Bike Show

Feb. 25 2010


I started my trip in a snow storm and headed to Pittsburgh to meet up with John Majors and head out to Richmond Va. for the North American Handmade Bike Show, as it turned out not and easy task. We left Pittsburgh Sat. morning a little after 8:00 AM in a snow storm and a trip that should have taken 6 hours took 12. We got trapped in traffic due to a twenty car accident just out side Frostburg Md. for almost four hours.


We missed the Friday show but got to swap our tickets for sat. and sun. Got to the show on sat. morning and spent the day looking at some of the most beautiful and creative bikes and accessorys I've every seen. There was a lawn mower that you could pedal around your yard, looked like my kind of machine.



The coolest bike I saw was a wooden laminate frame with steel lugs.



Sat. was packed with people and it was hard to talk to the builders, they said Sunday was a better day, less people more access to talk to the vendors. There was so much to see and to hard to explain it all, so I took some pictures and Tom said he would put some of them on the web site.


I had a great time and would go again if it is a little closer to home. The old man, A.K.A. Pa Pa Smurf

Absurdly Goodness at the Iron Cross

On Being Epic---
There are few race experiences I can call epic. I want all my races and bike trips to be that way but "Epic" can’t be ordinary. Epic biking makes an midpack racer feel like he or she has just won something. As race amnesia sets in and I remember the highlights of the Iron Cross weekend I am not sure what more I could have wanted. Sometimes an experience is simply and completely beautiful. I feel this way about the IC weekend. Iron Cross delivered “epic”..a pair of simple wool socks with an embroidered red cross becomes every bit the winner’s medal for many riders. Perhaps this perception stems from the fact that the IC is an absurd course requiring tremendous sustained effort and attention. How to be aggressive without being thoughtless? Miscalculation and momentary slips of attention during the IC can result in a midpack rider suffering longer or more shamefully than most other 1 day events. Regardless of a rider’s lot that day, I suspect that finishing this race and earning your socks leaves most riders with an appreciative resonance I still feel as I make corrections to this report more than a week after I rode it.

Mansfield to Carlisle-
Before the race even begun, I learned a hell of a lot about my buddies who rode it with me, and a little about fashion in Carlisle PA…. For instance I learned that Jared tried to use a Jedi mind control trick that led us to a relatively unimpressive dinner at the Olive Garden… although the pre-race beers were excellent and cold. Tom likes to order the “all you can eat pasta platter”, but will only eat one helping (still struggling to make sense of that). I also learned that the dresses of high school girls in Carlisle (also in the Olive Garden) look to be missing the lower dress part. Every time one got up from their booth there was a "wildlife viewing event" for that entire section of restaurant. I think I would find this to be a very exciting fashion development if I was still in high school. I resolved to Jimmy that if the fashion does not change soon, I will still allow my girls to go to homecoming dances, but they will wear union underwear before they wear a “half dress”. After dinner, we fiddled with our bikes at the Rodeway Inn, filled our camelbacks and watched the Saturday night’s game between Florida and LSU. Jimmy was far more amused by repeating the names of the deep southern athletes on the Florida and Gator teams (Tebow, Pouncey, Tolliver etc) . Jesse and Josh mostly sat and passed carbohydrate-induced gas in a quiet fashion. To moderate Jimmy’s self amusing mantra of southern football names, I used the remote control to periodically flip to other games where players of a more northern representation were present. They had names like Hepp, Frank & Styborski. This annoyed Jimmy as it was intended to do.

Race Morning--
After breakfast, we hauled over to the race site with our 5 bikes reprensentin’ in our bitchin road machine (a Toyota Sienna Mini Van sans the child safety seats). The morning was cold, but it was clear that the day would be beautiful. On good advice from Jimmy, I didn’t layer on the biking clothes… just arm warmers and a short sleeve “polyprope” shirt would have to do for warmth layers. A good decision… Many other riders in jackets and shells must have overheated during many of the long climbs of the course.

I tried to ask a lot of questions about the course to get a feel for what I got myself into. I found veterans of past IC races talked about various aspects of the course with a mix of guarded joy and ticklish respect. I constructed mental pre-race pictures: A “powerline run-up” that looked like an death march trudge up a shear, shaley route; a first technical descent after checkpoint1 only fit for dual-suspension mountain bikes and Peruvian goats; a final leg crushing endless climb after checkpoint 3 where, if you were still on your bike, you could watch broken riders whose legs had left them and now pushed their bikes upward while wearily hanging their heads knowing that there was a third of the race left to “ride”. Largely, I found that this reverence was well deserved… none it was as scary as my own expectations, all of it was true enough though. Therein lies the essence of this event… its all true enough.

The Race ---
As the race lined up I grouped with Jimmy Eric and Jesse at the back of the pack that expected to finish between 5-6 hours… on hindsight pretty much everyone expects to do this which explains why review of the start photos around the spiral of death pretty much shows me near last place to begin. The women started right behind us on a different time. By the time we started to move however, the women pretty much were starting too and the first one passed me before I entered the circle of death field area. No big deal… I wanted to start slow and ramp it up as I became comfortable. I crashed in the Spiral lead-in (and was avoided by 2 nimble women… thanks ladies!). Not a graceful start, but the grass was soft and I was back up quickly… not much to do when that happens but get going again and be thankful there was no damage. Its all good I thought…

As the SOD spit us out to the flattish beginning of the race I passed Jimmy right before the beach... he mumbled something difficult to understand … it sounded liked he was still reciting the southern football players names…”Tim Tebow… Terrence Tolliver…. Maurice Pouncy…. Jevin Snead”… can’t be sure about that though. At a comfortable HR range between 140-145 I began to pass lots of riders pretty quickly. I had no idea that I ended the spiral in nearly last place so these passings at a modest effort was kind of curious. This curiousity ended fairly quickly as I grouped with riders putting out similar efforts. As the course changed to ascending double track, I enjoyed a brief conversation with a wild looking and pleasant outlaw single speed rider with a whitish goatee’. He gave me a few bits of advice and let me know what to look for over the next parts of the course. That was much appreciated. Thanks man!

At checkpoint 1, less than an hour into the race, it was surprising to see many people stopped to take on food and water. I chose to ride through keeping my HR steady. That was a good decision as I was able to tackle much of the VERY challenging single track that followed at my own pace without the distraction of other riders on my tail. The best rider of that stuff on a cross bike was a woman who passed me early and just floated over the same rocks that were pounding my bike, arms and neck… nice skillz. This single track was mentioned by Josh as particularly “ouchy”, to use his g-rated language. I guess so… I found myself distracted by the thought that I really appreciated the sadistic asshole who realized an absurd stretch like this could be “ridden” on a cross bike. This was just the first time of many that I appreciated the absurdity of some of the IC challenges. However absurd, they are a ton of fun to ride, run and slide over as you race smartly…. The beauty of race amnesia at this point is that these offenses to my bike and body are all fond memories now.

After that single track, I waspleased to find Josh pulling around me as we hit the pavement. He had a flat and had already repaired it. We traded some nice pulls on the open road, then turned into a park entrance as the pavement ended and the course started uphill again on dirt. We settled into a climbing rhythm up a nice dirt path. The pace was a touch harder than I was willing to go early in a race that I was unfamiliar with . After a few minutes I let Josh drift slowly ahead, until I didn’t see him anymore. As the ride changed again I found myself in field with powerlines overhead. I suspected I was close to the dreaded first section of hike-a-bike. It was truly unrideable. With my bike over my shoulder, I seached, step by step, for good places to plant my feet…after 5 minutes of hiking I settled into a rhythm and kept going. It felt good. Occasionally I looked up to peek a view at what remained. Looking too far up can definitely shift your weight backward (bad on steep hills), but the view of a 200+ athletes hulking their bikes up a long ass climb was worth it. I have seen a few pictures of this part of the ride… but the one in my head is still the best. It is my favorite mental snap shot of the race.

