Crazy, upside down world

There are certain truths that we take to be self-evident.
1) When you're riding your bike and you slam on the front brake, you will wind up in pain on the floor.
2) Pirates are generally of the criminal persuasion, Orlando Bloom and Johnny Depp notwithstanding.
3) I have no shot with movie stars.

Well, we may need to re-write some of those rules...

First, there are those pirates off the coast of Somalia who captured a freighter carrying tons of heavy weapons and explosives. Perhaps someone can explain to me how some guys in what amounts to souped-up fishing boats are able to take over a giant cargo ship. I mean, couldn't the ship just not stop?

That aside, it seems that the pirates gave a lengthy interview to the New York Times. (I can just imagine dinner time conversation at Mr. Gettleman's house: "Hi honey, how was your day?" "Oh, pretty good, I burned my tongue on my coffee then spoke to those guys who hijacked that freighter for about an hour..."). In the interview, the pirate spokesperson claims that their only mission is to protect Somali water from illegal fishing.

Huh... so apparently this is all in the name of the environment and ecosystems. That's OK in my book. So, I guess we'll need to re-write that rule. I propose this: Pirates are people who sometimes do bad things to accomplish overall good. Or something like that.

Then there's this issue of the endo.

I've been relatively fortunate in my cycling, having suffered only one end-over-ass crash. It was in May's Bear Mountain race. It hurt, a lot. But fear the endo no longer! I was recently forwarded this video (the best part is at the end, so you can just skip the first half):



I know!! He just rolls right over!

I'm not sure how well the bike would perform with the rider out of the saddle, but it's still the coolest thing ever. I've just ordered three. And so, we must re-write another rule: Ednos can be avoided, even when slamming on your front break, when you suspend yourself in the center of a giant metal circle. Actually, screw metal... let's make these babies out of vertically-compliant carbon.

Finally, there's the matter of movie stars. Ever since I missed my opportunity to fit Jennifer Connelly for sneakers back in my Jack Rabbit days (she lives in Park Slope), I've been pining for a movie starlet. Not any one in particular, just in general.

No caption necessary
Just make sure you wipe the drool off your chin when you're done reading
Too far...

So, I was somewhat encourage today, when I realized that Anne Hathaway, of Brokeback Mountain fame, and who I just saw on the Late Show with Dave Letterman, is originally from Brooklyn (this leads me to forgive her for growing up in Jersey). Not only that, but she's recently single, and, at 25 with a November birthday, is the perfect age for me.

Don't ask me how I'm going to seal the deal... I'm still working on the details, but regardless, I think it's safe to say that I DO have a shot, and therefore, we'll need to re-write this rule as well.

Car repairs

So, the verdict is in. After yesterday's collision with a piece of farm equipment, the good folks at Monro Muffler and Brakes have given my car the once-over. Hopefully repairs are currently underway.

It was the kind of situation, where I walked into the garage office first thing this morning, and the mechanic behind the desk greeted me and asked what was up. I told him that my muffler was currently located in my trunk, pending re-attachment.

The corners of his mouth twitched as he resisted the urge to laugh with a sheer glee known only a mechanic who is about to make a costly estimate. He asked how it had happened, so I recounted the incident.

He stopped fighting it and broke out in a smile, a glint coming to his eyes. "OK, we'll take a look. You going to wait?"

"Is it going to be a quick repair?" I asked.

Now grinning broadly, he replied: "Nope, it's not going to be quick."

So, I took my bike off the Nissan's roof, and rolled home. I went out to ride for a few hours, and when I came home there were five missed calls from the shop. That was one eager mechanic.

"You did a good job on that exhaust," he said when I called.

The long and the short of it: I'll need a new muffler, as well as the bit of pipe that connects the muffler to the engine. Fortunately for me, the muffler was relatively new, and still under warranty, so I didn't have to pay for that part. The total bill will be around $400, plus tax.

Of course, none of this is intended as a slight against the good people at Monro's. They've been taking care of my car since the fall of 2005, when I first got it. From brake pads, oil changes, the aforementioned muffler, to spark plugs, belts, and inspections, they've been reliable, and my car runs very well, considering it's 11-year vintage and 110,000 miles. Through it all, Monro has been very professional and helpful, of which I'm very appreciative.

But still, I'm less than pleased with the car's current state (which obviously in no way my mechanic's fault), so I've got to take out my frustration somewhere.

