Trainer Confessions

Dennis's Downfall: Donuts

One too many...

On July 18th the alarm went off just before 4 AM so that I could catch a flight a Dallas, too early even for me to get a ride in.  The flight arrived a bit late, so I scrambled to get to the office in time for meetings that lasted through the early evening.  I had to do a little socializing after work at dinner, but I departed just in time to stop into a local bike shop to pick up a rental.  But the bike just sat in my hotel room that night as the long day plus the 100 degree heat sapped any motivation to hit the roads.

July 18th ended as my 14th day without cycling in 2011, and after a quick review of my WKO+ data revealed this afternoon, it was the start of 94 straight days of riding.  I wasn't deliberately setting out to establish a streak, however, as of late, I've come to think of myself like Homer J Simpson in one of the early Tree House of Horrors episodes, where Homer was summoned to hell.  

The devil intended to punish him with the thing that he loved, the donut.  However, the devil met his match in Homer as his donut appetite proved to be insatiable.

Early on in my streak my "donut" appetite also was insatiable, but it was somewhat balanced, where on some days I only ate a munchkin or two.  However, of late my hubris had led me to indulge in more and more jelly filled donuts, practically downing them by the dozen.  Nearly 1,000 miles just in the last four weeks!

Because I was having some much fun in my gluttony, I ignored or dismissed the signs that I had taken things too far.  Unlike Homer, my waistline hadn't expanded, however, I had started to become a tad moody (at least when not on the bike) and my nights had become dominated by tossing and turning rather than sleeping.  But with all of my Awesome Autumn Adventures (AAA) starred on my calendar, there was just no way I could park the bike, even for just a day.  

Donut Derby

I couldn't ignore the signs any longer on Saturday morning at CCNS's Donut Derby.  Despite the cool crisp ideal fall day, my thoughts during the first four of seven 3 mile laps around Devil's Hopyard repeatedly came back to Homer J. Simpson.  I'm sure it was a thought mostly conjured due to the event's quirky rule by which your finishing time is docked 2 minutes for every one donut downed.  

Don't get me wrong -- I'm not making excuses for not hanging with the lead riders today.  The format of the even allowed racers of any ability to compete, and there were some pretty darn good Cat 1s and 2s up there that would smoke me even on my best day.  But as I struggled to find the motivation to keep on spinning the cranks, I realized that I had hit a limit in my ability to eat up the miles and smiles on the roads.  As I made my way through the scenic roads, I marveled at Homer's truly endless desire for donuts, as I surely wasn't his match.  If it weren't for the fact that teammate Dave J was on hand as my designated eater in the team competition, I would have pulled out in lap 4.  

I didn't pull out of the race; however, during that lap I pulled out of my AAA plan.  Despite all of the memories and fun I'm accumulating, I've reached a point where the fun is coming at high expense -- life outside of the bike is paying the price, and now I'm feeling it even in the saddle.  Even though I really was looking forward to what would have been my AAA capstone, Cycling Concept's Dirty Dozen road race, I officially committed myself to two full weeks off the bike starting tomorrow, Sunday the 23rd as I started that 5th lap.

I also decided at nearly the same time that there was still time to salvage the race and officially chaulk it up in the "fun" column.  Taking my inspiration from Homer J, I pulled into the donut stop for the first time to give a bit of a pep talk to Dave J ("Hey -- too much talking Dave, not enough eating!") and downed my first donut ( the event allowed both the designated eater and the racer to both down the donuts).  I'm not sure if it was the sweet sugar burst from the donut, the brief time off the bike, or the realization that I was less than an hour from the start of 15 days off the bike, but from then on things seemed a lot easier.  

There was no way I could catch the leaders at that point, but I zoomed up the fairly steep 1 km dirt climb with vigour and enthusiasm, without the lethargy that plagued me the first four laps.  I found it far easier to pick off riders as I passed by the start/finish line for the 5th time, so what the heck -- I stopped in for another chocolate glazed donut on lap #6 ( CCNS had quite the selection to choose from! ).  My pace cranked up yet another notch quickly after the power of donut #2 hit the blood stream, and by my calculations lap 6 was by far my fastest.  

In fact, I felt so good and so fast on that lap that I began to reconsider my decision to pack it in for the next two weeks.  The big smile was back again, and at least for the time being the grumpiness and exhaustion seemed to be in the rear view mirror.  I was riding a sugar high that could have easily convinced me that there was no harm in just a few more weeks of AAA.  

But rather than letting the delectable donuts lead me down the wrong path, I decided on the final lap to use the donuts to anchor me back to reality.  Partly as an effort to capture the team win (which we failed to do as the winner's designated eater was without a doubt a Cat 1 Donut man), but mostly as an effort to weigh myself down just enough to remind me how I've slowed over the last few weeks, I downed a chocolate glazed, a coconut crusted, and a pumpkin donut, bringing my total to 5 donuts (perhaps equalling my total donut consumption for the last five years).

Climbing that hill for the final time with those donuts in my belly added enough drag to certainly take Dave J and I out of the overall team competition.  But...it gave me enough time to think of what might lay ahead for me in 2012, and what a kick-ass 2011 I've had.  

Here's to the end of 2011's riding season!  

Race: Mount Greylock Hill Climb Time Trial

Going out on top (of Mount Greylock)

I originally didn’t plan on posting another “Race:” blog post until next year as my schedule had last weekend’s GMSR as my capstone event.  If anything, you’d should be reading about some off-season adventure ride or some look back upon what has been a 2011 season never to be forgotten.  But because of the pleading and persistence of Expo teammate Dave J, who practically begged me to extend my season one more week to join him at the NCC Greylock Hill Climb, I ask that you suffer through just one more 2011 racing post.  I’ll make it a short one though. 

I admit that the last paragraph contains an outright lie – Dave only sent a single email wondering if I was going to do the Greylock race, and I capitulated without any prodding from Dave (aside from his offer to give me a big cup of coffee to ease the pain of our very early departure time).  I hadn’t spent much time with friends lately, and I’ve never done a hill climb race before, so while I was still excited to start my well-earned off-season, I only hesitated for about 30 seconds before saying “yes” when asked if I wanted to head up to North Adams for one last race.  And in hindsight, it was a great decision. 

However, the race itself wasn’t much to write home about.  After fumbling the clip-in for the 2^nd straight race (all of which took place conveniently in front of the race photographer – I hope my kids don’t see any shots of the profanity I uncharacteristically let loose), I went into my normal Time Trial tunnel vision mode.  The only detail I can definitively share about the 8.9 mile climb is my minute by minute PowerTap readings as I was nearly oblivious to all that might have been going on around me.  

The rest of my recollections from the event are vague at best.  The pitch was never too serious, and I even found myself in the big ring for most of the last 3 miles.  I glanced up once and saw the Greylock tower off in the distance, and on a few occasions I caught what might have been a beautiful view of the Berkshire Mountains rising above cotton like clouds.  I also recall passing a few people along the way, including a duo racing the tandem competition. 

The actual memories though were only dreamlike interruptions during my zen-like focus on the PowerTap, so it was only after I passed by the finish line, recovered, and snapped a few photos that I was able to prove my dreams were not figments of my imagination.

A close-up view of the tower on top

 

You can see why my vague memories of the views during the race were dream-like. 

 

Hopefully some day I can convince Mrs D to join me for an adventure like this.

 

It was non-stop smiles for me for the rest of the day once I crossed the finish line as it meant I had officially wrapped up a 2011 racing season which had exceeded all my expectations.  Furthermore, all hours and miles on the bike from that moment onwards, through the rest of September, all of October, and most of November now had just three goals: fun, fun, and fun!  And I started successfully in pursuit of these three goals with a two hour post-race tour led by Dave J up and down the nearby country roads.