I saw Josh briefly as he was leaving the 2^nd checkpoint. I figure he put 3 minutes into me in that short period. I wouldn’t see him again until the finish where he would come in 6 minutes before me. The next hour or so largely consisted of lovely single and double track climbing and mesmerizing descents on dirt/pea gravel roads where patterns of light and shadow on the road made it really hard to see the numerous gaping potholes until you where whizzing past them. These kinds of descents are great if one knows the road and the pothole locations, but I didn’t, so during this descent I was tense enough crack walnuts with my sphincter (I will leave this an untested hypothesis). As the descent ended and turned to meandering back roads. Ahead was another Oswald Race Team rider. The pretty yellow Mavic shoes let me know it was Jay. We talked briefly enough for Jay to utter… “I’m done” before I rode on. At the next checkpoint, a nice volunteer tolerated my adrenaline-induced clumsiness and inability to open up a camelback to fill up. During these few minutes of refill… I guess Jay wasn’t quite done yet… he blew by the checkpoint to start the big ascent. I passed him again near the bottom of the long climb next to another dude who was openly wishing for a granny gear he didn’t have. "How are you spinning that gear?", he said enviously. I didn't answer, but thought this guy must be in some trouble. Especially on that hill, well-intentioned stronger riders wish trite words of encouragement to the blown riders. “You’re the man” I said to Jay. Do such words serve to further remind the “walkers” of the wreckage that were once your quads, and that those riders encouraging you had been behind you for 3 hours until now? Shit. I imagine quite a few riders would rather not hear those breathy words of encouragement.

The climb was wonderfully mental. I enjoy the sweetness of long climbing and time trialing. It is jdamn cruel, but brilliant, to put a 4-5 mile ascent with a really steep section at the very top at that point of the race. I stuck my effort at hard steady pace around 160-65 bpm and stayed there. Trying to chase too hard or to surge were out… my legs would not suffer such foolishness too long. Keep steady right on the edge of the red zone…. A vicious little increase in grade near the top forced me to talk myself over the final quarter mile rise. "Well Done!", I told myself… "there should be little left to be concerned about now… just bring it home strong." This was wrong. There was plenty of nastiness left.

The descent from the big climb was frikin’ hairy. It seemed, steeper, wetter, rockier and as technical as Josh’s “ouchy” section after CP#1. My triceps and forearms were starting to scream. The return from thousands of push-ups, pull-ups and bar pulls I had done this summer was cashed in. I continued to think… this can’t go on too much longer. In the midst of getting rocked by the course, I was easily passed for the first time in 3 hours by a rider on a full suspension mtb… he was having a ball while I was bumbling. “Excuse me” he said… all politely. I said nothing. Again, I was praising and cursing the intelligent designer of this silly section. It is the one section I will fear next year. I race better when a little scared anyway so I am psyched this was part of the course. It’s the last kick in the crotch, which was chaffing nicely by then despite the chamois butter… as it should be on a race like this…. (“the Iron Crotch”??.. . nah too easy).

As the technical section mercifully ended, a section of slow single track climbing followed. I picked off 5-6 more riders who were hikabiking much of this. The time I had put in the weight room really showed as I rode all but a short very vertical section of maybe 50 yards. I finally broke on to some pavement and and made it out to the main road toward the finish line… Another Oswald Rider was ahead…it was Jesse. I love passing riders in general, but if someone has been ahead of me for 5 hours I would rather duke it out at the line. His helmet and sunglasses were slightly crooked on his head and he was lumbering. Its too close to mail it in so I screamed at him to hook on. This was the only stretch of the course I knew and I intended to jam it all the way to the finish. After I gave one hard effort I tucked behind another rider and Jesse. Jesse managed a mighty pull, albeit downhill—a questionable tactic. We all turned left with 2 hills to go… the other racer attacked hard. There was another hill behind this one and I wished the guy well if he could keep that up. I upped my steady effort to just under max and Jesse popped. He was toast. I would put nearly 1:30 into Jesse in the last mile or so. Apparently even the nicely paved hills on this course require respect or retribution can come quickly. I caught the attacker near the top of the hill and pulled him to the beginning of the final hill. Again he attacked and gapped me. I reached deep into my coin purse of persniketiness (much smaller than a suitcase of courage) and caught him again. I love riding like this way… its ballsy and aggressive and it made me do better. I yelled at him to latch on, fully willing to pull him the rest of the way. He burnt his last match and I rode away less than a half mile from the finish.

Shared Finishing--
As I cleared the last grassy turns, the winding sand trap and hopped over the final barrier… I looked at the clock …. 5 hours and 10 sec. (official time 5 and 18seconds). Some of the Oswald team was already in (Jared, Tom and Josh) and were barking at the line, already enjoying the post race high on a gorgeous day. Seeing those guys together was awesome. I was quickly welcomed into their ongoing conversation, between periodic hacking episodes. So many races finish quietly, inconspicuously or anonymously for a midpack racer. Being able to share a finish (and sharing in others’) and then to enjoy the race stories with your friends was a worth my entry fee all by itself. Regardless of one’s finishing time or place, that day we knew that the race completed was months in the training and something to be proud of. We watched Jesse roll in a minute or so after me. Despite his empty tank he made a strong final jump. Jay, who must have got his riding legs together at some point after CP#3, followed 20 or so minutes later minimizing the damage from his earlier fatigue. John Majors, Eric’s friend from Pittsburgh danced easily over the final obstacle. Jimmy followed about 20 minutes later using the little known “Apalacky Cross Wraslin’ dismount technique” to clear the barrier. Eric (aka “Papa Smurf”) saved the best finish for last. In a broken varation of Jimmy's technique, Eric's bike got caught on the final barrier tripping and crashing him across the timeline into a spectacular finish appropriate for a physical race like the Iron Cross. We laughed hilariously only to be scolded by the announcer for not respecting our elders. (Eric is only 87.. :-)… Nothing was further from the truth.

We ate good food at the event and drank bad beer in the parking lot as we packed up while continuing to bullshit with just about anyone around us especially if they had beer. Jared popped in and out of discussions as he looked for better coverage area to call his girlfriend. Jimmy didn’t spill any of his beer for the first time in a week. Jesse joined the Kountry Klub Malt Liquor beer club, although he nursed that beer like it he was revisiting his breast feeding days. I joined Jesse and had one of Jimmy’s PBR tall boys. No dainty microbrews for me that day…. they didn’t fit my experience. Eventually we hit the road for a relatively quiet ride home back in our rad minivan (with frequent relief stops to use only the dirtiest rest rooms along Route 15 .) We were worked over and deeply satisfied with a terrifically fulfilling day.

The Final Absurdity---
Appropriately there was still one more symbolic Iron Cross absurdity that remained. All day I thought breaking 5 hours would be a good 1^st race for me. By checkpoint 4 I was pretty sure I could do it. For the next hour and 3 minutes, I suffered smartly and intensely. I reminded myself that I did not want to miss 5 hours by a few seconds because I walked a tough section or eased off even a little. After 5 hours, I missed by 18 seconds, a mousefart. I rode that last stretch well, so I can live with that. It doesn’t matter a whiff that my bike computer gave me a time I liked better, or as someone said… I could “round down”. That’s not for this race. Whiny rationalizations are for the guys who get dropped from our pacelines or who cannot finish strong despite sitting on someone’s wheel most of the race refusing to animate the group. Perhaps the course designer is out there laughing at this. Its cool and there is no better end I can think of. There is only one official time for this year and it mocks me to try my luck again in 2010. The beauty of midpack racing is that I race the course and myself. I am not in Jeremiah Bishop’s universe. For many riders like me, there is no end after epic races…only reduced suffering and the revised goals that keep many of us training through the cold winters and springs in Northern PA. I have a new goal for 2010… wanna guess what it is? No Eric, it has nothing to do with the half-dressed girls at the Olive Garden.

Meet Some Friends, Race, and Learn to Fly…No Problem at Iron Cross.

I am not the most seasoned rider. I got into biking seriously a little more than 2 1/2 years ago so I still have some learning to do about pacing, handling and training. That doesn’t stop me from trying though. In 2007 I did the Iron Cross for the first time in 5 hrs 17 mins. Not bad, not great. This year I was hoping to do much better, but it looks like I will have to settle for slightly better 5 hrs 1 min.

The race started with Jimmy, Eric, and I in the back. Talking about time and me thinking that Tom, Josh, and I finish 10 and 15 minutes apart the last time I did this but faster, overall, than we had actually finished. I think I was cutting a half hour off our actual times.

