central park sunshine (in my soul today)

After botching race registration for Grant's Tomb Saturday (not-fit-to-live), I nearly botched the start of the Central Park race on Sunday.  First, in my late night stupor I miscalculated my DST-adjusted wake up time by an hour--meaning that I overcompensated an hour.  My alarm went off.  I got up.  Bumbled bleary-eyed into the bathroom and there, with the clarity that accompanies a morning bladder void, I realized I'd got up too early.  Reset the alarm and went back to bed. Except I couldn't really sleep, so after laying there for 30 minutes or so I just got up and just took off early.

Having a little extra cushion turned out to be a good thing, because I didn't account for trying to find a bathroom pre-race.  I thought that perhaps racing so early (6:45--effectively 5:45 were it not for DST) I would be able to escape the need for the ritualistic pre-race bowel movement.  I was wrong.  Parked on the Jersey side of the George Washington Bridge, I began to kit up and noticed, with an interest that turned from mild to piqued to anxious to emergency-action-required, that I would not escape the need to void yesterday's falafel and Cheez-Itz before racing.  When my interest level was at the merely piqued-to-anxious level I considered the Central Park bathrooms (not ideal), the woods (I didn't bring any TP, and this was bound to be messy), or a Harlem McDonalds (I didn't bring a lock...and, you know, Harlem).  However, when my interest needle began to dip into the red, I just started the car and high-tailed it to a Fort Lewis Dunkin Donuts.

After all that I didn't get on the bridge until after 6:10.  Rolled up to registration at 6:40.  Signed my waiver at 6:41.  Had my number pinned and was lined up by 6:43.

You've heard me say it before, but I love racing in Central Park.  It's like the road was made specifically with bike racing in mind.  Two lanes in which to maneuver.  Smooth, winding roads.  A few little hills to keep things interesting.  And the sun coming up over the park, lighting the sides of the high-rise apartment buildings that circle it in that magical early morning glow.

The racing was good too.  I spent the day jumping in or initiating every break I could.  A few attempts seemed promising, but things ultimately kept together until about eight miles to go.  At that point the pack of probably 60+ riders sort of split, with 20-25 of us moving off the front.  Cooperation was awkward, but it was enough to maintain the gap.  Still unable to coax a small group off the front, I set up for the little uphill finish.  Positioned perfectly behind the one dude who had a lead-out man (and who eventually won) I loaded my gun and waited to fire...  But, of course, we can guess how that went.  Even with the perfect position my Cat 5 jump is like a pea-shooter to the more complete arsenal of my rivals.  I was easily out-classed and I probably rolled in like 15th or so.

But I tell you what, bike racing is fun.  The adventure of riding in and out of the city was fun.  Doing it alone was cool, but, you know, it would have been better with company.  Anyway, it was a delightful way to spend a Sunday morning.

Crossing the GWB.

southern x

So a few weeks ago Paul and I road-tripped it down to northern Georgia for the Southern X.  Lots of fun. 

I was having a nice little run of it until about halfway through and then I began to feel like I really had been sick all week (I was trying my best to forget).  My 8th place became 12th.  Warm clothes and 400mg of Ibuprofen became all the incentive I needed to finish quickly.

Anyway, this shot was taken on my way up the second big climb, a few miles after I realized I was in real trouble, but still had well over an hour of racing to go.

The picture was posted on Facebook, by someone I didn't know.  But someone who knows me tagged my image, and then this:

Anyway, finished 12th on the day, but 7th in the under 40 (yah for not being 40!), which was good enough for a new pair of gloves and a podium shot.  :-)

On the way back Paul and I enjoyed some lovely camping, BBQ, and mountain biking in the mountains of North Carolina, and the whole experience left me wanting more, more, more.

the sexy six

Trying to grade tests and my thoughts keep wandering.  Presently having wandered to this wonderful ride (wonderful in that it looks awesome, but has yet to be done):

the sexy sixShare your bike routes @ Bikely.com

The whole thing could potentially be done on a road bike, except I'd be a bit worried about the run up Strohms Hollow. That's a little rough. I think I'd like a little fatter tires up that one. Anyway, I'm thinking maybe Thursday. So much more fun than grading...

70 miles.   7250 feet of elevation gain.

the man...

 

A big congrats to 2012 UCI Road Race World Champion, my man-crush, Philippe Gilbert.

(In case you missed it, you can watch a replay of the final 2 km here.)

September 12th

On the day AFTER 9/11 I can't help but remember what to me seemed the worst of the fallout:  The collective anger.  The united hatred.  The bile in mouths of those that screamed for death, wildly (and ignorantly) aiming their fury pistols at anything that reminded even remotely of the boogy-men that rained fire on our cities.