After tallying a total of 3:15 of riding time during the morning, the smiles continued off the bike as NCC (the team who put on the event) hosted a post-race BBQ, which amongst other things included a grin-inducing free fresh beer from the Berkshire Brewery (which I later on had to replenish with a 2^nd tasty re-fill).  And to top things off, and to ensure the smiles would continue on for nearly 2 ½ hour ride back home, I made my first-ever podium appearance after learning that I earned a 2^nd place spot in the 35 to 39 age group bracket.

Trust me, there is a "virtual" podium here

 
And now it’s on to day 2 of my smiles and miles off-season!

Race Results:

•     Duration:        49:34 (from my PT -- still awaiting the official results)
•     Work:              806 kJ
•     TSS:                 84 (intensity factor 1.014)
•     Norm Power:     274
•     VI:                    1.01
•     Pw:HR:            4.9%
•     Pa:HR:            -14.9%
•     Distance:        9.184 mi
•                               Min    Max   Avg
•     Power:             0          561     271     watts
•     Heart Rate:     127     198     192     bpm
•     Cadence:         43       156     82       rpm
•     Speed:            2.9      30.9    11.1    mph
•     Pace                1:56    20:33 5:25    min/mi
•     Hub Torque:     0          446     191       lb-in
•     Crank Torque:  0          680     288       lb-in

 

GMSR: Burlington Crit (Cat 4)

Mercy Killing

Short post today.  Partly because I’m typing this in the few minutes before we’re forced out of the hotel room, but mainly because there’s not much that you the reader would want to spend your time on. 

The final day of the Green Mountain Stage Race was all about premature endings.  Apparently yesterday’s App Gap started a steady flow of attrition as our field sign-in sheet showed at least a dozen riders who failed to finish yesterday’s stage 3.  The morning showers, with even heavier downpours imminently forecasted, took another chunk out of what had once been a 70+ man field on day 1.  And given the delays incurred in setting off the earlier race, those that did show up this morning were informed that our race would be (mercifully) cut down by 5 laps, to just 20 times around the technically challenging six turn crit through downtown Burlington.

Despite having spent the prior three days disabusing my legs, I felt pretty good lining up at the start, especially knowing that we now only had just under 13 miles until my 2011 racing season concluded.  I suppose even if my legs hadn’t responded I’d still have felt pretty darn good as I got to experience my first ever call-up to the front row.  After yesterday’s break-through finish on top of App Gap, I had vaulted up to 5^th place in the GC and earned a spot on the front row to kick things off.

Rolling to the front row 

 

The start

 
That ended up being the lone highlight for me.  I suppose I spent too much time basking in the front-row limelight as I ended up fumbling the clip in once the pace car sent us on our way.  Before we even made the first turn I had already fallen 20 riders back from the front.  That wasn’t uncharted territory for me, so I remained calm and confident through the next two turns, at which point the suffering commenced. 

Once the “neutral” half lap ended and the pace increased, a rider crashed right in front of me.  Had I held my spot in the front row I might never have even seen the one man crash.  But instead, I was right on the downed rider’s wheel as he went tumbling.  I avoid getting tangled up myself, but I had to nearly come to a stop and unclipped my left cleat just in case I had to put a foot down.

In an instant, the race got away from me.  14 riders opened a sizable gap before the other 30 riders and I were able to get back up to speed.   With the slick recently paved and painted roads, challenging corners, and less than fresh legs, our chances of regaining contact were bleak.  In just a span of a half lap, most riders forgot about competing for the win – all they wanted to do now was to safely hang in the race for at least another 9 ½ laps so that they’d get an official placing and a calculated time for the GC.  Or at least that was what went through my head – I’d hate to leave Vermont without an official finish and placing in the GC.

All by myself

 
I narrowed the gap to the leaders a few times, and two other riders (the overall GC leader and the overall sprint leader) actually were able to regain contact with the front.  But my glimpses of the riders ahead grew increasingly rare as the laps counted down.  There was just no way I could bridge back up on my own. 

Once I hit the 10 to go mark and I was assured of a GC placing, the thought of bailing on my futile attempt to make it back to the front started to materialize.  But the cheers of “go Daddy go” every time through the start/finish line and the thought of throwing in the towel in front of my girls refocused my attention on turning over the pedals. 

The Cheering Squad

 
Then, with four to go, with my lungs searing from my all-out solo-sufferfest, I started to believe I might just be able to stave off the officials from pulling me.  As the lactic acid attempted to take down my legs, I persevered by reminding myself in just a few laps, all suffering would be over for the 2011 racing season.  But while the mental games and motivation kept me valiantly pushing as long as I could, the power of the 16 guys in front was no match for me. 

With just one lap to go I was the 2^nd to the last rider pulled from the course, allowing the 14 riders ahead of the crash and the 2 riders who overcame the odds and bridged up, to finish with the rest of the field cleared.

One to go

 
 

The inglorious pull from the officials

 
 It turns out that all of the afternoon races were completely cancelled as the weather really took a turn for the worse.  Had my GMSR experience been prematurely cut short at just 3 stages, as it did for the afternoon fields, I would have retained my 5^th place in the GC.  But my race wasn’t cut that short, so I ended up falling back down to 10^th overall (and a disappointing 18^th in today’s stage). 

All things considered though…I’ll be smiling for days after wrapping up what might have been my last race as a Cat 4!

 
Race Results:

•     Place: Somewhere in the top 20, pulled with one lap to go.
•     Duration:      30:04 (Not official results – from my PowerTap)
•     Work:             478 kJ
•     TSS:                 54.4 (intensity factor 1.051)
•     Norm Power:          284
•     VI:                   1.07
•     Pw:HR:          10.1%
•     Pa:HR:            7.26%
•     Distance:      11.281 mi
•                              Min    Max   Avg
•     Power:          0          760     266     watts
•     Heart Rate:              96       195     184        bpm
•     Cadence:     40       218     91       rpm
•     Speed:           2.2      32.5    22.5    mph
•     Pace               1:51    26:49 2:40    min/mi
•     Hub Torque:            0          343     82          lb-in

GMSR: Mad River Road Race (Cat 4)

Last chance?

I had a rough time getting some ZZZs  last night.  Some of the blame goes to the Vermont wildlife making loud annoying noises for a long stretch last night, but most of the tossing and turning was due to my own doing.  After a long and memorable racing season I had pretty much run out of runway on my Cat 3 upgrade quest.  I only had today’s 61 mile Stage 3 road race and tomorrow’s 15 mile Stage 4. 

I’m not know for excelling at Crits, so I fretted over whether or not I’d somehow nab my 10^th and final top ten by overcoming the field stacked with Siggi riders, Spiderman (Siggi’s nickname for the GC leader entering today), and the highest passable road in Vermont, the App Gap.  I hate to admit it, but the only way I could stop the wheels spinning in my head was to come to grips with the possibility that I just wasn’t good enough yet, and I needed to start on Tuesday another long off-season prepping again for the upgrade.

Despite the restless night, I didn’t feel too bad when after riding the 4 miles (with spare wheel in hand) from the Bridges Resort to the start of the race.  I caught up with a few riders I’ve gotten to know a bit (Warren and Dan, who both already deservedly punched their Cat 3 upgrade tickets) and soaked up the views from the ski area as I made my requisite 8 trips to the porto-potties before the announcer sent us on our way.

 

While our race started with a five mile controlled start until we exited the town of Waitsfield, you’d have a hard time telling the difference between the controlled pace and our full-on race pace.  It seemed as though the entire field had resigned themselves to the same plan that I had worked up for myself – conserve all you can and hope that you have enough in the tank for the duel on the App Gap.  We were held in check by the Moto official at 15 mph for the first 5 miles, and then we held ourselves in check at just a few miles per hour faster once the Moto sent us on our way.