I soon figured out that I was off when I surpassed the finish time I had in my head with lots of riding left to do. Anyhow, the race started at 9 and I instantly lost track of everyone. Truth be known, the starting group was so thick I don’t think I could even see my own front wheel. In fact, at one point I think someone else was pedaling my bike for me.

Okay, so that might be an exaggeration but it was thick and it only got thicker through the spiral of death. As we spun, ran, stumbled, and trampled over the fallen, it quickly opened up on the gravel road outside of the YMCA camp. I picked up a wheel and burnt. At the first gate I saw Jay and Josh caught up in a bottle neck, I went right while all the rest went left. I slowed to see if I might be able to group up with Jay and Josh.

They soon caught me. Josh saying in a brotherly tone “Don’t work too hard.” I thought to myself, “Nope not this time I am prepared, I have a strategy…” My goal was to stick with someone, which worked, for a little while. I hate being dropped. I just plain hate it. I hate it even more when I know the person dropping me. So, the closest guys were Josh and Jay.

As I snagged onto the two of them Josh stops…I am thinking, “What? Do I stop? He can’t have a flat, he is running tubeless!?!” I didn’t stop; there would have been nothing that I could have done.

Seeing Jay ahead I went for his wheel and hung on. I think he knew I was back there but he didn’t pull off to let me tug a while, so I just hung on. Eventually we were working together, though it was random. Even on the roads there was no real semblance of a pace line. Just a lot of people with a good finish time in mind. Every now and then I would find Jay, or he would find me. There were several times when I was giving into the temptation so slow down and Jay would fly by and I found that was really motivating. Through the orchards and to the first single track went by quickly.

I soon found that Jay is really good on trails. He hit the uno track then I hit, he was gone and I was cursing the Gods. I bounced down to a spot too steep for my skills and got off to run. I ran a lot, running seemed to be faster. So, I ran and ran. I passed a lot of people wobbling, falling, and unclipping. I found a flat spot and clipped in, pinch flats be darned I was finding Jay and I was going to stick to my goal.

Hitting the pavement I saw the Laurel Health System shoulder patched of my boy. Hopping onto a wheel of some insaineo’ I floated up to jay as we cruised route 30. Sailing, we hit 233 and climbed, sometimes fast and sometimes slow, to the first run up.

As we passed the reservoir we exchange some words about family and life, then we climbed up to the power line. I shouldered the rig and climbed. These run ups are places to save time, if you can go fast…I hope to try that next year. One, two, three I finished the first run ups and stopped to water up. Turning, I thought I saw jay and I yelled, “Good job Jay!” But it wasn’t him.

Mounting and spinning I was moving forward but looking back, I couldn’t find Jay. And this is where I fell apart. Jay was my goal, my motivation, my teammate. Continuing, I had to regroup myself. Mentally I wasn’t tough enough for this and I allowed myself to be passed and slowed down. I wasn’t pushing and I knew it. I just couldn’t get up and go. From this point I don’t remember what I was thinking, other than don’t stop. I remember climbing Gutshall Road and thinking of stopping, when low and behold JOSH! How did I know it was him? Just by the sound of his shifting. Grumbling about tubeless tires he pedals up and passes. This is what I needed, someone from my team to stare at climbing away to motivate me…but he stops at the check point.

I kept going, knowing he would be passing me on the next long climb. A few minutes later there he is, looking like he had changed legs. Motivation, finally! Though he was there and gone, it was motivating enough.

Topping the mountain it was time to go fast. But, not too fast. On the second hair pin turn I, subconsciously, decided to try flying down the mountain. Parking my bike in a ditch like a pole- volt pole, I used forward momentum and a strange flapping of the arms to launch my self over a mound of dirt and down the mountain. This didn’t work, as I soon landed in a small bush.
Returning to the bike, I realized that this two wheeled contraption was the only way I was going to be able to join Francis’s special beer club. From this point it was a lot of gnashing and cursing through single track and pine branches, which were whipping at my ears, to the last run up. Now, I sort of ran this run up… Apparently it is “rideable,” but I was in no shape to partake in that. Atop this hill I sit upon my steed ready to cost home, defeated. And then Francis, rides by looking fresh, and says, “Hey, hurry up…” Ok, I think, chase, I think, apparently too youthfully because I killed myself down a hill, too stupid to use anyone’s slipstream and burn out at the first of three little bumps in the road. I see Francis ahead dukeing it out with some crazy dude to the finish and think, “Yeah, that’s not for me right now.” I finished a minute or two behind.

As apposed to the first time I tried this race, I learned a lot this year. Lesson one; water and food in the right amounts are essential. Two, I stopped eating and drinking at the end, that was bad. Three, don’t ever underestimate the motivation that a teammate or friend can give you even if you haven’t seen them in a long time. They unknowingly will help you through the dark parts. Four, it does have something to do with gearing. I was too prideful to affix a large 27 or 28 cassette to my bike, thinking it a sign that I am not strong enough to spin a 25 or 24 on this course. I no longer care and hope a few extra teeth might help next time. Five, training… I didn’t spend enough time grinding up grassy hills or bouncing up single track. That is going to change next time around.

For now I am proud of my effort. For a guy who works long hours and spends a good deal of time traveling to keep family ties strong, I think just finishing, for anyone, is a feat unmatched.

Until next time,

Jesse

ERIC 'S ATTEMPT AT RACING 2009

The first race was the Laurel Flyer , a good friend of mine John Majors came up from Pittsburgh to race the Flyer also. The weather was sunny and cool, road conditions were good and this year the course took a different route which made the race more interesting to me, I struggled with the climbing, my legs and lungs didn't want to cooperate with my brain. I still had a good time and look forward to next years race.

Next up were two races in New York, the GIRO of OTISCO LAKE and the Owasco Flyer. The Giro was on Saturday and the Flyer was on Sunday. Jay Heverly and I headed up early in the rain hoping for dry roads. We got there early and warmed up, the road had dried up and the race was on, it started slow and I found myself out front but not for long, the course was mostly flat with some short climbs for about five miles, the back side of the lake was even more flat, an the last three Quarters of a mile was climb that was so steep, well I've never riden anything that steep that long before so I have nothing to compare it to. I was just happy to finish. Jay did well finishing first in his age group. The race fee's went to keeping an old one room school house open for kids to experience, I look forward to this race next year.

After the Giro Jay and I headed off to find our motel and get something to eat, than ready our selfs for sundays race. We woke early sunday to find the sun shining, looked like a good day for a race, which turned out to be the case. We ate and headed over to get ready and warm up and Jared showed up about the same time. The Owasco Flyer is one of my favorite races, it is the larges group of riders I've ever raced with and I like the course, it has a fairly flat start and alot of rolling hills on the back half . Once agian my legs and lungs didn't want to work with my brain and I found myself working my way to the back. I rode there until a tamdem past me and I hooked on and rode with them to the back side of the lake where the climbing starts, at that point the race turned into a ride to the finish. I enjoyed the race even though I didn't do as well as I would have liked,hoping to be in better shape next year.

I know this isn't a race but have to mention it. The OSWALD CENTURY. Once again a nice sunny day and great group of people to ride with,and I think most all would agree with me. The only problems were a couple of flat tires, other than that it was agreat ride.

The Kinzua Classic is another race I really enjoy,and this year was no different. I woke at five to drive over, it was raining and it didn't stop till about half an hour before the start of the race,which left the roads covered with water. The race starts on a hill and once again I watch the lead group ride away and start to wonder why I'm doing this, but as the race goes on I start to catch riders and pass them I begin to feel better and ride harder. On the last climb to the finish I passed some more riders which made my race feel worth while, I was about five minutes slower than last year but better than I thought I would do,there's always next year.

Next up was the Laurel Classic. Jimmy and I decided to ride from home and meet up over on the Shaw road and ride to the race,it was a good plan but my pre race training the night before was not the right move, to many beers and not enough sleep for someone like me who hasn't been riding well made twenty four miles seem more like one hundred miles. The race course was in perfect condition and I enjoyed the ride except for my time. I hope to do better next year and hope I learned my lesson on to many beers the night before.

