Addison RR
This year marked the unveiling of the new Addison course. It also marked the elimination of the outside chance I have of doing well at that race. Whereas the old course had one four-minute (or so) tough climb, now it circles through the so-called Happiness Hills (or something silly like that). That means that the Addison course has turned into another of those local climbing courses, not so good for a big guy like me. The course was beautiful, though, winding through the back roads of NY and the pavement was, ah, well-seasoned. Happy? That’s debatable.
At the start, OCW rolled out at the front of the peleton. Tom and I controlled the race for while, then Josh and me. The pace was screaming, too—about 14 mph. No one seemed interested in pushing very hard, especially those of us on the front. So, for six miles OCW dominated the primetime. (I thought I heard the Versus helicopter at one point, but it was a bug caught it my helmet.) I stayed near the front, wanting to make everyone pass me on the hills once we got to them. That move worked to perfection when the race finally began in earnest and everyone passed me within the next three minutes. Then, it was off the back, gritting into time trial mode while trying to catch Eric, that crusty old codger who passed me on the first hill and looked back at me every so often while pulling away. I called him some unprintable names—silently, mind you, because I had no breath. When I finally ran him down, the other guy who became a part of our paceline promptly popped me off the back by accelerating when it came his time to pull. I had burned my matches and the matchbook. It got uglier.
The finishing hill was a whopper. Something like 300’ of elevation gain in a half mile. It was made for those tiny guys on the team who are all lungs and legs. My legs began cramping as soon as I hit it, and I shut my effort down. No sense in killing myself for 26th, right? I tried to preserve some studliness by wheelieing (how the hell do you spell that?) across the finish line, but even that was pathetic.
What can I say? It’s racing season. I was a stud for six miles.
Corning Circuit Race
When it comes to bikes races, my ability to ignore important facts about courses is astounding. What’s even more astounding is the way I do this repeatedly. Apparently, I’ve got a Miguel Indurain imagination trapped in a punter’s body. Before every race, I talk smack in the shop about how I hope to do this and that, and I invariably get smacked down by the race. The CCR was no different—1.3 mile loop with a short climb that gained 90’. Ninety feet, you say, that can’t be so bad. And it’s not, until you hit that thing every 2-3 minutes having not recovered from the previous lap's uphill effort. Add that elevation gain up over the course of 14 laps and you’ve got 1260’ of climbing in an anaerobic state. Add the cumulative effect of the extended period of anaerobicity and, well, it's not pretty. Why I didn’t think of that before the race is beyond me. I’m big but I’m slow (unlike Big Mig).
I will admit that for all the suffering, the course was super fun. I really enjoyed the flats and rolling bits and the 30-mph turn 1. I even enjoyed riding with the pack for three laps, until I blew apart at the seams. Let’s see, I got lapped twice and managed to finish 30th out of 47 riders. Tom finished ahead of me, and Eric, Howard, and Tioga Tom all finished somewhere behind me. Eric has since said he will not race that race again, though I bet I’ll convince him to by next year. Heh, heh.
Kudos to those guys at Big Horn Velo for putting this race together, and I look forward to next year’s version. And, by the way, I think Tom Oswald is part lizard. At least , he warms up like one, just lying around in the sun until the race begins. I guess you can do that when you don't really have muscles.
Le Sprints du Guignard
Fortunately, Gabriel has not inherited his old man’s physique, though he has inherited his mouthiness. Except Gabe has figured out how to use his mouthiness to better effect. Lately, Gabe’s been into racing his bike up and down the driveway. So far, he’s undefeated, having spanked both Eric and myself numerous times. He even crashed into the neighbor’s car one day, thought it was fun, and wanted to do it again. I talked him out of it. Finally.
But I’ve watched his methods closely, and I’ve got a new strategy for the next race. His subtle psychological cunning begins like this: “Daddy, let’s race, and I’m gonna win.” “Ok, Bud, let’s race.” (Then his subtle tone shift to a sort of whiny pitch.) “Daddy, you can’t beat me.” “Ok, Bud, I won't beat you.” And then he proceeds to win over and over. The method works. Ask Eric. I can’t wait until the next race to try it, when I whine to the crowd: “OK, guys, let’s race. But you can’t beat me.”
I feel faster already. But not faster than Gabriel.
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