I thought that things might change once we faced the day’s first of two KoM climbs.  The hill up Rt 100 wasn’t any more challenging than yesterday’s KoM, so I figured that like yesterday, things would get a bit frantic and my legs would get their first test of the day.  But when I took a look back in the gap between my arm and my body I saw that the Sunday group ride pace still held sway in the pack.  Only 4 of us showed any pep, allowing me to scoop up another 5 points in the KoM competition (I think I finished in 3^rd place for the overall KoM competition). 

And then the thought occurred to me – maybe a lot of the pack had dead legs from the prior two days of racing, and maybe, just maybe I might have the legs to survive up the App Gap ahead of the pack?

Neutralized

Once I realized my guns could still fire, I holstered them for the next few miles and fought the temptation to fire again when the days lone sprint competition heated up at mile 22.  I didn’t contest the sprint, but I didn’t totally relax either as I didn’t want to fall too far behind the front and lose the ability to detect and respond to any break attempts.  But I either misjudged how far I fell behind, or I just lost focus for a bit.  In any case, I was taken aback when I found out that three or four riders had gotten away with at least one Siggi rider making the break.

The news was delivered to us by the Moto official just after we passed through the days only feed zone – the escape group already had 2 ½ minutes on us, due in great part to the efforts of the Siggi team to effectively clamp down the front of the pack and scramble any attempts to coordinate a chase.  Once the news of the time gap spread, the pace quickened with me and a UVM rider taking turns at the front.  But to our surprise we quickly were overtaken by another Siggi rider who loudly critiqued our bad manners by “attacking” during a feed zone. 

The look on the young UVM rider reminded me of my daughter during breakfast earlier in the day.  Mrs D informed our daughter that it was bad manners to chew with her mouth open.  Without further elaboration, the rule seemed sort of arbitrary and puzzled my six year old.  I offered her my support by shrugging my shoulders, letting her know that I wasn’t too fond of the rule myself. 

I don’t think the UVM rider knew he was attacking (because he wasn’t) and seemed a little confused.  I shook my head at him to let him know that I didn’t agree with the “rule” either.  Siggi had been blocking at the front for miles, a legitimate team tatic, but to also tell people that they couldn’t pick up the pace to slash the gap?  It didn’t make sense to me.  Maybe if we were out of the saddle smashing the pedals just as people were picking up their feeds, but there was none of that going on in my neck of the woods.

Over time the lead pack slowly dissolved, leaving just a single rider away off the front.  Given that he wasn’t a Siggi rider I thought that we’d be free to work again, perhaps even with their help.  But due to our lackadaisical extended miles, we were overtaken by the following Junior field and the entire pack, with the exception of the lone break rider, was forced to the side and neutralized for almost three minutes.  It was a relief to have a pee break, but it was a disappointment to know that all chances of catching Mr Solo were done for the day.  Kudos to that lonely rider, as he piled on an insurmountable 10 minute lead on the entire field by the end of the day!

Yee-Haw!

While I worked hard taking turns at the front before we were neutralized, I went into conservation mode once all chances of catching the lead had dissipated.  I put in a half-hearted turn at the front every so often just to avoid feeling like a complete free loader, but I spent a good deal of time recharging the battery as we headed down Rt 116 and neared Baby Gap, the appetizer before the main course on App Gap.

 
It was clear as we climbed up Baby Gap that I had still had the legs to put in a solid finish.  And while the climb wasn’t long or steep enough to completely shred the pack, it was clear to me with all of the huffing and puffing to my left and to my right that Vegas was increasing the odds in favor of a top ten finish for me.  As often happens when things look good for me and the adrenaline kicks up, tunes started rolling through my head – this time it was “Paradise City” by GnR. 

It was the perfect tune to narrow my focus on App Gap proper just after screaming down the back side of Baby Gap.  In the past such monster hills have always seen a bunch of riders swarm and pass me at the base, and then my more steady pace would reel back in quite a few riders before I finished off the climb.  But as the driving guitar solo repeated over and over in my head, I seemed to charge up the climb and through the first set of switch backs reckless abandon. 

Unfortunately after a few more switch backs my heaving chest and pounding heart overwhelmed even the screams of Axl Rose, so I resorted to counting things to keep me focused.  At first I was counting switch backs, and then I was counting down the tenths of miles, and then…then…I started counting riders.  I dared not take my foot off the pedal to count any riders to my rear, but ahead of me lay only three 700 #s making their way through the switch back above me, and with one solo rider out of site (and probably resting by then). 

One number I completely ignored was my Wattage on the PowerTap.  Had I realized how in the Red I was, I probably would have convinced myself that it was time to let up.  Instead, once the tower on top of the mountain came into view, and the roaring crowd filled my ears (yes, here at the Green Mountain Stage Race, even the Cat 4s draw an exuberant crowd), all thinking ceased.  All energy was diverted to turn over the pedals just a few more times up the steepest stretch of the hill, until…

 
Fifth place!  And with the gap I had on the riders to my rear, I moved all the way up from 21^st to 5^th in the GC!  I had my tenth top 10!  I was in such a stupor after crossing the finish line in disbelief about my finish that one of the volunteers came over to help me, offering to hold my bike or fetch me some water, thinking that I might need medical attention resulting from exhaustion.   But once the Mrs and my cheering squad ran over, the confused look on my face was completely replaced with sheer joy.

 
As I heeded back down the mountain to meet the girls at the car (without my spare wheel, which unfortunately got left behind in my haste to celebrate), I let out an audible “Yee-haw”, both in celebration of my finish, but also out of the sheer joy felt as one eats up the road down the backside of Vermont’s highest passable road. 

 

Race Results:

•     5^th place
•     Duration:          3:09:36 (3:12:01 was the official time once you factor in our nearly 3 minute neutralization)
•     Work:               2025 kJ
•     TSS:                 227.2 (intensity factor 0.851)
•     Norm Power:    230
•     VI:                     1.29
•     Pw:HR:             -16.43%
•     Pa:HR:             26.08%
•     Distance:         61.277 mi
•                              Min      Max     Avg
•     Power:              0          723      178      watts
•     Heart Rate:      0          203      160      bpm
•     Cadence:         37        206      83        rpm
•     Speed:              0          46.7     19.2     mph
•     Pace                 1:17     0:00     3:07     min/mi
•     Hub Torque:     0          357      78        lb-in

GMSR: The Bridges Circuit Race (Cat 4)

Devils and Angels

I did some research prior to today’s 64 mile, 2 loop circuit race.  It seems like no matter what course the promoter selects for stage 2, it inevitably ends in a huge bunch sprint, at least for the Cat 4s.  But…if somehow a break was going to get free, it had to have a Siggi GC contender present.  As part of my pre-race research I had scanned the pre-reg’ed names and it seemed like the Siggi team had almost 20% of the field riding under their banner.

Surrounded by Siggi riders

 

So while the good angel on my shoulder kept whispering to conserve energy and wait for the big race ending sprint, the devil on my other shoulder urged me on just 8 miles in when it seemed like a Siggi rider was making a break with another racer.  I had to burn a match or two to bridge up to them, putting me in the red zone for at least two or three minutes.  But by the time I got up there, along with two other riders who successfully escaped from the pack, any doubt in whether or not I made the right decision was quickly erased. 

I glanced quickly over my shoulder and couldn’t locate the field, and then my credentials were verified by the Siggi rider (or was it his original breakmate?).  Once he had validated that we weren’t currently top ten GC competitors, it was time for our gang to work together.  He informed us (or in my case, confirmed what I had already researched prior to the race) that he had 15 teammates in the pack who would do their best to let us get away.  Unless of course Spiderman tried to bridge up to us  (that’s the moniker they gave to the overall GC contender.  Not sure why – he looked more like a Thor if you ask me), in which case they had marching orders to mark him and hold his wheel.