Milton Harvest Festival 28 mile bike race is another race that I really enjoy. It was the Saturday after the Laurel Classic, I woke up to pouring rain again and headed off to milton. As the race started it was still raining but let up about six miles in, to late everbody was already soaked but still riding hard. The first half I stayed with a group but on the climb up route 54 it broke apart than I rode alone for eight miles into ahead wind when agroup of guys I had been riding with came along and I hook on with them rode with them to the last climb about one mile from the finish where four out of the six took off and I gave everthing I had to hang with them, I caught and one guy at the finish and passed he look surprised than held his hand out and said good race, we both started to laugh. I was three minutes slower than last year but still happy with my ride.

It wasn't a real good year as far as results go but I have to say I enjoyed all my races and looking forward to the IRON CROSS.

Ole Bull Midnight Madness 2009, or How I Finally Got a Tattoo

A trend has come to bike racing lately: winners get tattoos. The Single Speed World Championships is a prime example (and the only race I can think of) where the winner gets a tat. There’s something about people sporting “I’m a winner” tats. Call it panache or maybe persnicketyness. Of course, it probably helps that the riders who win tats are really, really fast. If I was really, really fast, I would proudly wear a tat from the SSWC. For one thing, it would mean I was a winner. And that I probably wore weird clothes to bike races. But I’m neither a winner nor do I wear weird clothes (at least, not the kinds of weird clothes you see at the SSWC), which brings me to Ole Bull and my own tat.

The last two years I’ve raced Ole Bull, I’ve done it as a part of the OCW Geezer Squad. We’ve done pretty well both years, mainly because the other riders were fast enough to make up for my lack of fastness. This year, I decided to ride it solo as a way to train for Iron Cross VII. At the (sorta) last minute, Francis decided to head over with me, which was good, because it meant I had a ride to the race.

After a stimulating pre-race chat about rhetoric and health care reform on the drive over, we arrived at Ole Bull State Park. We picked up our numbers, grilled Mikey about the new course, and wandered back to the car to get our crap together for the noon start. Our goal for the day was to get in around four laps (60 miles) before it got dark while putting in some good training for IC. We got off to a good start: after the Le Mans-style start involving that goofy cyclist-in-cleats-and-dumb-clothes-with-crap-bouncing-around-in-jersey-pockets jog-stumble, we rolled out dead last.

We chatted our way up the first long climb, passing people and saying things like “this climb isn’t so bad if you’re not gutting yourself” and “man, it’s gonna be a scorcher.”At the top, I grabbed some cold water from an aid station and dumped it down my neck. The water turned to steam in about three seconds—a sign of things to come.

Francis and I turned left and rode over to the gas line. This was virgin territory for me. Turns out the course followed the gas line for a mile or so and included the 2009 version of the infamous Frowny Face hill. (Think steeper, shorter, and way hotter than the 2008 version.) Most people I saw walked it, though I have this genetic aversion to walking my mountain bike if I think I can ride something. It’s stupid of me, and I’ve tried to get help for it. So I rode FF. And I paid for it later.

After FF, we descended a bit and took a right into the forest and onto some proper singletrack. Sweet stuff, indeed! A section of whoops led to some rooty sections, and then it was just prime singletrack snaking along a ridge. The section lasted at least three miles and was pure fun. I found myself getting into the flow and ignoring that little voice saying things like “you need to drink something” and “you’ve got a long day ahead—slow down!” (Yes, I include dashes when I talk to myself.) It’s another genetic thing, I guess. Or maybe I was happy to be in front of Francis for once.

My ride was going swimmingly as I passed the second aid station, passed a crew at their hunting cabin drinking beer, and rode onto the center of some doubletrack. I’m a fastidious rider—I try to keep my bike clean whenever I can—and I tried to maintain that fastidiosity as I came to a mud-filled dip between water-filled tire ruts. I popped a wheelie, and cleared the dip no problem. But my front tire landed on the edge of an unseen rut and launched me straight into the brown water of the right rut. So much for keeping my bike clean. I giggled, checked my bike, and tried to catch back up with the guys that passed me.

Francis caught me on the road, and we blasted down new singletrack to the transition tent. I left my baton at the tent and walked to the car for new bottles. Then I told Francis I’d see him on the hill and cruised out for lap two.

That short break proved to be my downfall. I didn’t eat enough nor catch up on the calories I had already burned. It was getting hotter, and I should have spent more time resting and feeding my body. But I’m a dope like that (not a doper, a dope), and I wanted to bust out another lap. Francis caught me on the gas line and rode right past me on his way to the top. I caught him before the singletrack, and he let me go first. I was beginning to get a little sloppy, so I should have known something was up.

Miles later, past the doubletrack, I witnessed some nice nose wheelies over a couple of logs as Francis uncorked his mad descending skillz and led most of the way back to the transition tent. After checking in with the officials, I rode over to the car and choked down some food and water and got ready for a third lap. It was around 3:30 p.m., and I had been on the bike for over three hours.

Francis and I rolled out for lap three at the same time. He promptly dropped me on the opening climb. I had nothing. Couldn’t even outrun the gnats. On the gas line section, I came apart—woozy and nauseous from the heat and weak from the lack of fuel. I hiked my bike up the hills and paused for a long time at the top of FF. I knew the singletrack was in the shade, so once the worst waves of wooziness passed, I coasted down the hill and into the woods. Then the cramps began. I rode through them, repeating “relax, relax” over and over. Oddly enough, I still entertained visions of a fourth lap, proof, I think, that I was delusional. But then I started thinking about the next aid station. And beer. And it just so happened that Brian had beer when I arrived. I knew that if I had a beer, I would not ride a fourth lap. I was self-preservation mode, so that’s what I did.

After a 20-minute bs session with Brian, I swallowed the last of my brew and pedaled about 200 yards to that hunting cabin. Being the friendly Southerner that I am, I hollered: “Y’all out of beer yet?” “No,” they hollered back. “You want a Yuengling or a Miller Lite?” I stopped and sipped the second-best beer I had had all day with David and crew, and we talked about the cabin (it’s been in his family since 1966), local food, hunting (which I don’t know jack about), and life in Tioga County versus Bucks County. After a pleasant chat, I thanked them and bid them adieu and puttered my way back to the start/finish. I turned in my baton and told Mikey I wouldn’t need it again until next year.

And I will be back next year. The course is big fun, and I got a free tattoo, even if I didn’t win. It was inked by an Eggbeater and looks like this:



Watch out, SSWC.

Dirt Road Ride

Carlisle 40K Time Trial; Or, Three MU Profs Trying to Go Fast

Once Howard, Francis, and I set the bikes on the trainers to warm up for the 40K TT in Carlisle, the skies opened up. The green cloud on the Weather Channel’s radar during our 5:45 a.m. check had arrived. Thunder rumbled as rain poured. Water stood in puddles the school’s parking lot in minutes. It was grim. Francis and I tried to stay dry by sliding our trainers under the back door of the van, but water dripping off the door hit the center of my back and funneled straight to my chamois. Nothing I love more than wet chamois in the morning. Feels like . . . well, not victory.

Howard talked me into this TT silliness, and Francis decided to come along at the last minute to celebrate his 42 birthday. When I talked to Howard about the TT, he said something about the course being “flat, at least for around here.” He had been clocking pretty fast times, so I was game. I trained for the event by thinking about it. I also strapped on the aero bars and tweaked my bike a bit, basically moving the saddle forward 12mm and up 5mm. I hate moving my saddle, so I must have been taking this event seriously. I borrowed Francis’s Spinergy wheel and wore my close-out red and black Voler skinsuit. I thought the skinsuit made me look sexy and fast. My wife said it made me look “red.” The day of the race, that skinsuit made me look wet.

Francis was scheduled to go off a minute before me, Howard thirty seconds after. After a 20 minute trainer soak, I followed Howard to the start line. The start involved a short climb, which I rode conservatively, not wanting to dig myself into a hole with an hour left to race. I’d be in the hole soon enough. My goal for the day was to settle into my race pace and ride consecutively faster 20 minute sections. Dodging puddles, I settled onto the aero bars, told myself to relax, and focused on my breathing. I was hurting within minutes, but relatively comfortable on the aero bars.

I passed the 10K mark in about 16 minutes. Damn, I thought, I’m moving pretty well. But the “flat” course kept climbing slightly all the way to the turnaround. I focused on my form and pushed as hard as I could without blowing up. The course rolled through farmland and old houses, and occasionally I saw Amish buggies passing in the opposite direction. What a contrast between aero-helmeted, shaved-legged freaks riding tricked out Cervelos with disc wheels and the clop, clop, clop of horses pulling buggies. Of course, I was too gassed to think that thought during the actual ride.

