smaller numbers can be good

Racing mountain bikes is all about smaller numbers. Smaller times, lighter bike parts, lower tire pressure, carrying less body weight.

And now I have a very small number on my license: Category 1.

It's been a killer year and I'm excited to ride with the big kids in the next one. The last week has been a VERY off week, with lots of beer and fast food. Today I started eating well again and did my morning stretches. Tomorrow my trainer shows up and I'll begind the process of getting into even better shape.

Rock on.

Off-season days 2, 3, and 4

Day two I did my sit-ups again and ate like crap. I had pizza, beer, coffee, and a scone, and some water.

Wednesday, October 14th:
Taco Bell, two beers, PBJ sandwich, banana, carrots, water.
100 sit-ups.
My leg was starting to feel better. I still can't pedal very well, or with any power, but I can walk.

Thursday, October 15th:
Scone and coffee for breakfast,
Banana and carrots for a snack at work
Potato and leek soup, rye bread, and and water for dinner.
two beers at guy's night at Geo's.
No sit-ups.


I have Saturday off for a cross race, but I'm not going to enter. My leg is still pretty bruised and a bit swollen, so I'm going to take it easy on it. Today I order my stationary trainer!

And good luck to all the rock-starts at Collegiate Nationals! Pop a wheelie!

Off-season day 1

Day 1 of the off-season:
Breakfast: McDonalds Bacon, Egg, and Cheese biscuit, hash brown, and coffee.
Lunch: Noodles and Co. Small Penne Rosa, Chicken, chocolate chip cookie, and coffee.
Dinner: Turkey leg, sweet potato, whole wheat bread, beer.
snacks: 1 more beer and twizzlers. Lots of water all day.

100 sit-ups and stretching. Still recovering from leg injury at Shevegas, so no riding.

Man, I ate like crap today. I haven't had McDs in a long time, and it sat in my stomach like an oil spill in a national forest. Enough of that, I'm not a 9-month-of-the-year racer: I'm an athlete.

Ah, the off-season.

Time for beer and nachos.

The cross race was a good training exercise. I rode super hard for a few laps with the lead group and then popped. Cruised in for 14th of 40, I believe.

Shevegas was a ton of fun. That course has gotten even better since the last time I was there (perhaps 6 years ago) and has some very good, challenging singletrack.

The log drop is still in place, The Roots of All Evil, and The Equalizer as well.

This is a constructed course. It has a man-made feel, as though there were intent in each section's creation. And I know there was; The crazy man smoking cigarettes and handing out $5 bills at the top of The Equalizer told me so.

As the season gets on, I notice my start-line speed isn't quite what it was. I didn't have it at Alterra, and I didn't have it at Sheboygan. I was mid-pack going out, and started picking off people between singletrack sections. It was the usual formula: attack like hell in open bits and catch people in the singletrack. Catch and repeat.

Then some guy went down in front of me and the guy behind me plowed into my leg. I think his left pedal got me, or maybe his foot. I could spin and pump a bit, but not attack or get out of the saddle. My leg was done for the day, so I limped in for 8th.

Not a bad season, at all. I applied for my upgrade to Cat. 1 Monday morning and should be racing with the big kids next year. For as much training as I've done this year I don't feel burned out. The cold I got back in July/August that forced some time off was good for me and let me recover a bit and take some down time. I'm going to take as long as my leg needs to heal fully and then it's stationary trainer time.

Until then, It's back ot the training posts.

One more MTB race and off-season planning.

This weekend I have both a CX race (in Grafton) and the WORS final (in Sheboygan). I'm just barely holding onto my fitness from the year and my rides are fewer and farther between. But I do ride harder than I have previously. I'm going to try some new tires just for shits and giggles.

I have a few early off-season goals, and they're mostly investments for next year.
1. Buy a stationary trainer.
2. Buy a Powertap wheel.
3. Maintain my fitness and get a good routine of indoor riding going.
4. Do some outdoor rides just to get outside.

On a final note: The Saris Gala to benefit the BFW is this Friday evening. You should attend and help a great organization that is doing a lot to help cycling in Wisconsin.