So with a motivated crew of five working together and protected in our rear by the Siggi armada, the thought occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, we might just make this break stick.  My confidence was further buoyed at about the 16 mile mark when the Moto official pulled to our side and barked out to us our gap – 50 seconds.  With the day’s first KoM just over 5 km to go which was then followed by a superfast 4 mile descent over some less than stellar roads, our crew mutually agreed to stick together, rotating, and haul butt rather than individually attack and go for the KoM.

500 meters to the KoM.  Not really a challenging hill as you can see.

 

Well, that’s the end of my break story.  I held the wheel of the break’s point man as we climbed the hill.  I waited for my turn to pull through, but the guy never relented so I just contented myself to keep going at whatever pace he set.  But with just one kilometer to go, I noticed that we had shed our three fellow breakmates, including our insurance against the pack, the Siggi rider.  I took my pedal off the gas, letting the other rider easily take the day’s first KoM (and I easily took 2^nd place points), assuming that it was all in our best interests to regroup at the top. 

But the 1^st place guy just kept powering on.  Then to my horror, I saw that the pack had gobbled up the other three escapees.  I deliberated for a few seconds as to whether it was worth the effort to burn a few more matches and try to hitch back on to the super strong guy still off the front, or to instead roll the dice back in the pack.   There’s no way to tell how things would have played out had I opted to listen to the devil on my shoulder once again (I think that solo guy without the aid of others nearly held us off until very near the end – who knows how I would have fared working with him), but given how things turned out for me in the end, I definitely regret listening to the angel telling me to hold back.

Look out! Here comes the Spiderman.

Things pretty much stayed together for the next 25 miles, even as we galloped through the end of lap #1 for the day’s Sprinter’s points.  It gave my battery sufficient time to recharge, but my spirits declined as I was none too excited about the prospects of a bunch sprint with 60 riders.  I assumed that everyone else had also resigned themselves to the same conclusion, so I was quite pleasantly surprised with what unfolded as we approached the KoM once again. 

At first there were two or three riders  blasting off the front hoping to scoop up some KoM points.  But then the man in Yellow (Spiderman, or is it Thor?) decided to make things interesting and show off his super hero power.  The Siggi team wasn’t going to let him go without a fight, so while the actual KoM hill in itself wasn’t overly challenging (I think it maxed out at less than 14%), the ferocious pace that ensued began to significantly whittle down the once bloated pack.

Even though my legs and lungs were afire after cresting the hill, my outlook on the race finish was once again perking up.  A quick scan behind me confirmed that nearly half the pack failed to respond to our pursuit of Spiderman and all that we had ahead of us was the mostly downhill or flat 10 miles to the finish.  Furthermore, there were still a bunch of Siggi riders who likely would sacrifice themselves for the sake of their GC man, so I thought the actual number of racers who’d be competing in the final sprint was quite manageable.  Maybe I’d get my 10^th top ten needed for my Cat 3 upgrade quest?

The finishing 10 miles looked much like this.

 

And down the stretch they come….

I don’t have any details to share, but apparently there was a nasty crash at the finish in the field in front of us, because with just over 6 miles to go, our field was neutralized and told to just roll along at a leisurely pace.  While I held my spot near the front during the five minutes of slow rolling (as the Siggi gang were vigilant in their enforcement of the no passing rule), the ranks swelled behind us.   Those who had been left behind during the fun up the KoM were nearly all able to rejoin us.  58 miles into the race with lots of matches spent and tactics employed, all for naught.  Pretty much everyone who lined up with us at the start was going to crash the party at the finish line.

My legs felt great as I turned over the pedals after we passed the 1 KM to go sign, and I thought I was well positioned in about 8^th spot behind mostly Siggi riders.  But in the end I felt like an introvert at a party.  It seemed like at least 20 riders found a way to party hardy on the left hand side of the road once the yellow line rule was waved, while I was forced out of the fun by two gassed riders who exploded right in front of me after working for their GC contender. 

So… after all that effort and excitement, I find myself right where I started the day.  I’m not sure where I finished in the bunch sprint, but I’m sure I’ll get the same time as the rest of the pack, keeping me a minute and fifty down from 1^st, and about 20 seconds off of 10^th.

The good news is that this nasty climb up the App Gap looms ahead of us tomorrow for our finish on Stage 3.  No bunch sprints to worry about on this road!

 

Race Results: 

·          Duration:         2:47:44

·          Work:              1999 kJ

·          TSS:                224.4 (intensity factor 0.896)

·          Norm Power:   242

·          VI:         1.22

·          Pw:HR:            0.42%

·          Pa:HR:            -13.33%

·          Distance:        64.563 mi

§   Min        Max           Avg

·          Power:             0         720     199            watts

·          Heart Rate:     99       204     171            bpm

·          Cadence:        34       239     86              rpm

·          Speed:             8.5      48.2    23.0           mph

·          Pace                1:15    7:06    2:36           min/mi

·          Hub Torque:    0         304     67              lb-in 



Race: Green Mountain Stage Race Stage 1 (Cat 4)

Slugs

Last Sunday I had a choice to make before doing my 2 1/2 hour work-out, which included a 60 minute aerobic interval.  Do I give Mrs D a heart ache worrying about a tree falling on me while out on the roads as Irene wound down, or do the work-out on the trainer at home without electricity, without the aid of a fan or any entertainment to distract me from the suffering.  I don't think I had much to worry about out on the roads (by the time my work out ended, the sun was even out), but out of deferrence to the Mrs and all of her support she gives me, I setup the trainer in the garage. 

The open door offered up a little fresh air, but I ended up sweating buckets without the steady flow normally blasting at me from a floor fan.  Not only did that make the "ride" uncomfortable, it also left me pretty sticky and stinky as we had no water to shower off.  However, those invonveniences paled in comparison to the suffering brought on by the absence of visual or audio distractions.  Things got so bad that I found myself gazing at a slug traversing across my driveway.  Unfortunately for me that slug was too fast, as it completed its trek in just about 45 minutes, leaving me with nearly two hours of nothingness.

 

The Race

So what does a slug have to do with today's first stage of the Green Mountain Stage Race?  In my opinion, Time Trials are the racing equivalent to watching a slug traverse my driveway.  Instead of the slimey invertabrate holding my gaze though, a Time Trial has me staring at my PowerTap.  I'm up in the beautiful Green Mountains, which were recently ravaged by Hurricane Irene.  Yet I can't recall any image to share with you from the 16 minutes and 38 seconds it took me to complete the 5.7 mile Time Trial.

The Coach had told me to hit the first 2.3 miles today at about 10 Watts less than my prior 7.5 Minute Power Record, and sure enough the seconds agonizingly ticked away as I did my best to keep the Watts pegged at 316.  I briefly looked up twice as I overtook two riders that had started earlier than me, looking long enough at them just to confirm that I was passing fellow Cat 4s.

There was no way I could have held that level of Power through the end, and sure enough the Watts slowly started to dip once I crested the steady climb.  Yet while my power declined, my speed quickly ramped up, forcing me to spend a little less time watching the PowerTap.   And by the time I hit the dip in the road and the big but short uphill to the finish, the thought of my PowerTap or Watts were flushed away as my eyes darted from left to right, searching for the finish line, hoping to find it before lactic acid won its battle with my legs.

Note the steady decline in Power after about half way through, but disregard the decline in HR as it was caused by my heaving chest forcing the strap down to my stomach.

