I was now in the perfect spot to make the front group. With six GUs building up in the base of my throat and my eyes about to bleed, I slowly bridge to the group. Two miles to go. I'm there. Top ten no problem...

In the corner of my eye, some Jelly Belly rider comes along side. But, it wasn't just ONE rider. Tagging along behind him, he has a parade of cyclists. All the work Ryan and I did for nothing. We hit the dirt for the last time. There's carnage. A crash to the right. Waterbottles bouncing down the road. My legs want to cramp as I jump from wheel to wheel. The finish line's in sight. Hammer hammer. Relief.

I fly across the line in 19th and let my wheels coast to a stop. With shaky legs, I stood in the road enjoying the sting of salt in my eyes. The only thing to make the moment better would have been a Baconator.

Florida Training Camp: Part Dos

2008-04-07T14:56:00.003-04:00

I can't remember where I left off in the last post. But, I'm sure I covered our eventful travel to Florida and our first couple days on the bike. Now, it's time for a little story about the Chavez brothers.

In the town of San Antonia, FL, the traditional Wed. ride occurs much like it does from Exeter Cycles. Because we're gluttons for pain, RKelly and I decided it would be an excellent idea to leave our posh rental house at 5am in an effort to put in some hard miles with the local riders. As we woudl soon find out, HARD does not even describe the ride we would encounter.

The parking lot was mostly empty save a few older guys sporting jerseys worn by their ProTour heroes. Milram and Liquigas team kits were like Charlotte Hornet Starter jackets on this morning. This did NOT look like the ride we anticipated. Regardless, we were awake and an hour from "home", so we waited for the ride.

"Uh, it's the Chavez Brothers..."

At the time, the mention of Chavez Brothers raised my pulse as much as someone exlaiming, "It's a red fire hydrant!". Sure, the two dudes were sporting similar team kits. But, Ryan and I were too. Big deal.

A half hour later, I realized the big deal as my bike propelled along the back roads of Florida at over 35mph. Moments earlier, I had ramped up the group's pace. As if it were a green light in a drag race, the Chavez Brothers came past me and turned on the afterburners. Through the snot web covering my face, I saw my HR monitor flashing. The BPM were no longer visible. Instead, it was a skull and cross bones warning my nearing demise. Danny and Joel Chavez were, with each pedal stroke, tearing my legs from my body. If it weren't for my ignornace of the local roads, I would have aimed my bike for the nearest patch of grass and taken ten minutes to stuff my lungs back in my chest. Ignornace is not bliss, my friends. Ignornance is suffering for 1.5 hours because you might otherwise not find your way back to the team van.

Upon reaching the finish sprint (there were no cameras or officials mind you), the group settled to a manageable speed. The Floridians, now capable of breathing normally, took an interest in us two Northerners and disclosed stories of the legendary Chavez Brothers. Apparently, they are the best cyclists and Florida and one was even in the top 10 at Superweek 2007. Furthermore, there is nothing they like more than a couple new riders, aka Fresh Meat or Balls of Yarn, to toy with on their Wed. training rides. Go figure. That evening, my sleep was continually interrupted by dreams of the Chavez Brothers making my cry at the upcoming Webster-Roubaix.

Oh, did I mention they both rode 55 tooth big rings?? Animals.

Florida Training Camp: Part 1

2008-03-24T15:11:00.003-04:00

Alas, the Great Florida Training Camp has concluded, and we are now back in cold and morbid New England. Instead of finishing up a long ride in 80 degree sunshine, I'm sitting at my desk unable to ignore how tight my legs are. Worse yet, without the long hours on the bike, I'm forced to once again drink Coke Zero instead of my beloved Coke Classic. Anyway, enough whining. Let's get to the training camp recap.

The drive to Florida started at 5:30am. RKelly and I had the enthusiasm of a 5 year old on Christmas eve. However, we failed to realize our early morning start would put us in Florida at 4:30am. And, as Oscar Purwin would ask later, what the hell do you do in Clermont, FL at 4:30am!? Fortunately, we managed to sneak into our rental house and catch a few hours of sleep before turning the pedals over.

Nothing compares to leaving New England in a snow storm only to find yourself riding your bike in shorts, jersey and 50spf sun screen 24 hours later. Despite the sleep deprivation and the almost inedible Friendly's breakfast, we set out on the first ride with pure joy oozing from every pore in our bodies. How could we not be happy?! We spun by cow pastures and swamps for a few hours before returning to our temporary home and cooking dinner. It was a short ride but perfect to get the legs ready for the week ahead.