I rolled through the turnaround at around 33 minutes. As I accelerated back up to speed, I heard puffing and gasping coming from across the road. It was Howard. I thought, “He’s fucked.” I figured he had gone too hard and was going to fall apart any second. Boy, was I wrong.

A few minutes later, Howard passed me, gasping and huffing. I mumbled something like, “Right on, Howard,” or “Go Howard,” or “You asshole, why did I let you talk me into this silliness?” I felt better later when he told me that the spray from my tires was providing a refreshing mid-ride treat for him. I told him it was my new energy drink: Horseshot™. I’m in negotiations with The Shack…

Howard slowly pulled away, thanks no doubt to my energy drink hitting his bloodstream, and I was left alone with my thoughts. They were pathetic. “OK, ten more minutes, pick it up, pick it up, PICK IT UP!” . . . “Ok, seven minutes, give it all you’ve got!” . . . “Come on, legs, come on!” . . . “Beer!” Needless to say, the final 10 minutes were rough. I focused on maintaining my form—it’s always better to look good than to go fast, right?—and pushed myself deep into the red zone. I crossed the finish line at around 40 mph and slumped across the bars, wondering if I would be able to climb the hill to the van. At that moment, I had my doubts.

Back at the van, Francis offered some kind of gummi something or other. I refused, reaching instead for water and then a Pabst. I handed one to Francis with a “happy birthday.” Howard refused a Pabst. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s mature or just doesn’t like Pabst at 10:30 a.m. on a Sunday. We were the only two drinking Pabst, which just goes to show you that TT’s are serious business.

Our times: Francis turned 40K in 61:38 at an average speed of 24.1. Howard turned 40K in 62:24 at an average speed of 23.9. I turned 40K in 63:03 at an average speed of 23.6. I’m looking forward to next year. Maybe I’ll train some. Or maybe I should take Francis’s approach and just sorta show up.

Howard summed it up best: “We suck! The over-hour club consisted of a white-haired couple dressed in purple, a guy with one leg, and us.”

Century - July 12

Here's the route for our annual no-frills, no-fee century coming up on Sunday, July 12. We leave at 7am from the shop. Come join us! All are welcome

Oswald Cycle Works Century 7/12/2009

Share your bike routes @ Bikely.com

The Rambler, Who's in?

Who's in on the 2nd annual Ramble around Prattsburgh? Sunday April 26th, 1pm Prattsburgh,NY Oh yeah check out this video of 2008! Look for Tom and Jesse.

Ever eat just before a race? Read this!