 

Epilogue

I ended up setting Power Records during today's ride, so I can't feel too badly about how things turned out.  Yet I'd be lying to you if I said I was thrilled to start day 2 in 22nd place, down a 1:50 to the stallion way ahead of the rest of the pack (but on the bright side, only down less than 20 seconds from 8th place). 

I was even less thrilled to learn immediately after today's race that due to the road closures brought on by the Hurricane, I had to haul my butt back 14 miles to return home.  I must have missed that communication, because I surely would have prepared differently.  I left the hotel thinking I was heading out to do a 16 minute race, plus a little warm-up and a little cool down.  No need for water, no pump/tire lever/phone, etc, right? 

By the time I collapsed on the couch (after downloading the PowerTap of course), I had logged over 30 miles and 2 hours and 24 minutes of ride time.  I was so parched and hungry as I plodded through the final few miles to get back that I started to cramp and even felt like I was going to bonk -- all for a 5.7 mile Time Trial!

But...please feel free to slap me in the face if I actually complain about any of this.  After I completed the Time Trial and my PT no longer held my gaze, I caught glimpses of the destruction wreaked by the raging rivers overflowing from Irene's deluge.  I'm sure a lot of people around here would love to trade shoes with me.  Even if it meant watching slugs and doing Time Trials. 

Race Results:

• Duration:             16:38
• Work:                    303 kJ
• TSS:        34.5 (intensity factor 1.129)
• Norm Power:     305
• VI:          1.01
• Pw:HR:                 -11.46%
• Pa:HR:                   -105.92%
• Distance:             5.707 mi
• Min        Max       Avg
• Power:                 0              507         302         watts
• Heart Rate:         110         190         158         bpm
• Cadence:             57           139         89           rpm
• Speed:                  2.2          41.8        20.4        mph
• Pace                      1:26        26:49     2:57        min/mi
• Hub Torque:       0              388         114         lb-in

 



Race: Topsfield Circuit Race

Warning Signs

    I don’t wish harm upon those folks who decided not to heed the evacuation warnings for Hurricane Irene.  However, it will be hard to feel any sympathy for anyone that decides to ignore the red flags, news flashes, and police signs to head out to the beaches today, then later on find themselves in a boatload of trouble as Mother Nature unleashes its wrath upon the fools.  Similarly, I recommend that you don’t offer me any pity for choosing to ignore a different set of warnings that should have kept me at home today rather than getting myself in a bit of a mess in Topsfield Massachusetts.

    To his credit, former teammate John K gave me the earliest and most stern warning when I told him a few weeks back that I was signed up for the Cat 4/5 circuit race.  The reason most often cited for a racer to upgrade out of the Cat 5 ranks is to avoid racing against Cat 5s.  I’m not sure what the ratio of 4s to 5s was in the 75 man field that lined up this morning, but whatever that # may be, I’m sure it would have been too high in the eyes of the more cautious (or should I say more prudent) John K.  With Green Mountain Stage Race coming up next weekend, a race that should suit a hill-climber like me just fine, mixing it up with Cat 5s just seemed like an unnecessary risk in his eyes.

    The risks of chaos in the pack seemed especially silly for me to take on given how unappealing the race was to me.  It was a 2 ½ hour drive to get there with a 4:45 AM departure time, and the return drive was in excess of 3 hours (apparently lots of people did heed the Hurricane Warnings and flooded the Mass Turnpike as I drove back).  The 4+ mile circuit had what could at best be described as rollers, which would negate any hill climbing advantage I might have over many of the guys in the field.  And without any big hills to weed out the weaker and/or bigger riders, the pack would likely hold together for a big gnarly group sprint (and I confirmed that by looking at the last 5 years of finishes – all bunch sprints). 

    I told my wife last night that because of the downsides and risks associated with this race, I wasn’t too excited for the early morning wake-up call.  And if I woke up and saw wet roads, well that would be the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

    I also told her that if I had already qualified for my Cat 3 upgrade (I’m going the 10 top-ten finishes route and I am now just one race short), I would have never even signed up for the race.  But I fooled myself into thinking that today, racing against a group that RoadResults’s Race Predictor didn’t give much respect to (they had me predicted for 2^nd place!), I would likely nab that final qualifying race for the upgrade and then have a pressure-free week leading up to GMSR.  Yes, all warning signs told me to stay away, but my hubris told me head to Topsfield for my Cat 3 coronation.

    Regular readers of this blog know how well my predictions go, so feel free to stop reading.

One Two Punch and Knock-out

    Early on in the race my concerns about my safety amongst the mixed field seemed to dissipate due to the efforts of the race organizers, who, along with the cooperation of the local community, eliminated the yellow line rule.  The loop wasn’t closed to cars, however, any cars that did get onto the course had to flow in the same direction as the race.  And that was in addition to the pace car to our front, and a follow wheel car to our rear.  While the country roads weren’t very wide, we did have full use of the road without worrying about cars, so I thought after completing the first lap that I we had ample room to maneuver, even if things got squirrelly within the pack.

    That feeling of relative safety didn’t last long though.  Even though I thought all was well on lap #1, I saw an ambulance parked on the course as we passed through for the 2^nd lap.  I haven’t a clue as to what happened, but given the ambulance’s proximity to the 90 degree left hand turn and the bicycle I saw laying on the ground, I’m sure that whatever went down wasn’t good.  My crash radar went on full alert after seeing the ambulance and to the front of the pack I stayed for the vast majority of the race.  Unfortunately I can’t say that I was at the front and out of harm’s way for the whole race, but now I’m getting ahead of myself.

    My goal in getting out at the front wasn’t simply to defend against crashes.  I was also up there to sniff out any break attempts. The first one (at least the first that I remember) was launched by a rider who….let’s just say at his weight he wouldn’t be confused with a hill climber.  I made the mistake of judging a book by its cover and joked to another rider that he was just making a cameo appearance at the front just to get his mug in full view of the camera. Boy was I wrong!  I was thrilled to see that he could sustain repeated attacks (even on the rollers) as I was able to coast once I hitched my wheel to his giant train. 

    I rolled the dice a few times myself to get away throughout the 6 ½ laps, trying my best to power away from the field as we made our way up the modest roller.  While other riders blasted full throttle while out of the saddle when trying to make a break on the flats, my attempts seemed more like rest of the pack slowed down on the climb to let me dangle off of the front.

    No matter who made the attempt, whether it be the large man in the Red kit (and no, it wasn’t Santa) or the tiny guy in the black kit (me) nothing was going to stick today.  While there were a few sharp left hand turns, there weren’t any good course features that would help an attacker or a break escape from the view of the hunting pack.  Any time anyone like me got too far away, the motivated pack would reel us right back in.

    So without anyone getting away, and without a good hill or two to grind away at our numbers, the pack was still bloated and more bunched than ever as we made our way past the starting line for the 7^th and final time.  It should therefore be of no surprise that at least a handful of riders came tumbling down not too far after exiting the corner.  I still was safely positioned near the front so once again I missed the details of the action, but a quick glance behind me caught a view of riders on the ground and others scattered to the rear.  I was hoping our numbers would decline before we reached the final sprint, but that’s not the way I had hoped to get clear.

    As are slightly reduced numbers neared our final pass through turn #1, I had carefully worked my way up to about 3^rd or 4^th position.  I thought all we had ahead of us was about ¼ mile to a sharp left hand turn onto a road we’d be on for the first time today.  And from there I assumed we’d quickly see the finish line.  I opened up the throttle and timed things just perfectly for the distance that I thought remained in front of me.

    Now if the finish line had magically appeared on the road where I thought it should have been, I’d not only have my 10^th top ten right now, but I’d also be up on the podium as well (yes, I would still be up on the podium celebrating, even now).  I had pre-ridden the course before the race, but I had failed to ride the actual finishing stretch.  So it felt like a body blow to the stomach when I frantically looked around and ahead of me, seeking out the actual location of the finish.  As my eyes finally locked in on the finish line, the legs started shutting down and riders began swarming around and ahead of me.