In addition to the exhaust system, there is some body damage, and I'll have to take the car to another shop to get all that sorted out. Oh joy.

Oh yeah, happy New Year.

'Cross Crazy -- fender bender

Necessary evil? Maybe. This morning, before work, I drove down to Schenectady for the Schenectady Central Park 'cross race. This was my first 'cross race of the season. The course seemed like a pretty standard 'cross race to me, with a set of barriers, a log that you had to jump over, some long, straight sections, some tight grassy turns, and a hill that I couldn't quite ride up.

I broke out the trusty old Trek 820 hard tail for the occasion. The race went something like this:

At first I thought I could go for the hole shot, but it was quickly apparent that wasn't going to happen, when I stood to accelerate and my fork bounced up and down while everyone else rode smoothly off the line. It was basically a mid-pack start. I was getting beat in every technical turn because of my poor handling skills, and I was getting beat on every straight stretch because of my heavy, unwieldy bike. I continued by cannon ball imitation for the first lap of the 45-minute race, soon winding up at the back with Austin McClenithan and a few others. Austin and I soon fell into a rhythm, trading pulls around the course. He was a little faster than me on the turns, but I was a little faster on the dismount sections, so we worked well together.

At one point I thought there was a chance we could catch a group ahead of us, but that never happened. As far as I was concerned, it was a race to not get lapped, and I think Austin was on the same page. On the last lap he dug a little deeper than me, pulling ahead to beat me to the line. So it goes.

The course was wet from the previous couple days' rain, but not super muddy, which was fine with me. Although I don't really enjoy the torture of 'cross, after today's race, I am beginning to realize that handling a 'cross bike on dirt and roots will make me a better road racer. Or so I'm hoping. I think I'll stick with this 'cross thing for a bit... but I'm not having fun. It's like medicine.

After the race, I made my to work, where I was assigned to write a story about kids picking apples in observance of Rosh Hashana. It was a pleasant afternoon to be at the orchard, and everything was going swimmingly until I got in the car to head back to the office. I backed straight into some piece of farm equipment that was in the middle of the lot.

It was a loud thud. Cursing, I pulled forward, stopped the car, and got out. The first thing I noticed was the muffler, which had been relocated to a position aproximately 10 inches south of its normal position. It was lying on the ground, dangling only by a bit of rusty metal. I spent a couple minutes starring at it, mouth agape. At first, I was unsure of what to do. I certainly couldn't drive the 11 miles back to the office with the muffler dragging on the ground. So I got down on my knees and peered under the car. With a little elbow grease, I was able to remove the muffler from its remaining mount by slipping it out of the rubber bracket that holds it.

With the heavy metal box in my hands, I opened the trunk.

Surprise number two: some piece of the farm machine had dented the well where my spare wheel sits. It was dented badly enough that the tire was sitting up at a 45-degree angle, rather than lying flat. Wonderful. Fortunately, there was still room for the muffler, even with the trunk's now-reduced capacity.

One last bit of damage, the the rubber seal along the bottom edge of the trunk is pealed up in one spot. So, all in all, this should be a hefty repair bill. I'm not looking forward to going to the garage tomorrow.

I didn't have my camera with me, so no photos of my stupidit.

Wooosh: another one bites the dust

So, this was an odd week. I've been working the night desk since Monday, which has put me on the nocturnal schedule, working from 3 in the afternoon until 11 or so at night. I'm not so good at the night desk, so the work is difficult, and the pace is fast, and it's all very stressful. Worse yet, is getting home at 11, and then hanging around the apartment for two or three hours, waiting until I feel tired enough to go to sleep. One advantage is more time to ride in the morning and early afternoon.

On the whole, however, I would say that I'm not super-stoked about the night desk, and can't wait to get back to my regular shift.

On top of it all, this morning saw me at the dentist. The dental hygienist quite literally sand-blasted my teeth clean, picked and prodded around my mouth, all the while making pleasant one-sided conversation. I would have loved to have talked to her, but, of course, my mouth was full of probes, mirrors, and other various detritus. The upshot of it all was that I have a minor cavity, and four impacted wisdom teeth. Apparently, I'm in imminent danger have suffering a painful, tooth infection if I don't get the teeth removed. So that's great. Good thing I have dental insurance.