That was a bad place we were in then.  I was disturbed by the attacks.  I was disturbed by the grisly destruction that hit, well, home.  But I was more disturbed by how the red, white, and blue ribbons folks wore became symbols of hate, retribution, revenge...  So much anger.  Blood-lust, really.  And that collective angry scream found its outlet and the gods of war capitalized on our compromised mental state.  Much to our national disgrace.  Much to my personal disappointment.  Liberties have been trodden at home.  Morality cast aside abroad in the name of "security." 

The reaction, not the action, has made the world a less livable place.  I still get sad--scared, really--when I think about the place we were in then.  I hope we can grow out of that.  Mature.  Become more human.  But I've little hope.  I mean, something crazy and tragic happens in a Colorado movie theater (action) and a FB picture of a holstered gun mounted under a car's steering column (reaction) gets tens of thousands of likes.  Face it, kids...we are angry, bigoted, hate-filled, blood-thirsty bastards.  I mean, aren't we?  We give up our humanity for the illusion of security.  Again...  And again...  And again...

two thoughts on politics

ONE:

The political meme 'Are you better off than you were four years ago?' is such a superficial and thoughtless standard by which to make voting decisions.

How about 'Is the country better off?' Or a Rawls-inspired 'Is the least well off among you better off?'

But even a restructuring of the question frames an election as a superficial economic (and perhaps security) decision. So shallow. Or is that as deep as us proletariat can go?

TWO:

I hate political lawn signs and bumper stickers (even though we have both, but that's Valerie) because, really, I have to live with my neighbors and want to get along and need to be able to effectively resolve disputes about pooping dogs and stray balls, and frankly I don't want to know who they're voting for because I don't want to think less of them.

:-/

On the other hand, I believe (I hope not in a naively optimistic way, but if it is, so be it) that it's SO important that we have passionate political conversations in the communities in which we mingle!

We should know what our neighbors are thinking because they may have really good thoughts. (Or if not good, at least thoughts.) And their thoughts may help us think better. But we won't know those thoughts without inviting them.

We should be able to do all this civilly, arguing rationally and persuasively AND be able to disagree without picking up pitchforks, but of course we won't, always...but if we don't practice that sort of discussion we certainly won't learn how to do it. And of course sometimes it will go badly, because that's the nature of practice. But it's hard to imagine limiting conversation is going to make a better world than we'd have by facilitating conversation. So I think we still have to talk, exactly because we won't always agree, even if the process is sometimes painful...

Do people get pets because they're not otherwise getting enough (human) affection?

I suspect this is true. (I'm fairly confident that, in our cultural context at least, there are few human beings that get enough affection...)

cipo at it again

One of the most ridiculous things I've ever seen:





But I still want one. ;-)

(Thanks goes to these dudes for the tip.)

wiggo

2012 mid-year race wrap-up

Warning:  This is totally a self-indulgent post.  It's the kind of thing that if I were to read on another's blog I'd click away quickly between dry heaves.  So, if someone else's self-indulgence is not your thing (and what blog isn't self-indulgent, really?), click away now.  Please.

...

Last year I posted a mid-year race resume that, despite a fine win and a feel-good third, I described as a resume of mediocrity.  Looking back, I'm not sure that was fair.  Those two results alone, well, they still stand out in the memory as fine finishes.  I mean, let's be clear: I race to win.  So when a win comes, regardless of the race, it's a success.

But this year has been even better.  USAC says a 3-to-2 upgrade takes 25 points, but that 40 points is an automatic upgrade (in a 12 month period).  In the 15 weeks (10 events) between March 10 and June 17 I racked up 47 points.  Last year over the same period I raced 13 events and earned 13 points.

Anyway, here's the resume (recorded for posterity, and not because I'm faster than you...but, if you didn't upgrade this summer, I might be):

DATE  RACE                  FIELD   PLACING  FIELD SIZE      POINTS

3.10  Grant's Tomb          3 only  3^rd       ~100            4 pts

3.17  Philly Phlyer         3-4     dnf

4.01  Morgantown RR         3-4     2^nd       59 (48 3's)     6 pts

4.14  Battenkill            3 only  20^th      107           

4.22  Fort Ritchie Classic  3 only  2^nd       12              3 pts

4.29  Prospect Park CR      3-4     2^nd       50+ (> 50 3's)  4 pts

5.05  Turkey Hill           3-4     35^th      ~100                    

5.12  Poolesville RR        3 only  26^th      ~70      

5.28  Killington SR         3 only  6^th (GC)  80+             10 pts

6.17  Tour of Wash Co       3-4     1^st (GC)  70+ (> 50 3's)  20 pts

Since the upgrade, I've raced once.