    And then the 2^nd punch came.  After spending nearly the whole race at the front, as I suffered a shut down due to my premature sprint I found myself caught up in yet another mix of carbon, asphalt, and flesh, and this time I was on the wrong side of the pack.  Again at least a handful of riders went down (one of them looked pretty serious as he was screaming and his leg was twitching while he was splayed out on the road), and while I avoided the worst of it, I was rear-ended and toppled over.  I guess it was good that I was gassed at that point as my slow velocity helped to ease my fall.  I escaped with just a few cuts and was able to roll the final 50 meters to the finish.

After chatting with a few riders about the carnage (Vinnie who somehow recognized me from high-school cross country, and Barry who needs to upgrade to Cat 4 because what I saw from him today was no Cat 5 performance!), I went back to the car to briefly refuel, and then hit the road once again.  While I was still a bit fatigued from the race, I feared the prospects of doing a three hour interval work-out indoors tomorrow even more than I feared crashing during today’s race.  So I ventured back out onto the roads for a couple more hours to reduce the time I had to put in on the trainer tomorrow watching the weather channel.

The ride out in the salty air of the north shore was refreshing, but I unfortunately couldn’t enjoy it too much.   My thoughts were haunted by the voice of John K and his fateful words of caution. I shouldn’t have bothered to show up today.

 

Race:

• Duration:          1:11:21
• Work:                909 kJ
• TSS:                 113.3 (intensity factor 0.979)
• Norm Power:    264
• VI:        1.25
• Pw:HR:             4.05%
• Pa:HR:             1.59%
• Distance:          29.223 mi

                                 Min      Max     Avg

• Power:              0          809      212         watts
• Heart Rate:      0          202      182         bpm
• Cadence:          32        246      85           rpm
• Speed:              2.2       40.5     24.5        mph
• Pace                 1:29     26:49   2:27        min/mi
• Hub Torque:     0          283      64           lb-in

Race: Tue @ The Rent B 081611

To Race, or Not to Race

Up until about 2 PM yesterday, I had no plans to race at the Rent last night.  For the first time all season, my legs felt like they could use the break that will soon arrive after my final race on Labor Day weekend.  I thought perhaps they would show some signs of life by today (Wednesday), so I had already planned to race at Bethel this week and skip the Rent.  Furthermore, the weather forecast for Tuesday evening seemed iffy at best whereas Wednesday looked to be spectacular.  So for most of the day my tired legs and I were resigned to doing a couple of hours on the rollers inside and hope for the best for my recovery and the weather for Wednesday.

The prospects of riding inside motivated me to reconsider my plan though, so after a few checks of the radar I sought (and received) confirmation from Mrs D that the cheering squad was free after I finished work.  While I still had reservations as to whether or not it made sense to race given the fatigue in my legs left-over from Tokeneke on Sunday, in hindsight the decision to alter my plans and race was one of my best ideas in a long time! It was a night of firsts for me, literally and figuratively.  I entered uncharted territory last evening, allowing me to feel things for the first time, and giving me an answer to a question I've pondered for a while now...

Fist Pumping

While my legs seemed to only mildly improve during my ride to the Rent, any doubts as to whether or not I should have come race were erased within minutes of my arrival.  My recent stretch of modest racing success had not gone unnoticed, and without an exception, all of my Expo mates at various times during the warm-ups offered me a hearty congratulations.  Even a few non-teammates (in at least two cases, guys I hardly knew) had thought highly enough about my results such that they too gave me kudos as we spun around. 

I doubt the kind words actually had a physiological affect upon my tired legs, but the ego-boosting comments released enough endorphins to block my brain from registering any further complaints filed by my muscles.  I lined up feeling quite chipper in fact, so quite a turn-around in attitude in the short amount of time after signing in.

I don't know about you, but I haven't heard of too many races won because someone had an upbeat mood.  So I was very fortunate yesterday to have yet another gift from team Expo.  Perhaps in recognition of the improved racing results for me in August, Joe, Mikie, Mark B, Mark S, and Lance figured that Expo's odds of winning would be improved if they sacrificed and put their chips in on my chances. 

Shortly after we got rolling, Lance moved up for a side bar with me, informing me that I should take it easy and save it for the end.  He (and presumably the others) were going to mix it up at the front and tire out the rest of the pack in the process, leaving me to hopefully finish things off strong for the win.

Well...things didn't exactly go as planned, but pretty darn close.  I went off script a few too many times, going for premes and chasing down a few break attempts rather than holding back and conserving.  However, the rest of my mates held up their end of the deal.  Mikie, Joe, and Mark B chased down anyone trying to get away, and pressed the pace at the front whenever it seemed like the pack wanted to rest. Lance and Mark S more than did their fair share of chasing and pace pressing, but they further sacrificed for the Expo cause by each giving me my first and 2nd ever lead outs in a race.

Mark S's lead-out helped me to nab one of my two premes of the evening, but it was left to Lance to bring me to the finish.  There's no way for me to phrase what follows without it sounding somewhat embarrassing, so here it goes.  I've never stared at a man's buttock's with such desire and focus as I did in the race's final lap.  For 3/4s of a lap I rode with relative ease following the massive vortex cleared for me by Lance's hind-quarters, while he busted that butt to gobble up the two riders that had attempted to get away.

As we neared the final turn heading back to the finishing straight away, Lance got out of his saddle to use up the last of the gas in his tank to help me hold off the surging pack.  That broke the spell his rear had cast upon my gaze, and snapped me to attention.  It was time to capitalize upon the gift given to me by the big man, and off his wheel I came, barrelling out of the corner, headlong to the finish.

I gave it all I had for the final 20 seconds and didn't dare to look behind me.  I haven't a clue as to how much of a lead as I crossed first through the finish line, but given my pathetic Power numbers (I didn't even crack 800 Watts in that "sprint"), I can't imagine my lead was anything more than a few bike lengths. 

However, it was large enough such that I had a little bit of alone time to celebrate after I crossed the line.  Before yesterday I had occasionally wondered and dreamed about what I would do after winning a race.  I know the races at the Rent are for training and the winner shouldn't do much celebrating.  But...celebrate I did.  It turns out that my celebration dance is a tiny fist pump with my right hand, with my left still on the handlebar to ensure my excitement doesn't cause me to fall off the bike.

Mrs D missed my finish as she was focused on a different race.

 

Celebrating with my cheering squad and holding my race & preme winnings.

 

Race Results:

• 1^st place finish!
• Duration:             37:39
• Work:                    524 kJ
• TSS:       65.4 (intensity factor 1.027)
• Norm Power:     277
• VI:          1.19
• Pw:HR:                 n/a
• Pa:HR:                   n/a
• Distance:             15.431 mi
  •                 Min        Max       Avg
• Power:                0             776        232         watts
• Heart Rate:         0             0            0             bpm
• Cadence:            45           196         87           rpm
• Speed:                5.2          33.3       24.5        mph
• Pace                   1:48        11:38      2:27        min/mi
• Hub Torque:       0             295         62           lb-in
• Crank Torque:     0             867        217          lb-in

Race: Tokeneke

Relax

I suffered a bit of anxiety over the last week.  While I'm closing in on the requisite # of top ten finishes required for a Cat 3 upgrade (the alternative route to an upgrade designed for the slow and steady late 30-something riders, as opposed to the points based upgrades for those young whipper-snappers up on the podium), I'm also closing in on the end of the racing season.  Including today's race at Tokeneke, I had at most 6 or 7 opportunities remaining to secure the 3 top ten finishes I needed for the upgrade.  And if I failed to get it by the end of the season, who knows what life will bring for 2012, so I felt this week as if the sand was rapidly dwindling from my hour glass. 