The bad news about my wisdom teeth (which I really already knew, but was in denial about) was tempered a bit by some casual flirting with the dentist's receptionist. Every cloud has a silver lining, or something, right?

So, don't worry, you'll be hearing more about my dental woes in he near future.

For this week, rather than my normal top and bottom lists, I thought I'd try something a little different. Here's a theme:

The top five things about working on the night shift:
1) More daylight for riding. More time on the bike is always good.
2) Late night TV. It was too bad that John McCain skipped out on Letterman on Wednesday, but damn was that a funny show!
3) Wearing jeans and sneakers to work. It's a lot more comfortable.
4) Only one 5W each week. That's OK with me!
5) More time to work my other jobs...

The bottom five things about working on the night shift:
1) Eating the same, pre-cooked dinner every evening.
2) Staying up too late, not getting up early enough.
3) Stress is through the roof on the night desk!
4) Missing my quiet mornings in the office.
5) Letting my beat slide, and getting online hate for it.

Lance makes it official

He's back!
Back for cancer and the Tour
Phinney is on the left

So, Lance made his big announcement today at the Clinton Global Initiative in New York City. So that's cool. Of course, the economy is exploding, so Lance and the Global Initiative in general hardly made the news at all. Instead, the Lance news was relegated to the cycling press (where it really belongs). In the cycling press, Lance competed for space with Amber Neben, who, earlier today, won the women's elite world TT championship. I could care less that the world's media attention isn't paying attention to Lance, but the Global Initiative should be receiving some press. It's a pretty cool thing that does a lot of good.

But, of course, I'm writing about Lance tonight.

Lance made it official that he would ride for Astana, and compete in the Tour Down Under, the Tour de France, along with some others. He also managed to drag two more great cycling names into his mire, by pulling a development team out of his ass, a team to include Taylor Phinney, and to be run by Axel Merckx, son of the great Eddy Merckx. Sure, that sounds good, but since no one else was named to the team, it smacks of something thrown together at the last moment.

I wasn't able to watch Lance's press conference, but the photos showed a bored Phinney standing around looking very much like a fish out of water. He is perhaps the most talented American cyclist of his generation, and in one fell swoop, Lance has made him little more than a pawn in his ongoing fight against cancer. OK, obviously, there are worse things to be a pawn for than spreading awareness about cancer. But I personally don't appreciate the apparent attempt to consolidate American cycling. Competition is what makes cycling fun and exciting. So, if all the most important people are playing for the same team, what fun is that?

OK, so, I'm a little less than enthusiastic about Lance's comeback. I also feel bad for Alberto Contador and Levi "second fiddle" Leipheimer. Although it's unlikely that Leipheimer was ever going to win a grand tour, Contador is a proven winner. I can't see him riding support for anyone, in any circumstance for the next couple years. Which leads me to my theory.

Here it is: Lance knows he's over the hill and probably not capable of returning to the level that saw him win seven consecutive tours. So, he's staged this big elaborate return to cycling, and he'll roll onto the scene stating that he's in it to win it. Behind the scenes, however, he'll have an understanding with Contador and the rest of Astana, that he's there to ride as a super-domestique. He'll come out a few days into the tour, after it's apparent that he doesn't have the ability to win, he'll come out and say "I tried, I can't, now I have the honor of supporting Alberto..." You heard it here first.

Welcome back Lance.

Fall sweeps

Something to dream of
A team as idealistic as this in power
Alas...

So, a downside to working the night shift that I hadn't quite expected is that I don't get to watch prime-time TV. Oh drats. While my TV watching is higher now than it has been at any time since I left home to attend college, I mostly use TV as background noise. But, having been bombarded with advertisements for all the wonderful fall programs, I had found myself looking forward to some new TV shows.

And then, of course I realized that I'd be at work until 11 p.m., and my TV watching dreams were quashed. It's probably just as well. TV rots your brain.

So, I turned to the next best thing to TV, The New York Times. I was cruising around the Times's website the other day, when I stumbled onto the best political column I've seen in this election cycle. It features writer Aaron Sorkin channeling my favorite TV character of all time, West Wing President Jedediah Bartlet. It was austensibly Maureen Dowd's column, but Bartlet (and Sorkin) stole the show. Since the column related to TV watching, I felt I'd sort of come full-circle.

