I was there

With the apocalyptic weather last week, the WCA races shut down to wait for the impending end. The Curtes boys had other plans. Those plans included obstacles of fire wood and tree limbs, a barrier of unusual height, a beer pit instead of a wheel pit, S turns of doom, the figure eight of death, suicide alley, high speed turns which were definitely not UCI regulation, and random matches of dodgeball. To top it off, there were no fewer than 10 obstacles on the course.

Eighteen hardy souls lined up on a perfect autumn day to start not just another race, but perhaps to start a new adventure in wisconsin cyclocross. Perhaps it will be a return to the roots of the sport, or perhaps it will be the next step forward. The Le Mans start left me somewhere near the back of the pack and wondering why people in the south of France are required run and jump into/onto their vehicles all of the time.

As the terrain and oxygen deprived madness worked their magic, I worked my way closer to the middle of the back of the pack in the first lap. Or was it the back of the middle? As the next few laps came and went; so did my strength, speed, and any drive to actually race. Midway into the fourth lap, a well placed shot in the dodgeball section sent me to the beer pits with a bad wheel.

I arrived in the pits to find the need for proper hydration had claimed a pair of victims already. The rest of my race was spent as a superfan and pit official. We issued several stop and go penalties for infractions ranging from overzealous racing to judicial prerogative. Despite our best efforts, the men's and women's races were won by riders who were trying way too hard.

Afterward, came the telling of tales and sacrifices of flesh to the pagan wheel gods on the great fire.

I Blame The UCI.

So both of the WCA cross races scheduled for this weekend have been canceled. They say that the races are postponed due to the significant amount of rainfall in the past few days. These actions are in compliance with the wishes of the perspective parks' management. I am okay with that because we should take care of our parks. The last thing that we need is another dog walker complaining about mean old bikers ruining their favorite poop spot.

There is, however, a larger scheme afoot here. I am talking about the UCI's plot to ruin cyclocross in this fine state.

I hear tell that a group of rabblerousers is already planning a rebellion against the evil empire of the UCI.

Shock and Awe

You can imagine my surprise when someone recently mentioned this poor semblance of a blog. My initial reaction went something like "I have a blog?" followed closely by "and somebody reads it?" She then went on to threaten the supply of tasty baked goods if I didn't start updating.

The ride in was positively Belgian today.

Where's my sticky buns?

And the moral is

MK, never argue philoshophy and life with the Muddy Cup crew.

It's About Time

Prologue:

At 5’ 6” and 170+ lbs, I am not built like a cyclist. More like a troll actually. In certain circles, the title of “¾ scale Clydesdale” has been bestowed upon me for size and prowess in the consumption of food. It is not a pretty sight when I throw a leg over a top tube. People look away, small children start crying, and Phil Liggett spits curses as I ride down the street. After 10 years worth of racing WORS and a lot of commuter miles, I have had one good season and got kicked into Comp. Like the noble bumble bee, I have managed to pull off a trick for which I am not designed.

On to it:

This gets us into the first 100 yards of the 22 mile Comp race at the Crystal Lake Classic. After the surprise of a call up, a familiar “GOOOOOOO!” and a great start; I worked my way to third wheel on the dirt road. In front of a lot of guys who look like they should be wearing spandex. As we sped up the road to the rolling double and onto the singletrack, riders attacked the front only to slide back again. Once the two track slipped behind us, the course turned to seven plus miles of tight, bumpy, twisty trail with power climbs and some other sweet features which robbed speed and killed momentum. It left little opportunity for a drink or a pass and none for rest as everyone had to ride full on.

Oxygen deprived addition said there were two bibs ahead of me and one just back. Adding in the race factor meant there could be another three riders ahead of me. But how many more lurked behind him. It was now a matter of using the entire bag of tricks to keep ahead, and make any attacks as tough as possible. Passes did come, but the back tags told me hang on and don’t panic. As we started to catch the waves ahead, it became a race of patience. Stay calm and wait for the pass, then listen for the grumbles behind as terrain and passed riders confounded my opponents. More wasted effort for them in their anger and frustration.

As the trail opened up, my man Damm came Rippin’ by and passed with some friendly banter. I was still working on my best finish, but the race was not yet half way. Into the final singletrack and lap through, I played caboose on a fast train from the next wave back. That train pulled all the way to the trees for lap, and gave me a chance to breathe.

As trees and rocks passed, the occasion rain drop fell. The climbs got a little steeper, the rocks got a little bigger, and the roots got a little trickier. Friendly faces came and went offering a good word and a smile. On more than one occasion the familiar flash of Metal appeared. Always there was an eye back looking any riders from my AG waiting to strike.

With the last of the singletrack, came the light but steady rain. Also, the little stab in the back of the calf that let me know time was running short. Fortunately, so were the miles. After a careful ride across the wet boardwalk, it was time to pour on the last reserves of speed and drill it to the finish.

I was greeted with a 5th in AG, and best overall finish to date at 21st.

Buzz, buzz…

Reading for The Day

Book of Velocipedes, chapter 43, paragraph 6, section c:

For the first fixed gear ride of the, thou shall pick a pleasant day on a very nice road with some good company. Thou shall ride and it shall be a good ride.

And it goes on to say...

And Rick shall suffer greatly if he chooses to ride more than 50 miles for the first fixed gear ride. 25 will be a little short, 35 will fine, 45 might be pushing it, but ride more and thou shalt suffer greatly on the second day.

Amen

Retooling

One trip to Colorado, 2 bottle cages, cushy bar tap, and a set of 35C's take the Gunnar from Cyclocross death mo-sheen to spring classics monster. No matter the setup, it is tremendous fun to ride.

Bringing a little bit of Milwaukee along to MI.

The ride is great, but what can the motor do? Details to come...