The time I spent over-analyzing the "Race Predictor" on RoadResults in preparation for today probably added fuel to my anxiety.  Using sophisticated algorithms that I'm sure require hours of CPU time on a super-mainframe system, they had calculated at various points this week that I'd likely finish as low at 18th, and perhaps as high as 12th.  Yes, I know that the predictor isn't that precise and shouldn't cause me to lose any sleep, but in reviewing the names they had ranked above me, I thought that a top ten finish might be a big stretch.  After all, the event was billed as the New England Road Championships, so it wasn't surprising to see such a high-caliber field registered and ready to block me in my top-ten quest.

I also fretted excessively over the fact that Tokeneke was slated for a scant seven days after ripping my legs apart at the 3 day Tour of the Catskills last weekend.  I tried to convince myself that the evil hills of New York made me a stronger rider, but my legs quite loudly argued that I was giving them too little time to recover.  That was definitely the case last year when Tokeneke followed on the heels of the ToC -- my legs never came around at Tokeneke, and then seemed to spiral downwards for weeks afterwards.

My anxiety had been supplanted by a feeling of resignation by the time I began my warm-up today.  On top of what I had believed was left-over fatigue from the ToC, my legs endured nearly six hours of lugging gallons of water up from the basement yesterday (a pipe had burst and flooded our basement), and then I tossed and turned for hours before getting a fitful four hours of sleep last night.  By the time I reached the starting line this morning, I pretty much had dismissed any legitimate hope of a top ten, but in the process, I felt totally relaxed for the first time in days.

The view from the rear at the start; normally I'd be up at the front, but today I relaxed at the back and assumed this was to be my lot for the day

 

Dare I say...Easy?

Relieved of the burdens of high expectations, I relaxed and patiently picked my way through the belly of the pack for the first seven mostly downhill miles of the Cat 4 race.  Without any effort at all, I somehow found myself right at the front by the time we passed the reservoir for the first of two times today.  I did a quick scan of the faces and kits around me, and I quickly realized that I was amongst the gang that Road Results had predicted would finish ahead of me today. 

Most notable to me was Nick, from Team Placid.  I'm not sure why he's still a Cat 4 ( I overheard him during the race inform another rider that he'd collected 70 upgrade points already this season ), but because he's yet to move to a 3, I've seen him enough now to know I was in a good spot.  He's a rail-thin climber who's also strong enough to spend most of a race with his nose in the wind at the front.  So while I didn't think much of my odds of seeing him at the end (as a side note to further my doubts, while most riders were gasping for oxygen during one climb, he conversed with the race official in an attempt to get the lead Police Cruiser to turn their flashing lights off so that he might see further off into the distance), I took advantage of my auspicious location and parked myself on his wheel.  Normally you don't get much of a benefit from wheel sucking while climbing hills like on Tokeneke, but at the speeds he and a few others at the front were holding, his wake offered me a few extra bonus Watts that I could pocket for later in the ride. 

By the time we reached the top of stair step climb on the backside of lap #1, the thought started to occur to me that perhaps I had dismissed my chances prematurely.  I did a bit of huffing and puffing to get to the top, but the now reduced pack around me was littered with guys suffering far more than me.  I knew the real test though as to whether or not I belonged with the big boys (or should I say the very thin and small boys) was the nearly 3 mile climb up to the finish of lap #1, so I did my best to get comfortable in my tuck position and recharge the batteries on the long and super fast descent.  (As as side note, one thing that stands out to me from today's race was how well behaved everyone was.  Perhaps folks were a bit more cautious due to the wet roads.  I never once saw a yellow line infraction, and despite reaching speeds of nearly 50 mph on the fastest of the descents, there was never a moment where I feared that another rider would do something stupid on the wet roads).

As we hit the long steady climb towards the end of lap #1, I quickly lost ten or so spots as the rabbits burst ahead of me.  But like a fisherman letting his line out a bit, waiting for the fish to tire before pulling them back in, I kept my Wattage #s under control and patiently made my way back up to the front.  By the time we approached the start of lap #2, I surprised myself, not by the fact that I found myself in the lead, but more remarkable was the feeling that I wasn't quite working that hard.  It almost felt like I had to soft pedal a little to avoid solo-ing off the front!

For the next few miles, I almost felt as though I had been transported to a Sunday no-drop group ride.  Any time the pace picked up breifly, the pack then eased, each time allowing a few stragglers to latch back on.  All of that changed though once we passed by the reseviour for the 2nd time to tackle the stair-step climb once again.  The pace got fast and furious going up that climb, with several riders actually attacking in an attempt to get some separation.  I didn't dare look behind me to see what remained of the pack, but I'd be willing to wager a dollar that our numbers were now down to just 15.

My guess is that I too would have been falling behind if Nick and a rider from Cheshire Cycle had just a few more riders willing to share in the pulling at the front.  But fortunately for me, nobody else seemed inclined (and/or capable) of pressing the pace any higher, so while my legs protested loudly, it was just slow enough such that I cleared the cleared the climb with my chances for a top ten firmly in view.

The 2nd time down the long descent allowed me to relax and recover even more than my first time through.  The roads had dried somewhat as compared to the first time through, and, more importantly, there were fewer riders around to worry about.  I never touched the brakes during that dash to the bottom.  I regulated my speed by either putting my nose to my stem or moving closer to someone else's slipstream to speed up, or by increasing my wind resistance and sitting upright and/or moving off of a wheel and into the wind to slow down.  I believe the big smile on my face, brought on by the speed-induced adrenaline and excitement, also worked to slow my descent as well.

And then like a speeding jet-fighter landing on aircraft carrier, our speedometers ground to a slogging pace as we were greeted by the finishing 3 mile climb once again.  This time though there was never a point where I said to myself "hey, this is easy!".  I had never seen the lead pack finish up this long climb at Tokeneke before, and I had always assumed it was just a steady race of attrition to the finish.  I was therefore caught off guard by the numerous attacks launched by those around me.  The first few attacks didn't succeed in getting away, but they did result in our numbers now dwindling to just about ten or so. 

In hindsight, I think this was the lone point in the race where I now feel a bit of regret.  Once I realized I was in the final ten, I went on the defensive.  I had juice left in the battery, but I didn't want to chance a big effort that might cause me to explode and in the process, see my top ten dream fizzle.  So when what ended up being the pivotal attack which set the ultimate winner from our clan at just over 1km to go, I played it safe and kept my steady but demanding pace along with the other 8 or 9 riders left behind.

I don't know how things would have played ou had I tried to counter that race winning move, but I do know that as I crossed the finish line, boxed in and unable to really open things up for a big finish, I unfortunately still had a match or two to burn.  Any regret of the unknown of what could have been was short-lived though.  An 8th place finish (same time basically for places 2 through 10) in the New England Road Championships isn't to shabby.  In fact, its worthy of a few celebratory adult beverages now, don't ya think?

Race Results:

·          8^thPlace in a bunch (~10 or so riders) finish out of 100 pre-reg’ed riders

·          Duration:         2:02:00 (from my PowerTap, not the official results)

·          Work:              1518 kJ

·          TSS:                197.7 (intensity factor 0.988)

·          Norm Power:   267

·          VI:         1.29

·          Pw:HR:            -6.36%

·          Pa:HR:            -0.78%

·          Distance:        44.716 mi

 Min    Max    Avg

·          Power:             0         744     207            watts

·          Heart Rate:     0         199     172            bpm

·          Cadence:        33       246     85              rpm

·          Speed:             9.6      47.7    21.9           mph

·          Pace                1:15    6:16    2:44           min/mi

·          Hub Torque:    0         345     82              lb-in

Race: Tour of the Catskills Stage 3 (Cat 4B)

Hurts So Good

The calm before the storm – looking out from our hotel room this AM at Hunter Mt.