In high school, my world all but revolved around watching the West Wing. That was around the same time Bush first came into office, and I went to sleep each Wednesday night dreaming that I lived in a world where Bartlet was actually our president. So, this column, in which Bartlet tells Barrack Obama what he needs to do to win the presidency, similarly makes me yearn for a real President Bartlet.

Bartlet was at the center of the most dramatic TV moment I can ever remember viewing: soaking wet, standing in an empty cathedral, yelling at God for letting a drunk driver kill his long-time friend and secretary Mrs. Lanahan. But TV moments notwithstanding, Sorkin delivers what I believe to be dead-on advice for Obama, in a way that only he can. Give it a read, I highly recommend it.

A tangential side note: My cousin, the actor Scott Cohen, once shared billing with the late John Spencer in the off-Broadway play "Glimmer Glimmer and Shine," which played from May to June in 2001. My parents and I went to see it, sitting near the stage. While Scott gave a great performance, Spencer was incredible. His performance on the West Wing paled in comparison.

Cross tourture Training

Although this blog is primarily about my life as an amateur bicycle racer, I don't often get into the nitty-gritty of my training regimen, the occasional mid-week century notwithstanding. This is mostly because I don't want to intimidate anyone with my massive power numbers, or my astronomical weekly mileage.

Ha.

Actually, it's because I'm not interested in things like power numbers, and I doubt if you care that in an average week I ride enough miles to take me down to New York City, and back.

But, I decided today that I did want to let you in on a little training secret. It's called cross-training, and it sucks. Cross training is based on the theory that if you only ever do one activity, you're bound to eventually get burnt out on it (either mentally, physically, or both). So you mix it up. If you're a power lifter you might try some jogging. If you're a basketball player, you might switch to soccer for a bit. If you're a luge-er, maybe you flip onto your stomach and race the skeleton.

If you're a cyclist, you run, or swim, or, in my case, you do both. That's right folks. Me, the anti-runner, anti-swimmer, and above all, the anti-Triathlete, as been running, biking, and swimming for the past couple weeks. And I've been living in a cloud of self-loathing. But, deep down, I do truly think it's good for me.

You see, cross training has another benefit. In addition to preventing mental fatigue, cross training lets you exercise parts of your body that don't get worked out in the course of your regular activity. For me, this means re-discovering parts of my body that I'd long-since forgotten about.

Imagine my shock when I got out of the pool this afternoon, after swimming for 45 minutes, and saw my pumped-up biceps in a mirror. I mean, they still looked like limp strands of spaghetti, but maybe they had a few clumps of tomato sauce clinging to them. Swimming, although it's not much of a cardiovascular workout, actually makes me feel good and healthy, even if my arms and shoulders are sore for a few days afterwards.

Running, on the other hand, is the bane of my existence. I've come to realize that having a little weight bearing activity in my program during this, the off season, is a good thing, since nothing else I do is weight-bearing, but God damn does it hurt! I went running on Saturday for about 45 minutes, and then had an impossible time walking on Saturday and Sunday. Things were better today, but my interior hip-flexers are so tight it's painful to either spread my legs too far apart, or to squeeze them together. Ouch.

Of course, I probably wouldn't have injured myself so badly if I'd eased into the running, with a couple 20-minute jogs, or something. But when you're as obsessive about exercise as I am, it can be hard to transition from 3-hour rides to sub-hour workouts (what do you mean I'm done? It's still light out!), but I'm trying to do it. Next week, I think I might even introduce a second rest day into the schedule... but we'll see about that.

Oh, and if, all that swimming and running isn't enough to cause me pain, I'll be doing some 'cross races in the coming weeks. So, that should be painful.

Antioch Road and the Sanatorium

Once a refuge for TB patients
Now abandoned
Still out of place

The usual Sunday morning ride took a new route today. I'm not sure exactly where we went, except that at one point, we climbed up Antioch Road in the town of Providence, swung a left onto Barkersville Road, and then rolled by the former Saratoga County Homestead.

The Homestead was originally constructed to serve as a sanatorium for TB patients. Later, when the disease became less prevalent, it was used as a home for debtors, and later, as a convalescent home. The main building is very institutional-looking, with a brick facade, and white columns. That wouldn't be remarkable, especially not for a county-operated hospital, but the homestead is in the Town of Providence, which is very rural. Providence has some nice-looking homes on Lake Sacandaga, a small airport, a cool public beach, and a few well-appointed houses of worship, but mostly, Providence has a lot of open space.