7.07  Allan Butler Memorial 1-2-3   5^th       20+             1 pt

I won't lie, I feel pretty good about this resume.  And that GC win?  Well, that was awesome.  (Also, I know I would have had a top 10 at Battenkill without the mechanical problems.)

The problem, however, is that the Cat 3 field has been such a comfortable place to hang out.  I doubt I'll say the same of the 2 field in a couple of years.  Sigh... 

Thank goodness for masters.

WADA v. McQuaid...

This ("WADA chief rebukes McQuaid's attempt to assume Armstrong jurisdiction") makes me happy.  Or at least satisfied. 

Clearly McQuaid has something to hide.  Either to save his own butt or that of Hein Verbruggen.  It's the same thing, really.


Verbruggen...  What an enigma.  I suppose it's a bit narrow-minded of me, but it's hard for me to trust a businessperson-turned-sports-federation-administrator.  The biography reeks of an ugly quest for personal power.  It's hard to believe he's not a small, petty person.  The kind of person that holds a grudge.  Who sees organizational power as a means for personal gain.  And that, you know, is what "corruption" means. 

mancraft

new

old

It's way faster now.

the tanscendental tubular experience

I had a quasi-transcendental moment this morning.  Gluing tubulars.  (It may have been the fumes.)

Consider the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth sentences of The Rider:

I take my gear out of the car and put my bike together.  Tourists and locals are watching from sidewalk cafes.  Non-racers.  The emptiness of those lives shocks me.

From Krabbe's pen to my soul.

And so I've been gluing tubulars.  Beautiful, handmade Italian tubes of rubber and cotton.  Manufactured by a process that if it isn't a mystery it should be.  The men (they better be men) that make these are like elven craftsman of Middle Earth.  Their craft a subtle magic and exquisite art.  I would sleep with a beautiful bike part.

The hoops?  New 808s.  They've a fancy red dragon sticker on the side.  Apparently they breathe fire. 

Technology as old as my grandparents paired with the latest and greatest.  And it's held together with glue.  Sometimes an unfathomably frustrating process.  But when you can relax, breath deep (the fumes), and focus...  Well, it can become something of a transcendent experience.  The rite and ritual of that elven clan of brothers.  An initiation.  Then a renewal.  A sacrament.  The Masonry of Riders.

Not riders, mind you, but Riders!  And what is a Rider?  Well, a Rider is one who can only stare when outsiders--those tourists and locals with the shockingly empty lives--ask why.

Why?

I'll tell you why.

Because it's beautiful.

Because the bicycle is beautiful.  Because calves chiseled of miles of pain are beautiful.  Because of heart-bursting climbs and 55 mph descents.  Because of the dirty road-grime spray of pack riding on a cold, rainy day.  Because of the shadows cast by revolving spokes on a sunny one.  Because of the feel of wrapped cork under your hands.  Because of red blood and street-shredded skin.  Because of the uneasy glee of diving into the last corner of a 60-minute criterium with nothing between you and victory but 150 meters of empty asphalt.  Because...  Because we are Riders!

sprint!

Apparently, what I have to do to win a sprint is to do just about everything wrong.  But it worked Sunday.

For the video, click here.

Paul and I got up at 4:30 Sunday morning for the NYC Spring Series finale at Prospect Park.  (I love the Central Park/Prospect Park races, btw.  Just such terrific venues.  I'd do them every week if I could.)  Feeling frisky from the beginning, I was attacking and bridging to breaks rather wildly right from the gun.  Four laps in I sort of eased my way across and past a group of 10 that had sat up for the catching.  One little guy came with me, setting a pace up the hill I really had to dig to match.  But over the top and we traded pulls nicely until...about two miles later I looked back and he was gone.  Paul was doing a great job behind, frustrating the folks that thought he should be chasing (but apparently unwilling to do it themselves) and the gap increased over the next two laps.

With five to go three riders bridged (which is what I was hoping for), we cooperated well and the lead stuck.  With one lap to go a rider attacked on the climb, we remaining three couldn't match his pace, and he soloed on to victory.

The picture above is the sprint for second.  Which I won.  From the lead-out position.  With my hands on the hoods.

:-)

Lake Nockamixon TT

Saturday we (my bike and I) tried to ride fast.

Angry speed face Goat.

The snot, man.  The snot..,

We beat the 3s (there were 3 of them).  We beat the 4s, the 5s, and the 35+ dudes.  And the women (but, you know, I don't beat women).

So I guess that makes this the first win of the season.  But, you know, there were only three Cat 3s and a handful more 35+ dudes, so...

The good news is that my bike and I seem to be getting along ok.  And that's important, because Killington is only four weeks away!