Back to Previous Page The Pre-Race Meal [revised 02/08] By Steve Born This is one area of proper fueling and performance for which I don't have a catalog of horror stories, because for most of my athletic career I did follow the guidelines set out below. I wish I could say I did so consciously, but the truth is that I did it out of habit rather than really knowing why it was the right thing to do. Most of the athletes I've worked with have been reluctant to adopt these plans - until they actually try them. Then they're convinced by their improved performance, and they never go back to the conventional advice. How many times have you had a bite (or more) from an energy bar, taken a swig (or more) from an energy drink, or eaten a meal just an hour or two before taking your position at the starting line of a long distance race? Big mistake! Eating this soon before prolonged exercise is actually counterproductive and will hurt your performance. In the sometimes confusing world of sports supplementation and fueling, the pre-race meal generates arguably the greatest confusion, and many athletes have paid a hefty performance price for their misinformation. But really, there's no insider secret to the pre-race meal, just some effective strategies and guidelines. You need to know what to eat, how much, and most importantly, when. You also need to know a bit about glycogen storage, depletion, and re-supply, and how to use that knowledge at the practical level. This article supplies all the information you need, and I've also included some suggested meals, equally appropriate for workouts as well as competition. The pre-race meal goal Assuming that your race starts in the morning, the purpose of your pre-race meal is to top off liver glycogen stores, which your body has expended during your night of sleep. Muscle glycogen, the first fuel recruited when exercise commences, remains intact overnight. If you had a proper recovery meal after your last workout, you'll have a full load of muscle glycogen on board, which constitutes about 80% of your total glycogen stores. If you didn't re-supply with complex carbs and protein after your last workout, there's nothing you can do about it now; in fact, you'll only hurt yourself by trying. To repeat: during sleep, your liver-stored glycogen maintains proper blood glucose level; you expend nary a calorie of your muscle glycogen. You might wake up feeling hungry, and I'll discuss that issue later, but you'll have a full supply of muscle-stored glycogen, your body's first used and main energy source. Your stomach might be saying, I'm hungry, but your muscles are saying, Hey, we're good to go! With only your liver-stored glycogen to top off, you want a light pre-race nutrition meal. Sports nutrition expert Bill Misner, Ph.D., advises that a pre-race meal should be an easily digested, high complex carbohydrate meal of between 200-400 calories with a minimum of fiber, simple sugar, and fat. That's hardly what most folks would call a meal, but in terms of pre-race fueling, it's meal enough. According to Dr. Misner, fat slows digestion and has no positive influence on fuels metabolized during an event. He further states that a high fiber pre-race meal may create the call for an unscheduled and undesirable bathroom break in the middle or near the end of the event. Complex carbohydrates & protein One study found that athletes who drank a pre-race meal consisting of both carbohydrates and a small amount of protein had better performances than when they consumed only an all-carbohydrate sports drink. With that in mind, here are three pre-race meal possibilities that would not only be highly effective, they are quick and easy to prepare as well: Sustained Energy which contains both complex carbohydrates and soy protein Perpetuem, which contains complex carbohydrates, soy protein, and a small donation of healthy fats A combination of Sustained Energy + Hammer Gel or HEED If you do feel the need for solid food, choose high starch foods such as skinless potatoes, bananas, rice, pasta, plain bagels, low fat active culture yogurt, tapioca, and low fiber hot cereals. You can find a few pre-race meal recipes at the end of this article that use these products. The key - Allow three hours or more! Equally as important as what you eat is when you eat your pre-race meal. Authorities such as Dr. Misner, Dr. Michael Colgan, and Dr. David Costill all agree that the pre-race meal should be eaten 3-4 hours prior to the event. Dr. Misner suggests the athlete leave three hours minimum to digest foods eaten at breakfast. After breakfast, drink 10-12 ounces of fluid each hour up to 30 minutes prior to the start (24-30 ounces total fluid intake). Note: other acceptable pre-race fluid intake suggestions can be found in the article Hydration - What You Need To Know. Three hours allows enough time for your body to fully process the meal. Colgan says it's the digestion time necessary to avoid intestinal distress. Costill's landmark study [Costill DL. Carbohydrates for exercise. Dietary demand for optimal performance. Int J Sports 1988;9:1-18] shows that complex carbohydrates taken 3-4 hours prior to exercise raise blood glucose and improve performance. But it's Misner's argument that has proved most compelling to me. Dr. Misner's rationale - It's all in the timing If you consume high glycemic carbohydrates such as simple sugars (or even the preferred complex carbohydrates such as starches and maltodextrins) within three hours of exercise, you can expect the following, with possible negative effects on performance: Rapidly elevated blood sugar causes excess insulin release, leading to hypoglycemia, an abnormally low level of glucose in the blood. High insulin levels inhibit lipid mobilization during aerobic exercise, which means reduced fats-to-fuels conversion. Our ability to utilize stored fatty acids as energy largely determines our performance, which is why we can continue to exercise when our caloric intake falls far below our energy expenditure. We want to enhance, not impede, our stored fat utilization pathways. A high insulin level will induce blood sugar into muscle cells, which increases the rate of carbohydrate metabolism, hence rapid carbohydrate fuel depletion. In simple terms: high insulin means faster muscle glycogen depletion. You must complete your pre-race fueling three or more hours prior to the start to allow adequate time for insulin and blood glucose to normalize. After three hours, hormonal balance is restored, and you won't be at risk for increased glycogen depletion. Eating within three hours of a race promotes faster release/depletion of both liver and muscle glycogen and inhibits fat utilization. The combination of accelerated glycogen depletion and disruption of your primary long-distance fuel availability can devastate your performance. But I'm hungry! Recall that I mentioned earlier that muscle glycogen, the main fuel recruited for the first 60-90 minutes of exercise, remains unaffected by a nightlong fast. When you awaken in the morning, you haven't lost your primary fuel supply, and can't add to it by eating within an hour or two of exercise. That's absolutely correct, and believe it or not, being hungry before an event won't inhibit performance. However, hard-training athletes often do wake up very hungry and feel they need to eat something before their workout or race. This is especially true for half and full iron-distance triathletes, who start very early in the morning in the water, swimming for up to an hour or more where consuming food is not possible. What to do? Try either of the following suggestions to help with this problem: Just start anyway, realizing that hunger is not a performance inhibitor, and begin fueling shortly after you start, when you get into a comfortable rhythm. The hunger sensation will diminish almost as soon as you begin to exercise, and you'll actually be benefiting, not hurting, your performance by following this procedure. You can safely use Sustained Energy, Perpetuem, HEED or Hammer Gel, or any combination thereof, as soon as you want after exercise commences. For details regarding appropriate amounts, please refer to the article Proper Caloric Intake During Endurance Exercise. If you feel that you absolutely must eat, consume 100-200 calories about five minutes before start time. By the time these calories are digested and blood sugar levels are elevated, you'll be well into your race, and glycogen depletion will not be negatively affected. In this regard, good choices are one or two servings of Hammer Gel or a generous drink from a premixed bottle of Sustained Energy or Perpetuem. This strategy is especially appropriate for triathletes who will hit the water first and not have a chance to eat right away. Small amounts of nutrient-dense fuels, such as those named above, go a long way to stanching hunger pangs. Sleep or eat? Should you get up during the wee morning hours just to get in a meal three hours before your race or workout? My answer is NO - rest will help you more. Much restorative physiology occurs during sleep, so don't sacrifice sleep just to eat. If you're a fit athlete, one who has been replenishing carbohydrates immediately after each exercise session, you have approximately 60-90 minutes of muscle glycogen, your premium fuel, available. As long as you begin fueling shortly after the race begins, perhaps 10-20 minutes after the start, your performance will not be affected negatively. If you start fueling shortly after your race begins, it's actually OK to start your race a little on the hungry side. Topping off liver glycogen stores is always a good idea, but not at the expense of sacrificing sleep, and certainly not at the expense of depleting muscle glycogen stores too quickly (by eating too soon before exercise). Are there any exceptions to the three-hour rule? When you're competing in races in the 90-minute range or shorter (personally, I prefer an hour limit), fasting three hours prior to the start of the race is not necessary. Consuming some easily digested calories an hour or two prior to the start will not negatively affect performance, and may actually enhance it. Here's why: As we've discussed earlier, when you consume calories sooner than three hours prior to the start of a race, you accelerate the rate at which your body burns its finite amounts of muscle glycogen stores. In events lasting longer than 60-90 minutes, refraining from calorie consumption for the three-hour period prior to the start is crucial because you want to preserve your glycogen stores, not accelerate their depletion. Muscle glycogen is the first fuel that the body will use when exercise commences, and your body only has a limited supply of this premium fuel. If your workout or race goes beyond the 60-90 minute mark, you don't want to do anything that will accelerate muscle glycogen utilization. However, when you consume calories within three hours of a race, that's exactly what will happen; you'll increase the rate at which your glycogen is burned. During shorter distance races, however, accelerated rates of glycogen depletion/utilization are not problematic. You don't need the calories for energy, but the presence of carbohydrates will elevate glycogen utilization. In a short race, that's what you want. Dr. Misner explains that prior to shorter-duration races, & consuming a few easily digested carbohydrates [such as a serving or two of HEED or Hammer Gel] will advance performance, because carbohydrates consumed prior to exercise make the body super-expend its glycogen stores like a flood gate wide open." In other words, if you eat something 1-2 hours prior to the start of a short-duration race, thus causing the insulin "flood gates" to open, yes, you will be depleting your glycogen stores at maximum rates. However, at this distance it's a beneficial effect, as glycogen depletion is not an issue when the race is over within at most 90 minutes. This advice assumes that you have been effectively refueling your body after each workout, as this is the primary way to increase muscle glycogen (see the article Recovery - A Crucial Component of Athletic Success for details). Bottom line: Fast three hours prior to the start of a longer-duration event (60-90+ minutes). For shorter events, consuming a small amount of fuel an hour to two prior to the start may enhance performance. Summary & pre-race meal suggestions You work so hard throughout your training, making sure you tune your diet, supplement program, training, and recovery to exactly fit your personal needs. Following these steps regarding your pre-race meal will put the final touches on all of your hard work, giving you the best advantage for your important race. Eat a pre-race meal of 200-400 calories at least three hours before exercise. Focus on complex carbs, starches, and a little protein for your pre-race meal. Avoid high fiber, simple sugars, and high fat in your pre-race meal. If you must, consume a small amount of your supplemental fuel (Hammer Gel, etc.) about five minutes before exercise. Make sure that you re-supply your muscle glycogen by eating a good recovery meal after your workouts. Any of these pre-race meal suggestions will keep you in the preferred 200-400 calorie range: Three scoops of Sustained Energy Two scoops of Sustained Energy flavored with one serving of Hammer Gel or one scoop of HEED Two to three servings of Hammer Gel or two to three scoops of HEED fortified with one scoop of Sustained Energy Two to two and a half scoops of Perpetuem One white flour bagel and a half cup of active yogurt A banana and a cup of active yogurt Cream of Wheat or Rice, sweetened with a serving of Hammer Gel One soy protein-enhanced pancake, sweetened with a serving of Hammer Gel Half of a skinless baked potato topped with a half cup of plain active yogurt For more detailed and scientifically referenced information regarding this topic, please read Dr. Misner's article The Science Behind The Hammer Nutrition Pre-Race Meal Protocol". Steve Born is a technical advisor for Hammer Nutrition with well over a decade of involvement in the health food industry. He has worked with hundreds of athletes - ranging from the recreational athlete to world-class professional athlete - helping them to optimize their supplement/fueling program. Steve is a three-time RAAM finisher, the 1994 Furnace Creek 508 Champion, 1999 runner-up, the only cyclist in history to complete a Double Furnace Creek 508, and is the holder of two Ultra Marathon Cycling records. In February 2004 Steve was inducted into the Ultra Marathon Cycling Hall of Fame. © 2008, Endurance Marketing Group. This information is copyright protected. Please feel free to distribute this information as long as this copyright notice and EMG's phone number and/or URL are included. Content must remain unchanged and original authorship acknowledged. Back to Previous Page

For those who wish to travel: Shaffer Farms, MD

Recently I moved down to Maryland which despite its high population puts me in the midst of some great riding country. Not too far from the Blue Ridge Park Way and not too far from the Carlisle mountain area.

Being so completely displaced and alone I have been forced to do something I didn’t have to do before. I must go out on my own, without the help of Mr. Beals or Tom to find those great rides. Much to my surprise I have been reasonably successful. One such successful endeavored was my trip to Shaffer Farms, Germantown MD.

Shaffer Farms is and Urban oasis for MTB and Cyclocross riders alike. While mainly dominated by MTB riders this place has more, in my opinion, to offer to the avid cross’ rider looking for some heavy handling training.

Generally this trail starts flat to rolling with a few steep inclines and run ups. While allowing you to roll fast it also has plenty of man made and natural obstacles that will force your off your cross’ bike, onto your swift moving feet and back again. What will truly improve those handling skills are the many hairpin turns packed with roots and fine powders forcing control and confidence.

There are many trail choices and a combination of any can offer up to 3 hours of ride time without becoming insanely monotonous. You can also through in some local roads to extend loops or just to change it up.

I would not suggest a trip down to MD just for this trail system, but if you find yourself driving through on I 270 with a MTB or cross’ bike attached to your car it is defiantly worth a stop.

P.S. This place has everything you need!

IC VI

My weekend started Saturday morning. I got up early and headed over to the school to make sub plans. Let me tell you planning for a sub is worse then riding your bike for five hours. I went home after shooting the breeze at the shop for a while and dropping my bike off at Tom O.’s. One quick note; when I pulled up at Tom’s he was out on the deck in a lawn chair and I kid you not, Lizard Boy was basking. The boys picked me up at my pad and we were off. I worked on the way down to our hotel so the trip went fast. At the hotel we watched Man vs. Wild and I thought to myself “wow that could be me eating the poisonous snake raw tomorrow, if I get lost in the race again this year”.