Of course, the open space is probably why the sanatorium was originally placed where it was, but it still seems a bit out of place, five or six times the size of the next largest building in the town, surrounded by sprawling grounds. At the same time, the building is very much abandoned. I didn't interrupt the ride to go snoop around the property (which is fenced and posted), but I did take the easy step of some quick internet research.

This is what I found. Apparently, some people are under the impression that the building was once an asylum, which it was not. Some people also think it's haunted. I don't know anything about that, but who knows. I suppose it could be.

It seems, according to The Internet, that the building is now owned by a Schenectady-based consortium that wanted to convert the old building into some kind of a holistic healing center. It's in a good location for that, but we'll see if it ever actually happens. Until then, it's just a neat bit of Saratoga County lore.

Going out big

Thursday's long-ass ride
Not too fast,
But still tough

There's nothing like a nice century to end a week of blogging. Since I'm scheduled to work both Saturday and Sunday this weekend, I was lucky enough to have today and tomorrow off. Without anything else to do, I figured I'd go ride for a couple hours. Seven hours later I got home and ate a lot of food. I'd say it was a morning well spent.

After, I went and got my haircut (it had become quite unruly), and then went to the bike shop to work there for a couple hours.

The route I took brought me out to the Hudson River, north to Glens Falls, West into Luzerne, North into Hadley, then West again through Day and into Edinburgh, across the Batchellerville Bridge, through Fayville, and then down through Milton, Rock City, Malta, and finally back into Saratoga.

It was a bit cold when I started at 6 this morning, but it became a beautiful fall day by mid-morning. All in all, it was a great, late-season ride. I probably don't need to be doing so much mileage at this time of year, but what the hell. Go big or go home.

It's also worth noting that at last Sunday's 'cross clinic in Troy, the Albany Times Union came with a reporter and photographer. Of course, I was there too, but I was more camouflaged than the TU's guy. In any event, I snuck my way into their video footage. You can check it out here. See if you can spot me... I'm the guy with BKLYN shrts and a mountail bike.

Tops from the week:
1) Thursday's long-ass ride.
2) The pizza I made for dinner tonight. Best yet!
3) BVF, Cadence Cup champions!
4) My new haircut. It's about time!
5) Tan lines. 'nuf said.

Bottoms from the week:
1) Working the night shift next few weeks. Uhg.
2) When I hit my head in the bathroom. I've still got a lump. Ouch.
3) The knee warmers came out today I guess summer is really over.
4) Shaving in the cold. So much less effective.
5) Teething. I'm too old for this shit.

Cadence Cup wrap

Alessandro, with Mark's son on his shoulder's
Graeme is apparently a huge team supporter!
Whatyathink? Does pink go with yellow and black?

I briefly mentioned in my post on Sunday that I raced in Saturday's final race of the 2008 Cadence Cup series. I was in the 1/2/3 race, which was about 42 miles, or something. It was pretty fast relative to most of the road races I've been doing, but was actually on the slower side for Prospect Park, with an average pace around 26 MPH. By comparison, the first stage of the Catskill Stage Race averaged 22 MPH, albeit over much hillier terrain.

Alessandro and his wife
They're admiring Alessandro's new shirt
Pretty in pink!

Anyhow, I hadn't raced any of the other Cadence Cup races, so I didn't have any points, and neither did any of my team mates in the 1/2/3 field. So I had some fun rolling around the park in the 110-rider field, in foggy conditions. Prospect is an ideal course for sprinters, and the big sprint teams like We Stand United, Foundation, and Mengoni, did their best to reign in any breaks, or which there were a few attempts, including several by me (obviously). Twice I thought I was actually going to get away.

One of several break attemps
What else was I going to do?
Unfortunately, the cord wouldn't snap

The first time was in the middle of the race, when Matt Cuttler from Affinity was off the front, and I bridged to whim with one other rider. He and I rotated through a few times, but the third guy was sitting on. We were cruising, but didn't really have enough steam, and we got reeled in after less than half a lap off the front.