 
I have no scientific basis to support this claim, but I’m going to go out on a limb here and crown the Tour of the Catskills the toughest three days of racing in all of New England.  I’m not sure if I would have made such a proclamation about the prior two editions of the ToC, but with the course changes introduced by promoter Dieter Drake this year, there’s no doubt in my mind where it now ranks (and there’s definitely no doubt in my legs right now as to which stage race is the meanest and baddest of them all).  Plus, with the race’s popularity growing each year, I can only think of one other race where I faced such top-notch competition, which not surprisingly is also put on by Dieter (Battenkill).  As we headed home from today’s Stage 3, teammate Mikie pondered aloud “I wonder why that guy wants to hurt people so bad?”

 
I can’t say if Dieter genuinely wants to hurt people, but I can certainly say that his course selection for today had that affect upon people, intended or not.  Even though yesterday’s stage 2 featured a climb up the nastiest hill around (Devil’s Kitchen), today’s two featured KoM climbs, combined with numerous rollers, will have hundreds of riders cursing for Dieter for days to come.  It was such a step up from last year’s edition on the pain scale that one of last year’s KoM hills was relegated to just another punchy roller this year.

A tough course though could still be easy on the body if you’re just out on a Sunday group ride pace (though I don’t know if the climb up to the 2^nd KoM on Airplane road could be done at a casual pace without the aid of a Granny Gear).  But with riders supposedly drawn from 22 states, many of whom likely had this weekend circled on their training plans as their culmination of months of focused training, the pace never seemed to slack. 

The Race

The Cat 5 field getting ready to roll from the start/finish

 
Unfortunately for me, that diabolical mix of elite riders and killer elevation gain was enough to take all but five riders out of contention for first place by the time we finished the 20 minute ascent up KoM #1.  I was one of the last riders to say “Bon Voyage” to the 5 top guns of the Cat 4 B field, only losing contact with them with just under 1 km to go to the KoM.  I only briefly toyed with the idea of attempting to dig really deep to stay with the race leaders, but a quick check of the PowerTap told me that I’d likely blow up on the remaining elevation gain beyond the KoM.  So instead, I backed down just out of my red zone and began scouting for potential riders to form a chase group.

While I did end up in a group of four strong riders willing to work, the punchiness of the hills dampened the effectiveness of our coordination.  We’d get a few good rotations, but then in short order a climb or a descent would stymie our efforts.  Going up the hill, everyone suffered at their own pace, and the descents were fast enough so that for the most part people just got down in a tuck and rocketed down as fast as gravity could pull us.  The terrain for rotating in an efficient paceline just was too sparse.  On more forgiving course the guys I tried working seemed strong enough and experienced enough to put a big dent in any gap, especially when a slightly larger group caught us from behind and joined us (teammate Mikie was in that group, looking stronger each day this weekend).  But today there was a snowball’s chance in hell of catching the five mountain goats in front of us.

That’s not to say that we eased up without the possibility of getting up on the podium.  A top ten finisher at the Tour of the Catskills is someone that in my opinion can walk around with a little bit of a deserved ego.  I’m sure that a few guys in our group were mentally calculating their odds of a top ten finish just as we made our way to the 2^nd KoM ( I know I was! ), and knowing that there were still five open spots for a top ten for our pack of 11 riders motivated riders through the death march up Airplane Road.

While not quite as steep and about a mile or so shorter than Devil’s Kitchen, it hit us in the face after 44 miles of riding today, on top of the two earlier stages of accumulated pain.  It was tough enough so that like the Kitchen, we passed dejected riders forced to walk.  It was steep enough that the rider to my left and to my right almost seemed to pause and come to a standstill in between pedal strokes.  Yet remarkably I was tough enough to slowly but patiently ease away from our group, along with just one other rider.

<Please bear with me now if my storytelling deteriorates from here…  I just returned from dinner and a few adult beverages as Mrs D and the girls took me out to celebrate my race results.  Celebrate what you might ask?  Well read on…>

When we were close to cresting the summit, the Airplane Road’s only other survivor (or so I thought at the time), Ryan from Kissena, barked out to me “What are you doing?”  At first I thought it was odd that he’d rudely question my ascent up this nasty climb.  But upon further consideration, I realized that he just wanted to know what my plans were in wrapping up the race.  We quickly settled on a plan to keep the tempo high, but not too high such that at least a few stragglers couldn’t scrape their way back up to us.  Once those lucky soles rejoined us in what surely was a bedraggled state, we’d let them do a little work in our rotation to give us a brief respite during the final 10 mile charge to the finish.

After a mile or so, I looked to our rear and mentioned to Ryan that we had a few straggles about to join our party, and all seemed to be going according to plan.  But by now you likely know how well my race planning goes, right?  Without going into details, there was a bit of discontent within our 5 man crew, and soon enough Ryan was out of the saddle, attacking his way free from the bunch.  I could feel the beginnings of a cramp coming on (again, like yesterday, in my left thigh), so I resigned myself to duking it out with the other three remaining riders for the last three spots in the top 10, and making sure we kept away from those chasing behind us.

Turns out that my fear of riders lurking in the rear was misguided.  The final KoM had left the next set of riders, the guys with any chance of crashing the top 10 party, nearly 3 minutes distant from us.  But I didn’t know that at the time, so I was more than motivated to work hard in our four man crew to keep away.  Unfortunately not everyone was so motivated.  Patrick, from GVCC, a guy who seemed to have a big diesel engine, was as motivated as me (if not more) to finish the race strong.  But our 3^rd pack-mate admitted that he couldn’t work with us as it would mean chasing his teammate (Ryan, from Kissena).  Our 4^th pack-mate probably calculated the gap to our rear much more accurately than Patrick or I, as his stints at the front dropped to zero after the 5 km to go marker.

So…the pulls that Patrick and I put in to close out the race only succeeding in increasing an already un-closeable gap.  And in the process, it sapped us both of any possible sprinting burst.  As we made the final left hand turn up the modest incline to the finish at Windham Mt, our well rested pack-mates both rose out of their saddles with a finishing kick that neither Patrick nor I could match, elevating them to 8^th and 9^th place.  Patrick and I traded spots a few times in our slow motion sprint to the finish, but in the end he grabbed the final spot in the top ten, leaving me yet again in 11^th spot (my 5^th 11^th place finish of the year!).

During my warm-down, I initially labeled the two riders who took away my chances of a top ten as “free-loaders”.  But, within a few minutes I had cooled down enough to realize that they just rode smarter than me, and 11^th place is exactly what I had deserved.  But more importantly, not shortly afterwards (after watching teammate Mikie finish up strong in what might have been his best ever race performance), I realized I had earned an 11^th place finish against the toughest competition I’ve ever faced throughout three days that featured hills that literally most people on the planet earth couldn’t ascend. 

“I earned myself a nice cold beer” I told Mikie as he and I headed back to the car.  In fact, no matter where folks finished this weekend, the fact that the *did* finish the Tour of the Catskills earned them a nice cold one!

Race:

• Duration:          3:02:54
• Work:               2116 kJ
• TSS:                 228.4 (intensity factor 0.866)
• Norm Power:    234
• VI:        1.21
• Pw:HR:             3.31%
• Pa:HR:             14.47%
• Distance:         60.149 mi

                                         Min      Max     Avg

• Power:              0          730      193         watts
• Heart Rate:      0          202      177         bpm
• Cadence:         31        212      81           rpm
• Speed:              4.6       48        19.7        mph
• Pace                 1:15     13:03   3:03        min/mi
• Hub Torque:     0          512      96           lb-in