Race day started with a nice breakfast of the greasiest omelet I have ever experienced. I think it is the first time I have not eaten everything on my plate since I was about ten. Well we paid our bill and off to the races we went. The start of the race is nuts. You do this thing called the death spiral. I like to think of it as the puke spiral. When you start you get funneled into a lane and the lane spirals into the center of a field and when you get to the center it switches direction and spirals you out. My thoughts as I do this are “if turds had feelings this is what it would feel like to be flushed” and “this is what I deserve for flushing those dead goldfish down the toilet when I was a kid”. Maybe my fascination with flushing was the spiral or maybe that omelet was talking.

I was feeling spunky at the beginning and was working my way through the field pretty good. I probably passed 10 guys fixing flats in the first 5 miles. I finally bridged up to the group Tom was in. Jared was nowhere in sight of course. I stuck with Tom’s group up to the single track. I was the first one into the single track. However, I got deflected by a rock and right into a branch. I put my foot down and probably lost fifteen places in the blink of an eye.

I got through the single track and rode the next portion completely by myself. Then came the “run-up”. I passed a lot of people on this (top speed here was probably.000025 miles per hour…ouch) and got to the top just as Tom was leaving. I scarfed down a banana and stole a water bottle and I was off no more then 3 minutes behind Tom. I never saw him again.

I was ok to check point three where I was blown away to see Jared. We started the climb from three together. He left me in the dust, apparently having the plague doesn’t even slow the guy down for long. I suffered on that hill, it just sucked. The rest of the race was just putting up with misery and self-pity until the end. The only exception to feeling lousy was this stretch of super smooth single track. Now mind you I am not that good on single track. When I hit this stuff I was absolutely rocking and dropped the group I had been riding with like they were a greasy omelet.

Jared ended up catching me a little later. Yeah I was confused too. It appears that in his lactic haze he misread a sign and zigged when he should have zagged. Once we hit pavement it was drag race to the finish where Tom was waiting for the rest of the O train. He only had to wait about fourteen minutes for the young bucks of the squad. We cooled down and grabbed a bite to eat as we waited for Jimmy an Eric to finish and they came in together. I thought that was totally cool. I can’t wait until next year!!!

Iron Cross VI

Sunday oct. 12 I started my day at 3:30 AM headed to Mansfield to get Jimmy G. and head to Pine Grove Furnace to race the Iron Cross (ride) . We arrived at the race site about 8:00 AM the morning was chilly and Jimmy and I talked about what to wear for the day knowing that it was going to get up into the seventies. We picked up our numbers, talked with Tom O. Josh B. and Jarad S. and headed back to the truck to get ready. The race started at 9:00. Jimmy and I started near the back. Faster riders were up front. The start was the craziest thing you will ever see, as you ride around in in a circle in a 1 acre field for a couple of minutes. The race lasted for 6 hours and 17 minutes for Jimmy and me, covering some of the most beautiful country I've ever seen. The single-track was some of best I've ever ridden and to do it on a cross bike totally amazed me. There was 60 miles of roads and trails with 6000 FT of climbing and a few hundred yards of hike-a-bike. I have to say this race is the most fun I've had on a bike in a very long time. If you like to be challenged and have a really good time you need to do this race.

Mountain Biking Matters

Cloudy skies greeted me as I walked to the garage to grab my mountain bike. I was headed for the Laurel Classic, though, truth be known, I didn’t feel at all like racing. Tioga Tom’s crash had occurred four days prior, and he’d never be racing the Classic again. His death made the race seem pointless to me. Who cares about racing when a friend can no longer ride?

Tom O picked me up a few minutes after 8:00 a.m., lateness unusual for him. Even more unusual, he couldn’t find the front wheel for his bike. We backed out of the driveway to head back to his house, and I saw the wheel lying there in Sherwood Street. I jumped out, grabbed it, and hopped back in the truck for the trip to Asaph. We drove over under cloudy skies and subdued talk, though I did get a bit riled about politics and dropped a few F-bombs along the way. Tom was his usual unflappable self.

Once we arrived, I was heartened to see a good turn-out and many guys I ride with but don’t see on a regular basis. I sat around, bullshitting, while the Race Promoters Supreme, Jim and Jared, marshaled their volunteers and passed out orders. The Beginners pedaled off a few minutes later, and things got quiet around the staging area.

Tioga Tom’s family weighed heavily on my mind. I puttered around before the start, fiddling with my race bib and equipment before finally embarking on a warm-up with Eric twenty-five minutes before the race. That’s usually a bad approach for me—unlike Lizard-Boy, it takes me a while to get the muscles firing—but I didn’t give a shit. After twenty minutes or so, Eric took his spot at the start with the experts while I rummaged through my cooler looking for another water bottle. I heard the horn blast and cleats clicking into pedals as the group turned right in a cloud of dust and headed up Straight Run Road. I sucked down a GU, chugged some water, and rolled to the start. I wished Ted and Heckler luck. Heckler looked at me and said: “Why are we doing this?” “I don’t know,” I replied. “I’m not really psyched for it.” Then the horn blared, and we were off.

I’ve raced my bike a lot, so I don’t get sucked into start antics too often, especially when the race begins with a long climb. Sure enough, a group of guys blasted away. I tried to keep them in sight but not very hard, preferring to let my back and legs loosen up before ramping up my effort. (Of course, I’m also not in shape for those kinds of starts either, but I prefer to make myself sound old and wise rather than old and slow.) Eventually, the main pack pulled away, while those who went out too hard started drifting back, puffing like overworked steam engines. After what seemed like forever—that damn hill has got to be longer than Ole Bull’s opener—I hit the singletrack. My strategy? Ride easy and in control until I felt my singletrack groove. This was only the second time I had ridden these trails, and I wanted to enjoy them a bit, circumstances notwithstanding.

Plantation Trail began well. I followed a young woman on a singlespeed into the woods and passed her when the trail climbed a bit. The previous night’s rain had the soil in that perfect state of stickiness, when tires bite into the dirt, leaving crisp, clean tracks. The air was clear, and the birches, oaks, maples, and other trees stood out starkly. Slick black roots bisected the trail at odd angles, cutting through the occasional moss patch. There were trees all around, and they muted what little light drifted down from the gray skies. As I rode, I noticed pressure building in my bladder—good in the sense that it meant I was hydrated, bad in the sense that, once I have to piss, I can’t think of anything else. Not a good state of mind to carry into Stinger. So, I steered my bike to the left edge of the trail, hopped off, and ran into the woods—not my usual race behavior. Once I start a race, I don’t like to stop. But then again I didn’t really feel like racing. With an uncluttered mind, I ran back to my bike, appreciating all the kind mountain bikers who asked if I was ok. That concern is one of the reasons I like to race.

I caught the young singlespeeder just in time to watch her go over the bars. It was an impressive face plant—slow and precise, like a dance move. She told me she was ok as I rode by. That was the last I saw of her.

Stinger was uneventful. I pointed my bike down the right side of the trail, surfing the scree with my belly on the saddle. I didn’t see a thing except the trail in front of me—no trees, no spectators. (I think I heard my name once.) Smiling as I dropped through the ditch that ends Stinger and onto the gravel road, I thought about Tom O’s guess that he rides Stinger successfully about 50% of the time. Having ridden it a grand total of twice now, that’s where I stand myself.

The next section was uneventful as well—just me and my bike rolling through the trees. I was riding singletrack efficiently and well, enjoying the climbing (easy to do when I’m not gutting myself), and marveling at how damn good this race course is. I’ve ridden my mountain bike in a lot of places—North Carolina, South Carolina, Colorado, Nevada, California, Utah—and the Asaph trails rival any of them.

My second stop came at the bottom of Deer Trail, a tricky descent that I don’t remember all that well. Francis handed me a water bottle while Todd Rudy shooed me out of the middle of the road. I saw Fletch, said hello, and nodded as he told me to blast down Left Straight Run. I blasted all right—both hands gripping the brakes while I listened to another racer behind me yelp every time a jolt on the trail shook his broken toe. (His name was Greg, and he had broken his toe the night before. Tough guy.) Anyway, I let him pass, only to catch him a few miles further on when we climbed up some lovely singletrack splitting knee-deep grass growing in an old road bed. At the top, we rode together for a few minutes until I pulled away, not to see him again until the next water stop.

