Angry Face?

I finally got some pics from the Smethport race. I thought I would share the angry face pic....or is it the ouchy face pic?

Oswald Cycle Works

Tour De France 2006

Live Coverage:

After a long day of racing the field has been reduced to a final five contestants. As the racers approach the intermediate sprint, the pace picks up. The racers cranks spin faster and faster as if there was no chain connecting their gears at all. Hushovd is set up to take the sprint when the scarlet pimpernel appears from nowhere and steals the victory. The riders regroup after the sprint in order to maintain their dominating lead. Now comes the descent. The riders crest together and gain momentum. They begin to string out. Now comes the final sprint. Hushovd is in the lead. Wait, now Mcewen is in the lead. Hushovd and Mcewen are dueling it out. The speed these racers are attaining is unbelievable. And the sprint goes to……. Hushovd.

But wait,

It’s just Josh and Tom “sprinting” down Newtown hill on their single speeds.

Iron Cross IV

I’ve wanted to do this 60-mile “cyclocross” race ever since it started three years ago. After a typical frenetic summer season though, my gumption reserves are typically pretty low by the time October comes around. Usually all I want to do is eat pie (pumpkin), drink beer (stout), and sleep (any flavor). But since I’m on an endurance roll these days, I decided this was the year to finally roll up my sleeves (err...arm warmers?) and do it.

And what an excellent decision it was. Sheila and I made an overnighter of it, so we got to eat Indian food (in the metropolis of Harrisburg, PA) and sleep in a strange bed (Motel 6). We watched the sun rise over our Sunday breakfast (Waffle House) and drove the rest of the way to the Michaux State Forest.

Sheila planned out a hike and even found someone else to go with while I pumped up my tires and applied chamois cream to my...err...chamois? Suitably inflated and slathered, I was ready to go. The start was crazy fun. Less than a quarter mile in, two goofballs bounced off each other and went down in the gravel right in front of me. Yeehaw! Dodged that mess, then we did a lap around the traditional 'cross course, which was a hoot juking and fighting for position with 150 guys snaking around a twisty grass course. Then it was out onto the big loop of the course proper.

There were lots of gravel roads, a bit of pavement too, and some tasty niblets of singletrack to spice things up. For most of the first half I sucked wheel wherever I could, enjoying the ride and savoring the gorgeous day (low 50’s, crisp blue skies, and autumn colors). Coming into the midpoint there was a “run-up” that was more like a “claw-up”. Parts of it were so steep that, with my bike on my right shoulder, I could reach out with my left hand and grab at stuff to help pull myself up. No running involved at all, just a lot of baby-stepping, scrabbling, and cursing the course designer.

When I finally reached the top, though, they told me I was in 37^th place. And I thought, Dang, that’s pretty good for not really trying too hard yet. I’m having a good ride. I could gain some places if I step it up a little. And so I did. There were no more groups to hide in – the race was now in EMFH mode (every man for himself). So I started leapfrogging my way from rider to rider, pausing long enough catch my breath, maybe snag a draft on a fast section, then set off in pursuit of the next one. I worked my way up to 29^th or 30^th place. I was feeling pretty good, but in my fervor pushed things just a tad too far. On a fast gravelly downhill I came to grief in a corner and went off into the ditch. The bike stopped and I went over the bars and into the rocky bank. But don’t worry, I’m perfectly fine – my face broke the fall.

I got back on immediately. It only took a couple of minutes for my vision to clear and my ears to stop ringing, then I was right back at it. But I wasn’t eating or drinking enough for how hard I was going (or maybe I was just going too hard) and soon the piper was waving his pay stub in front of my bleary eyes. Stupid piper. He was dancing a happy jig and chanting cha-ching, cha-ching, cha-chiiinnnggg! as my legs started to cramp. Or maybe that was just a residual effect from my earlier brainbell ringing. Anyway, I floundered my way through the last 10 miles, losing a few of the places I had gained, to finish 33rd. A decent result on a most excellent day.

Sheila told me all about her hike as we sat in the sun. Then we had about as good a lunch as you can have at an interstate exit (Panera’s Mediterranean Veggie sandwich and coffee), made it home by dark, and slept like the dead (in our own bed).