On Monday, we all awoke refreshed from well needed slumber. Our plan was to ride for about four hours and get the legs really moving again while etching in the first tan lines of the season. Corey Masson and Ryan Fleming of Metlife/Unloseit.com and Tim Mitchelle of Flatbread/Otter Creek were staying with us and accompanied us on the ride. We motored our way through two hours of riding and realized our intended route would be well over the initial four hour plan. Rkelly, suffering from an achy knee, and John Lamb, suffering from being off the bike for five months, turned around and headed home while Corey, Tim and I proceeded to put eachother into hurty land. We exchanged pull for pull with each proceeding pull faster and longer than the previous. Nothing beats putting in the last hour of a five hour ride into an impenetrable headwind.

The funny thing about Clermont, FL and the surrounding area is the lack of town centers. You either choose to ride through urban sprawl with chain restaraunts and Wal-Marts on every corner. Or, you ride down back country roads carving a path through ranches and decrepit homes with cars on cinder blocks as yard ornaments. Certainly, the back roads were best for riding. However, sometimes good roads traverse through seedy areas and you'rce forced to reckon with every maniac to sit behind the wheel of an old F-150 jacked up on muddin' tires. Like I said, it's just odd.

In Part 2, look for me or RKelly recounting the arrival of Team UNH, the group ride from Hell, a century of double pace lines and the 108 mile Webster-Roubaix epic road race. Until then, try not to freeze in the New England chill.

Where's Spring?

2008-02-25T13:32:00.002-05:00

After spending a weekend in North Carolina, it has been hard to face the brutallity of February in New England again. Training in the cold is not hard. Training in the snow, on the other hand, is hard and dangerous. Like a boxer surviving the 8th round against a stronger adversary, we suffered through another snow storm. However, I wish we were more like that boxer knowing he only has one more round to go. Who knows how many more storms we may face!?

Anyway, training in the cold is no fun. But, it's a little more bareable when 20 people gather outside Exeter Cycles and embark on the Group Ride of Pain. The status quo for the Sunday Exeter Ride is a moderate pace to cover 50+ miles. However, yesterday's suffer fest proves the New England cycling community is just itching to race. With only a half hour in the books, people began to "test" the rest of the group. For those in the know, Route 4's double humps mark the beginning of the Exeter Ride battle ground, and this day was no different. Attacks are launch then chased. The group reforms, but only briefly as other riders make their strategic strike. For the remaining 30+ miles, this is how the Exeter Ride rolls. Unfortunately, I eventually find myself riding off the front with Keith Button. We work well together and stay away for over five miles until we make the fatal decision. Normally, when riding through Lee, the Exeter group makes a left turn down some back roads. As creatures of habit, Keith and I make the turn only to hear the group yelling as they go straight. A bit of trickery to catch the break or a bit of bad luck in taking the turn? You decide. Either way, I spent the next 25 minutes chasing the group. Apparently, the group was under serious fire from TLC and that Rite Aid guy. So, I never caught them and rode in to Exeter with JHealy and KButton. My valiant effort on stealing glory on the Sunday Exeter Ride was all for not. Better luck next time I suppose.

Winter is still looming over our heads. But, with any luck, March will bring some nice weather and better riding. Until then, pull on an extra set of booties and enjoy the sand and salt New England roads have to offer.

>4 weeks until Florida Training Camp.

NC Results Update

2008-02-19T13:40:00.002-05:00

I found results for this past weekend here:

http://www.geocities.com/crazybikerfromtheaccc/

Overall, I would say the weekend was successful. We started to etch in the 2008 tan lines, raced a few miles and exposed the North Carolina region to NorEast Cycling.

Road Race Results
Josh Austin 14th
Ryan Carney 36th

Crit Results
Josh Austin 18th
Ryan Kelly 21st

Huh. New England still has snow. Weird.

2008-02-18T08:56:00.003-05:00

So we're back! Unfortunately, my plan of updating via Blackberry with photos fell apart. I think it had something to do with the tubes. Or the gigs. RAM maybe? I'm not sure.

All in all, though, I felt that it was a successful weekend. The drive down was fun, as we had warmth to look forward to. The drive back...not so much.

Saturday was a 74 mile Pro/1/2/3 road race. NorEast was represented by myself (Ryan Kelly), Josh Austin and Ryan Carney. The field was filled with many riders who were apparently soft, by New England standards - they had on tights, booties, winter hats and winter riding jackets. The three of us were wearing arm warmers and knee warmers.