Another break tries to go
I'm not sure if that's not me or a team mate
There was a lot of horses, but it still couldn't go

Later, I put in a big solo attack going over the Third St. climb (it's really more of a bump). I thought I'd have one lap to go when I hit the finish line, and when I was able to extend my lead going through the flat section at the bottom of the lap, I thought I might actually have a chance to stay away. Then I hit the line, and got two laps to go, and realized I was thoroughly fucked. I didn't quite sit up, but I definitely eased off, knowing that I didn't have another two solo laps in my legs. So I wound up back in the field, mixed it up for a bit at the front, before shutting it down with 800 meters to go, as I was not anxious to get in the way of the sprinters.

The team after the race
I am forever hiding in group photos... not intentionally. Can you find me?
At least my bike got good billing!

Scott was getting lined up for the sprint, but, as has been the case for Scott nearly all summer, he got stuck behind a late-race crash. Yet another missed opportunity.

Champaign on the sidewalk
A very Brooklyn celebration!
Good thing we didn't get an open container ticket!

Meanwhile, in the category 4 race, Alessandro took third to lock up the overall series title. An impromptu celebration ensued, complete with champaign sprayed on Alesandro, Tour de France style. Nice.

I'm just saying...

Mmm... tan lines!
Training is really just an excuse to work on the tan
I hope this lasts all winter

Aftermath? Our local CBS affiliate is holding a tan line contest to commemorate the end of summer. I think I've got a good chance to win the grand prize... free tanning sessions at a local tanning salon.

I don't think I'll be cashing in, even if I were to win, but you've got to admit, my tan lines are pretty impressive. I've got matching lines on my arms and neck... the true sign of a long season on the bike.

Now that my season is wrapping up, I'm having fun spending time on some other things. On Monday, I went swimming. Any hour in the pool up at Skidmore wasn't as demanding of a workout as my usual Monday ride (at least, not according to metrics captured by my heart rate monitor), but it felt hard as hell. My connective tissue ached, lifting my arm onto the keyboard at work later was a struggle.

In short, it feels pretty good to have started some cross training. So, I'll be adjusting my training program to accomodate more cross training. I won't bore you with the details, but don't be surprised if you start to read here about my near-drowning experiences in the pool, and, if I get really inspired, there might even be some tales of running in the near future.

Speaking of running, I had occassion to visit my former co-workers at JackRabbit over the weekend. Things in the store were much as they had been. They are carrying more shoes now than they did when I worked there, but it was busy as hell. Being back in the store made me miss my days of sneakers sales -- not enough to move back into my parent's house, but I missed it!

It was nice to see the store doing so well, and nice to know that my former co-workers are still interested in what I'm up to! I guess you really can go back home!

Looking for a few good people

Team MS 2007: Me, Ian Fried, Travis, Dante, Jonathan O'Brien
Unfortunately, none except me can ride in 2008,
Ian broke his leg at GMSR (hope you're getting better), Travis is in China, Dante is in Alaska, and Jonathan now lives in Boston

That's right... I'm looking for a few good people to sponsor me for the MS Bike Tour, which will take place on Sunday, Oct. 5.

You can sponsor me by clicking on this link.

I've participated in this event every year for a long time, possibly as long as eight or nine years, so long that I can't remember when I started. This year, I'm hoping to raise at least $100, or, one dollar for every mile that I'll ride at the event. I know it's a low number, but the economy is tight, so I don't want to ask for too much.

So far, I've raised $0. I'd like to change that, and that's where you come in. Click on the link above, and kick in a few bucks, every little bit (or nearly every little bit) goes directly to fund research into a cure for MS, patient services, and awareness. This is a debilitating disease that effects as many as 1.5 people per 1,000, including some people in my family.

This is a great way to help out a great cause, and every little bit helps. Please contribute what you can.

Here I am finishing the 2007 tour
So focused!
I wanted to keep riding, but the volunteers wouldn't let me!

Contemplating the end...

...The end of the season.

I woke up on Friday and had a strange sensation. My legs jumped right up and out of bed, but my head stayed comfortably snuggled in the pillow. While my legs were anxiously awaited their daily exercise, my head was saying "enough."

At this point, I've been working at the 2008 racing season for a long time. I started putting in base miles in November 2007, and I nearly wore through my trainer spinning through the long Saratoga Winter. I ran, I swam, I skied my way into shape. Now, it's the middle of September, there are fewer and fewer races on the calendar, and my motivation to continue training is slipping away. I had hoped to keep my form up until the Jamestown Classic on Columbus Day, but that's a month away, and there are no races on my schedule between now and then. Of course, the MS New York bike tour is on my schedule, and that's kind of like a really long race, but it won't have the same kind of intensity that you get racing. I suppose I'll make that decision when the race gets closer.