USGP #1 - Planet Bike Cup - Sun Prairie

Saturday was my first cross race ever. I did a moderate amount of training the week previous and built my XO-1 with MOD (my boss) the night before the race. I had no prior experience racing cross, and had never attended a training clinic or even ridden a cyclocross bike for more than a jaunt around the parking lot.

This is the wrong way to do a race. Not that I had a bad race, but it is not the proper way to race. One should never race on a brand new bike without any test-riding, nor should one dive in head first without any sort of practice.

I began in 99th position of about 115 starters and raced in the 4s. Beginner class. When the gun went off, I in turn gunned it as soon as I could, and went for as many passes as possible in the first lap. This is racing aggressively.

I've always known how to race aggressively in the "attack and attack hard when the opportunity presents itself" sort of way. It was not until this year that I learned what it meant to always race aggressively, but it has made a huge difference. One needs to realize that in a cross or MTB race, sitting in when the pack is all together is a terrible idea. You need to always jockey for position, because it will eventually string out, and split up, and suddenly the opportunities to even race for a top 10 spot are gone.

So I rode quite aggressively the first lap and got back up in the field quite a ways. However, by the time I got back up toward the front, it had strung out and the many corners of the course made it string out far and fast. Recovering for a lap or two, I then had to be sneakier about my attacks and moves. I'd find a group, observe for a bit to decide where it would be best to attack them, and ride accordingly. Most of my moves were made in the tighter sections, or the greasey, off-camber areas that some tried to ride, and I would run faster. Many time it was line choice that determined how I would attack.

And then I met my match in David Studner. He is a product manager at Trek, fast roadie, and an all-around awesome dude. After seeing him just before the run-up, and being prompted by Carol to catch him, I drilled it to get on his wheel. He was quick through the power sections, and I fell back a bit. Then, at some technical, and off-camber parts, I got up next to him. Then it opened up again and he would pull in front of me. I knew, however, that I had him in difficulty in the tight, wooded chicane, and made my pass when he rode wide on a left-handed off-camber turn, and I ran the inside line. We were next to each other going into the right-hand hairpin, and coming out. Side-by-side in the squishy-ground straight, and I found the firmer line and drilled it.

I rode alone the rest of the lap and finsihed 16th. Not a podium, but I'll take it.

Chequamegon and the Epic poem

In bicycle race reporting, the adjective “epic” has been repeated to the point of losing meaning. Today, I would like to explain why the Chequamegon Fat Tire 40 can justifiably be called epic. To clarify:

Epic (definition)(Wikipedia) narratives are usually in a poetic format, and tell a story that is significant to the history of a culture. They begin “in media res,” which means “into the midst of affairs.” Epics include heroes who embody the values of a culture, broad, expansive consequences and settings, and long lists. They show divine intervention and include great, long, speeches. They also begin with the invocation of a muse. While this is not going to be an epic poem, I will provide examples of how a description of one’s particiation in the Fat Tire 40 could be justifiably described in this format.

An invocation of a muse could go something like this:

Shaw taught me how to race it. Shaw, the decade-long pro race tech, with multiple team wins under his belt, with NORBA championships, with knowledge beyond knowing. Shaw said to be careful on the road before Rosie’s field. That chains would drop on that hill, chains would snap. Shaw taught me where to push and where to recover. He taught me which tires, what food, when to suck wheel and how to know when to go. Shaw showed me how to finish The Chequamegon Fat Tire 40.

So then we’d jump “in media res” and get right to the action of the race. Not the fast road start, not the blast through Rosie’s Field as Ride Of the Valkyries plays on giant speakers. It would begin on the fast Birkebeiner Ski trails, where the real chaos starts:

Up a steep roller, ten riders wide, 1700 mountain bikers charged with a furious machination. 20 MPH on dirt and grass. Cresting the tree-lined hill, the momentum of our descent became more fluid, its fury waxing. 25 MPH. An endless river of helmets behind me, an endless river ahead. As many looked to be on the edge of control, a rider to my right locked his brakes and skidded his tires across the dew-slick Wisconsin Northwoods grass. He rotated right, whipped the bike back left, and went sideways, sliding out a few feet to my side. A shout, gears mashing, gears colliding, and I reminded myself to keep looking ahead. 30 MPH. Across the mass of bicycles and riders, near the front left of this hundred-rider group, I watched one drift closer and closer to the edge, eventually exploding into the trees. Before his cartwheeling body had crumpled to the ground, riders behind him were colliding with each other to avoid colliding with the downed rider. Crashing to avoid crashing; That oxymoronic madness is what briefly crept into my mind, until I shut it out, my mantra for the day settling into its rhythm:

Heads up, hands off the brakes, always have an exit line.

We continued our stampede, our spoke-flying rush, so often too close to one another for an hour before the training miles or hours in front of the television meted us into evenly-matched groups. At highway OO, the clock read 11:04. Were we halfway? Perhaps not in terms of mileage, and definitely not in terms difficulty.

What about lists? What could we list from Chequamegon? Well, bikes, duh. People show up on everything from prototype race bikes to 70’s tandem beach cruisers. One could also play with the fact that 29er bikes dominate this race, in particular Gary Fisher models:

A Paragon, Rush, X-Caliber, first-generation Stumpjumper, Barracuda, ARC, Superfly, Elite 9.8, Niner, Karate Monkey, Fuel EX, XTC, Hardock, Paragon, X-Caliber, Superfly, Remedy, Scalpel, ASR, Truth, F600, 8500, Cobia, a brand-new Stumpjumper…

Etcetera.

I think we could also list the winners of previous 40s. It's a who's who of Midwest mountain biking, and would also give a sense of the history of the sport in this state.

The Chequamegon Fat Tire Festival first ran in 1983, in the dawn of mountain biking. The course itself consists of gravel road, ATV trail, and sections of rolling ski trail appropriated from the American Birkebeiner race. These trails are not what a modern XC mountain bike racecourse looks like, but the Chequamegon is still frequently called “The Midwest Mountain Bike World Championships.” Once everyone is finished, the Telemark Resort becomes a reunion party, where everyone’s accomplishments are re-lived, no matter the individual’s level of participation. This unity and diversity are core aspects of mountain biking culture. The versatility of the original Klunkers promoted wide use over all sorts of terrain, bringing together an odd assortment of road riders, thrill seekers, and outdoorsy families. The store of the Chequamegon Fat Tire 40 serves as a strong reminder of what Mountain Biking is all about, even when it’s about racing.

And here we have everyone together, from all aspects of mountain biking. In a single start wave, world-level professionals begin with cube-dwelling weekend warriors. It covers a distance at least ten miles longer than a normal professional course, and for many, simply finishing is an achievement. Those who are in contention for a win are there to make a name for themselves and hope to go down in history. How’s that for a wide scope?

What of the battles? How about man vs. man in the race, man vs. nature on the racecourse, and man vs. himself when considering those who simply hope to finish before the time cut? How about Brian Matter outsprinting Cole House for the win? What about Doug Swanson riding off the front at Rosie’s Field and winning solo? The Eppens finishing with the pros on the fastest tandem The 40 has ever seen? And what about Steve Tilford always returning after decades of pro racing and still landing in the top 3?

I'm not quite sure where divine intervention falls into this story, but I bet it's there for some. I've met a few who compare finding mountain biking to finding God. I'm sure there are some who have been just ten miles out with their third flat and a guardian angel steps out of the woods to hand the another tube. Lastly, for the author, the euphoria of racing at speeds topping 25 MPH in a field of hundreds is oddly comforting. It makes one feel a part of something greater than oneself.

The battles of Schlecks and Contadors on alpine slopes are more akin to the Gods of Olympus battling amongst themselves than the stories of Gilgamesh or Beowulf. The history of The 40 is as deep as the sport of mountian biking, and plays the role of an annual reminder to us all that no matter our level of participation, our mileage or talent, our wheel diameter or suspension setup, or the vintage of our bikes, mountain biking a unifying sport. And in an age of increased discipline diversity, The 40 should stand out as most epic for bringing those dispersed disciplines and riders together.