Pansy North Carolinians. But they have also been riding outside for...the majority of the winter. My last outdoor ride was about two weeks ago. And there were also three or four teams with more than five riders. So, before the race started, we knew it was probably going to be interesting.

The race started off at a moderate pace, and eventually some action started happening up front. For once, I stayed out of the mix - what with having no idea how my legs were at this insanely early point in the season - but Josh Austin made his way into a break that eventually gained four minutes on the field. Which was pretty fantastic.

I spent a good part of his time off of the front, hanging around and keeping the pace to a medium pace, hoping he would stay away, and hopping on the wheels of people who tried to motivate the field to chase. Eventually Austin fell back to the field, realizing that if had hoped to finish the remaining 36 miles in the break, his legs would have simply detached themselves from his body and walked away, fed up with what he was putting them through.

Then us boys in red and white hung around in the field, trying to be active on the front and keeping up with the pace. I had the lovely opportunity to spend some time at the front chasing down a guy from team Black Sheep, only to think to myself "Doing this is stupid." But when I tried to pull off, I realized that four of his teammates were behind me...and they weren't about to pull through. Yay.

But I eventually found my way back into field, and the natural pace of the race started picking up the shattered remnants of the break Austin was in. All that remained up the road was a Harley-Davidson rider who went off the front very early in the race.

Coming through the finish with one lap to go, I realized that my crankset was loose! Go figure! I knew that there was about only 19ish miles left, I thought that I could stick it out. But then I tried to shift into my big ring. And it didn't shift. Meaning that my loose non-driveside crank loosened enough to allow my driveside crank to slip out about a centimeter. Not safe. After asking Carney if he happened to have an 8mm on him that I could use to tighten my crank (to which an eavesdropping racer said "If your crankset is that loose...you should stop racing. Like NOW."), I dropped back to the support car - which did not have an 8mm.

That was the end of my race!

I headed back to Corey Masson's car (a fellow New Englander who went down with us), "fixed" my bike a bit, and got up to the finish to see Austin come in 14th, followed by Carney in 35th or so. Not a bad showing.

After some food and Coke, we rode the course backwards, taking advantage of the ample sunshine, and cheered on our hostess in the collegiate Women's B race.

Saturday night was spent lounging around, eating leftover pizza from the previous night (after going to Cook-Out, of course) and watching the National Geographic channel while interneting.

Sunday was the crit. NC State was also putting on collegiate events, so our hostess (Caitlin Trahan) asked Josh and I if we would mind announcing the earlier races, as their announcer wouldn't be able to show up until 10:30. Naturally we said yes - who are we to pass up an opportunity to make fools of ourselves in front of dozens of people we don't know? What do we care? We're from New Hampshire!

Josh and I got to the venue at a tad before 8 a.m. to begin making up stories about C riders and try to get the cold crowd motivated with an interesting playlist.

Josh had the greatest metaphor of all time, though, about a Pfeiffer University C rider who won every prime: "Some say that a cyclist gauges his energy in a book of matches - and they burn a match as they put out effort in the race. It appears that this rider, instead of a book of matches, has an unending Zippo lighter that just won't go out!"

After making fools of ourselves until about 11 a.m., we headed back to Caitlin's to eat and change for the hour-long crit we had at 1:50 p.m.

The course was very short - perhaps just over one kilometer? - with a slightly downhill start finish into a left turn up a short hill, winding to a slight downhill into a chicane and left back onto the start finish. We had checked it out with Caitlin Friday afternoon, and got some good laps in before the race started. Once again, the field was populated with 12 guys from the DLP Team as well as three other well-represented clubs. But we knew these DLP guys were going to set the pace and tone of the race.

Josh and Ryan were on the front row, and I was behind them. From the whistle blow, a DLP guy hit it off the front. I - amazingly! - had a good start, and managed to jump on his wheel, hoping to just follow him in the early high-pace of the race. The two of us took a few turns at the front for the first few laps. After that, I realized that I should probably sit back in the field in order to rest my legs up - because at this point I hadn't even seen a lap count yet. When I poked my head back to see where the field was...all I saw was six other riders.

Great. An eight-man break. From the gun. In February. This should feel good.

So the break continued, and my heart rate continued to stay above 180 for the majority of my time in it, and we continued to hit between 31 and 33 mph on the finish straight.

In February. Apparently these guys didn't get the memo that I've been riding the rollers for the last month and am not excited about such a pace. But this continued for about 20 or 25 laps, until we gained half a lap on the field - a mere 30 seconds. The break had two DLP riders, the Harley-Davidson rider who won the road race, and a few other strong riders from various teams.