Brian and Gail know how to run a water stop. AC/DC on the boombox, cold water in cups, and cheers of encouragement. I asked Brian if he had a beer. “Yeah,” he replied, “you want one?” We cracked open a couple—Brian’s too polite to let a thirsty mountain biker drink alone—and chatted for a couple of minutes, the time it took me to swallow the Rugged Trail Ale. Then I was off for the final eight miles of lovely singletrack. By this time, I was really grooving—my bike and body working as one as we cruised through the trails, reading the singletrack like a book. It was fun, plain and simple, and I was amazed that I rode that well, considering I’ve only been on my mountain bike three times this year.

Bombing down Darling Road Trail was like plunging down a roller coaster through a tube of trees. And plunging. And plunging. That descent is so long, it almost gets tedious. I started looking left for a glimpse of Straight Run Road, wishing I had the nerve to let go of the brakes and really blast down the trail. Finally, houses marking the end of the trail came into view, and I knew my long-suffering forearms were going to get a break. I popped out of the woods, heard Dan say “Way to go, Jimmy,” waved, and pedaled to the finish line. My time was . . .well, who cares. I was in the mood for my friends, beer, and hearing and telling stories of our rides—precisely why mountain biking matters.

Rest in peace, Tioga Tom.

MILTON 28 MILE BIKE RACE

Saturday, September 13th, Joanne and I picked Jimmy up at 7:30 AM and headed off to Milton, PA. Registration ended at 9:00 and we got there a few minutes early. Thinking we had an hour to get ready and warm up, we took our time. About 9:23, a fellow racer passed by informing us the race was about to start in a few minutes. We quickly grabbed our stuff and headed over to the start line just in time for the start. No warm up necessary as the sun was warming us like a couple of lizards ready to ride. The horn sounded and we were off. The first 5 or 6 miles were fairly flat and the pace was easy. I stayed near the front knowing there was a steep climb coming up, hoping to stay at the front. As we went into the climb I went hard realizing I couldn't hang with the lead group. Jimmy passed me and told me to keep my wheel out of the gravel. I finished the climb but could not catch the lead group again. I caught up with Jimmy a short time later on another climb and as I passed him he told me to "make him proud". I think he was not feeling well due to the lack of a warm up. I worked hard for another 10-15 minutes passing 3 or 4 riders, turned onto 642 and got caught by a small group of 8 riders, Jimmy being one of them. We all worked together for the last 7 or 8 miles and shortly before the finish, a steep climb put me towards the back. It was a great race. Jimmy finished a few seconds in front of me. A great time was had by all. This would be a good race for Josh, Jared and Tom. No warm up necessary.

The Madness that is Ole Bull

I’m not given much to weight-weenification. Mostly, I want a bike that’s fairly light, durable, and that works well. But every so often I think about it, and given that Ole Bull climbs all the time, I thought riding a lighter bike might help me break the hour mark for a lap. I wanted to make the Geezer Squad proud and pull my weight, unlike last year when I sniveled and whined and refused to go out for third measly lap. Mind you, I’m still not a hardcore weight-weenie, but switching my components from the Fuji Outland (full-suspension) to the Specialized M4 (hard tail) helped a bit. But it wasn’t easy. First of all, that Fuji enabled me to finish the Shenandoah 100, something I’m not sure I could have done on a hard tail. I am beholden to that bike. Second of all, I’m an incompetent mechanic. My main mechanical skill is taking my bike to the shop without being hit by a car.

Anyway, I did show up at Ole Bull campground Friday afternoon with a fast bike, my kids and wife (less fast), and Eric Franck (least fast, seeing as he was waylaid by a mysterious gastrointestinal ailment that made him, well, a bit whiny). Tom Oswald showed up Saturday right before the race, doing his usual impression of a lizard as he warmed up by lying in the sun and breathing rapidly. The Geezer Squad was 3/4s complete at the start and our fourth (some guy named TJ) was to arrive around 6 or 7 p.m. after racing in Delaware or some other state where, we found out later (much later!), he won the 45-with-a-bum-knee category.

Since Eric was feeling poorly, we decided to ride in the following order: Tom, me, Eric. Rinse and repeat until TJ showed up around 6. The race began promptly at noon with the goofy sort of stumblety-run of a bunch of cyclists in stiff-soled bike shoes trying to hurry to their bikes while trying to keep their crap from flying out of their jersey pockets. It ain’t dignified, I tell ya. Tom stumblety-ran to a good start, and I sauntered off to warm up for my assault on my hour record.
Figuring Tom would pass the baton at about 12:55, I watched the clock while I rode pavement for about ten miles, making sure all systems were go. At 12:50, I rolled over to the start/finish tent and waited. Sure enough, Tom was right on time, popping out of the single-track at 12:54. I grabbed the baton, dropped it in my jersey pocket with my Gu’s, and was off.

The first hill went well, but it seemed a lot longer than the previous year. My legs were screaming by the top, but I still felt strong and pounded through the double-track. My sub-hour bid was on track. I kept pushing where I could while trying to ride efficiently. I hit the relatively flat double-track past the second water stop in good shape and reached into my jersey for a Gu. I pulled it out and glimpsed the baton as it flipped end-over-end above my leg and bounced to the ground. Damn. I grabbed a handful of brakes and nearly shot over the bars as my crotch slammed into the stem. Ouch. I rode that way for 30 or so feet, trying not to face plant on the flattest part of the course, until I came to a stop. I turned around and ran back for the baton as Josh rode up asking me if I was ok. “Yeah,” I replied. “I dropped the baton.” He kept riding while I picked it up, hopped on my bike, and tried to find my groove again. The rest of the lap proved uneventful (with the exception of some crappy shifting and missed lines on my part) and I came in with a 1:01. I could only laugh as Eric sped off for the third lap. A dumb mistake cost me my sub-hour lap.

After the first three laps, we settled in. Tom, then me, then Eric, except Eric felt so bad he called it a day after two laps. I knew things were getting grim when I left for my third lap at 7:05 p.m. Where the heck was TJ? I rode my ass off, fighting cramps that reduced me to walking less than a mile from the finish, though I did manage to squeak out a 1:08 third lap. (Must be something to that weight-weenification.) I knew things were grim when Tom set off on his fourth lap right after me. Turns out TJ was hung up in traffic. We weren’t sure we were going to get a fourth.
I hit the showers and made it back to the tent when Tom came hurrying in a few minutes after 9:00 p.m., looking for someone to pass the baton to. “We’re done, Tom,” I called out, and he walked his bike over to Eric and me. Suddenly, Jim Hepp jogs out of the darkness, asking for TJ’s race numbers. We rip Tom’s off his bike and jersey and slap them on TJ, while TJ hooks up his lights. Finally, he’s off, the Stars-and Stripes jersey disappearing into the darkness like a shot. (He’s pretty good in the 45-with-a-bum-knee category.) TJ busts out a 55 minute lap (really, 49 minutes, because it took us six minutes to get his lights hooked up). We pass him fresh bottles, and he stomps out for another, stopping to eat somewhere along the way. TJ’s quick laps sewed up second place for the Geezer Squad, much to the chagrin of the team with which we were neck-and-neck all day.

A good time was had by all. Maybe I can break that hour next year.

Pics!

Hey y'all,
There are new pics up from Ole Bull!!

Pre Century Checklist

Here is a little list of things that are good to have for a long ride
1) Chamois Butt'r
2) Pump
3) Patch kit
4) Tire lever
5) Tube
6) More Chamois Butt'r
7) Gel (In a flask is best)
8) Three bottles of your favorite sports drink (two on the bike and one carried Domestique style in the jersey pocket)
9) More Chamois Butt'r
10) FOOD!! (make sure it goes down well with More Chamois Butt'r)
11) $5
12) Sunglasses
13) Gloves
14) Shoes
15) Socks (I like ones with a little bit of padding for when my feet start hurting....wool is good)
16) More Chamois Butt'r
17) Shorts
18) Jersey
19) and most importantly a helmet with More Chamois Butt'r... Safety first!!!