Track Madness in NC

My longtime buddy, John Derry, lives in Asheville, NC, about two miles from the famous Asheville Mellowdrome (http://www.mellowdrome.com/). It's an old race car track that has been converted to a velodrome for fixed-gear track bikes. For years, John has regaled me with wild tales of his racing exploits. The stories always interested me--I'm up for about anything that involves a bike--but the closest I'd come to being a trackie was, during an earlier visit, joining John for a weight lifting sesh that consisted of plylometrics, squats and more squats. (I was nearly paralyzed for a week afterwards.) Once the fam figured out when we'd be visiting the Derry crew, I called him and asked about the possibility of racing on the track. He said he'd planned to blow off racing that night so we could ride and drink beer (though not at the same time) but than he called back a few hours later and said that he'd found me a bike to borrow. Ssswwwweeettt!! I was stoked and a little scared, mainly because I didn't want to kill anybody--those bikes ain't got no brakes--but felt better when he said I'd be riding in the pursuit, essentially a very short time trial.



We loaded the kids in the car and headed to A-ville from Charlotte on June 19. John cruised by his house about 4:30 p.m., picked me up, and we headed over to the track. Once there, he pulled out a Bianchi, my track bike for the night. We pumped up the tires to 140 psi, grabbed aero bars, and walked over to the track. John introduced me to a bunch of guys--Kurt (the organizer), Sean, and some other guys. I registered (40+), grabbed my number, and we walked onto the track.



Now, the scene there is very cool. There's a big wooden bridge that spans the track, with a big playground for kids and a roller hockey rink in the infield (that was packed with padded folks pounding the crap out of the puck and each other). Kurt had set up a sound system and Iron Maiden poured out of it. Trackies were milling about, changing from drop to aero bars, putting on funny helmets, razzing each other, and warming up. John and I switched to aero bars, hopped on the bikes and cruised slowly around the inside of the track as he explained the rules. (There's not many, but, obviously, they are very important.) I pulled back in the "pits" to fiddle with my seat height and discovered the complex pleasures of trying to stop a fixed-gear bike. Needless to say, I wasn't very graceful. But I didn't kill anybody either.



With storm clouds threatening, we warmed up. And warmed up. And warmed up. (Conventional wisdom: The shorter the race, the longer the warm-up. Or so I'm told.) John taught me how to draft him into a turn, pull off, swing up the (admittedly slight) banking, and then use gravity to help me swoop back down into his draft. Very cool stuff. We warmed up for a long time and I found out I was riding a 90-inch gear. Finally, race time rolled around. John instructed me on how to start from a standing stop held by another person. It goes something like this: left crank aligned with down tube, on 2 (this is the countdown from 5) start pushing with left leg, on release, throw right leg forward, and sprint like hell. I guess I did eveything ok, because my start felt pretty good--straight, not wobbly. I settled onto the aerobars about midway through turn one and pounded out the six laps (3K). I was the only one on the track, which was weird, and I felt surprisingly fast while concentrating hard on holding my speed through the turns, keeping a high cadence, and not gutting myself too early. Toward the last two laps, the pain began to set in in earnest, but I pushed for all I was worth. After all, it was less than a 1000 meters to the finish. I crossed the line and spun out my legs. John raced after me and rode 3000 meters fifteen seconds faster than I did! Blue Light (a highway patrolman) took four seconds off John's time! Crapola, those dudes were fast!! And there were others even faster!!! All those weights pay off, I reckon.



We were slated to do some other whatchamacallit that involved four guys and a sprint, but the rains came and made the track too slick . Dangit. I was ready to race some more. But I did get some hardware, seeing as there were only 3 guys in my category. I also got razzed: Blue Light muttered "Yankee, go home" as I walked up to accept my medal. That stung, me being from NC and all. Track racing was big fun, though, and I highly recommend gettin' mellow at the Mellowdrome, if you get a chance.



(I was sore as hell the next day, crazy for a 4'27" race. But John and I worked the kinks out by taking a gentle cruise in Swannanoa that included a hill with a 22% grade, averaged out, for about a mile. He's a thoughtful guy like that.)