But then the DLP guys decided to start attacking the break in an attempt to get away. WIth 35 laps to go. I was able to keep up with the increased pace for a few laps...but then my legs said "No way. Stop this," and I fell off the break and back into the group.

As soon as I was in sight of the group, I heard an exasperated Austin shout "RYAN! WHAT THE HELL!", as he rode by me and I found my way back into the field.

It wasn't much longer before the rest of the DLP team got to the front and upped the pace, slowly gobbling up the remnants of the shattered break, leaving one of their rider off the front. He eventually lapped the field.

Meanwhile, back in the race, the pace of the final few laps increased even more, and I was fighting for position as riders were continuing to pop off the back. I was in the magical position of "tailgunning", which is not necessarily recommended, but sometimes necessary. Josh, also, was starting to slide back as the pace of the final few laps continued to increase as DLP sat on the front with a ten-man leadout train. A train whose only cargo was pain for the rest of the field.

SO. Josh and I rolled through the finish in the field - with no significant results to show. Other than finishing what was one of the fastest crits I have ever done.

Then what did we do?

Showered. Had fried chicken. Drove 14 hours back to New Hampshire, only to remember that it is still covered in snow, ice, and seems to be perpetually raining.

I mean, I got sunburned in NC! This is garbage, New England!

Donut Feed?

2008-02-09T16:39:00.000-05:00

There are many opinions regarding the use of iPods or similar devices when riding, and I normally subscribe to the "It's okay IF you ride smart" camp. However, today I may have changed my mind. I may have also missed out on a nice snack...

I was boppin' away to some sweet tunes today while cranking up Rt. 11 toward Alston. On a day when temps are barely reaching 20 F, it's nice to have some music in the ear to keep your mind off the numbing cold penetrating your double shoe covers and attacking your toes. Fatboy Slim began to fill my ear when I suddenly heard a beep. As cyclists, we are all accustomed to the oboxious honking of impatient drivers; yet, today I heard the beep but no car passed. I hesitate to turn and see the face of the driver about to run me down. Really, who wants to look into the eyes of a killer weilding a 2 ton weapon!? Finally, I overcame my fear and peeked over my shoulder. Instead of seeing the eyes of my executioner, I was looking directly through the round-frame glasses of Brian Croteau. I continue to ride as Croteau guides his car alongside me as if he's just on another bike taking his position in the pace line. (By the way, the car was filled with Croteau and a bunch of girls? WTF?! Croteau with girls??) The windows in the Subaru-mobile descend and yelling emerges. But, with my thick, winter gloves on, I'm unable to stop Fatboy Slim from throwing beats into my ear drum. Instead, I'm forced to attempt lip reading and piecing together what little I can from the inaudible voices from the car. From a car containing Brian Croteau and a bunch of girls, I would normally imagine the screams to be from the ladies begging me to help them to freedom. However, this did not appear to be the case. My incredible lip reading skills led me to believe they were offering me donuts! To be more exact, I think I heard "we have donuts, do you want a donut feed?". A donut feed?! Are you kidding me? I'm a cyclist on an 85 mile ride. Of course I would want a freakin' donut! Pass 'er on over! However, fearing my lip reading skills and the possibility of misinterpereting their offer to give me a doodoo feed rathere than a donut feed, I just smiled and pretended like I knew what they were saying but avoided reaching my hand over to the car (that would have been SoPro though if I took a feed from a car on Rt. 11).

So, moral of the story? iPods are great for keeping your mind from going numb or letting you get your groove on while training. But, in many cases like I experienced today, an iPod can keep you from getting a chocolate/chocolate donut feed. Next time you're out driving come alongside me with white wires going to my ears, feel free to offer me tastey snacks, but please write me a menu so I don't have to guess what you're yelling to me!

Just Testing

2008-02-06T11:35:00.001-05:00

Next week, Ryan and I will be traveling to North Carolina kick-off the '08 racing season. It's time for the long miles, frozen extremeties, and corroded bikes to be cashed in for some hard racing and high placings...we hope. Check back soon for more pictures, race reports and other exciting news to keep you on the edge of your seat all season.

This should be fun.

2008-02-06T09:44:00.000-05:00

Well, here it is. The new internet home for the NorEast Elite Cycling Team. For now, we're just getting everything setup on this blog, but be sure to check back throughout the season for updates on races, results, photos and of course harrowing tales of the Pro/1/2 field in New England.