I don't think I've ever before felt this kind of split between leg and head. My legs feel great. I raced the final Cadence Cup race in Prosepct Park on Saturday morning, and felt great moving through the field and jumping off the front. Once or twice I actually thought I had a shot of staying away. Of course, that's a sprinter's race, and the sprinters had their days, but it felt GREAT. But my head is tired. I feel like I can't get enough sleep, and I've been dealing with a low-level sore throat for weeks.

That's the thing. I love racing, but the long hours of training, combined with the dwindling day light, has taken its toll.

So, I'll use my form to bumble my way through some cross races, and hopefully by the time November rolls around I'll be ready to start putting on the base miles for 2009!

By the way, my team mate Allessandro took third in the Cadence Cup race, locking up the overall title for the series for category 4s. We sprayed him with champaign at an impromptu gathering at Conneticuit Muffin after the race, the perfect culmination to a banner year for BVF.

Anniverary

Everyone who was there
Will remember
Where they were

An updated version of an essay I originally wrote in 2007, posted on 5/1/11:

It’s just a square on the calendar like any other: I’m going fight my way out of sleep, go to work, exercise, eat dinner and settle in to a relaxing evening on the couch, probably staying up past my bedtime. I never think it will be different, but when I finally do get out of bed the inevitable radio news story on the anniversary makes me pause with one hand on the cereal, one hand rubbing my eyes.

“I suppose it is September 11,” I think, girding myself behind a wall of intellectual distance as I pour the cereal and sit to eat. Then the radio goes silent. Like the discordant tone of an over-wound piano wire, I feel a twinge reverberating inside me, tightening my gut.

It’s 8:46 a.m., the exact moment American Airlines flight 11 hit the north tower in 2001. My tightened stomach brings me back to high school; I’m a teenager, herded with my peers into the gothic chapel our school used for assemblies.

The enormous room’s Tiffany stained glass windows shine in the bright September air of a school year less than a week old. Shuffling into a pew, I hear whispers that a plane had hit the World Trade Center, but I don’t believe them, there must be some other reason for this unplanned gathering.

A phalanx of copper organ pipes close rank behind the headmaster when he takes the podium. Wasting no time, he spits the news: an airliner has crashed into the World Trade Center. The government believes it was a terrorist act. With his slender, brass soldiers still guarding him from attack, he tells us to go to our classes, carry on as if nothing unusual has happened. Of course, no one goes to class.

My thoughts immediately fly to my Mom, her office is across the street from the Trade Center. I walk through the complex’s enormous courtyard to visit her from the 4 train on Fulton Street, the towers soaring skyward above.

Once dismissed, I bound through halls and leap down stairs, all but flying to the pay phone. It’s 2001 and my friends all have cell phones, but I’ve resisted the trend, and now regret my stubbornness for the first time. I dial Mom’s office and get no answer. A lump starts to form in my throat. I try her cell. No answer. My stomach starts performing backflips – ungainly, wobbly ones that you might see a clown perform at the circus. Was my face green like a cartoon characters? Probably, given the horror show in my head:

What if her building was next? Would she know to leave? Would she be able to leave? How could she get home, the subway was in the Trade Center!

I call home and get no answer. With trembling fingers, I dial my Dad’s office with the same result. Taking a deep breath and blinking back tears, I call Dad’s cell. Mercifully, he answered.

With a tremble in my voice, I ask if Mom is OK.

“Mom’s fine, she went with some co-workers uptown to someone’s apartment,” he tells me. “She’s going to come home as soon as she can.” With a shudder of relief, I hang up the phone and sling myself down to the rubber flooring, slumping against a radiator. I close my eyes, realizing that my temples are pounding. I should be relieved, but something is still wrong. I think of my brother. He’s 13, in eighth grade.

Would he know to call Dad’s cell? Would he be as scared as I had been? Maybe he wouldn’t be worried at all.

I thought of a time he and I had gotten separated from our parents while skiing. I was eleven or so, and I was a worried little kid. No, I was a panicked little kid. If we couldn’t find our parents, how would we get back to the hotel? How would we get back to Brooklyn? How would we eat? I wanted to find a payphone to call our grandparents to come from Florida to rescue us, because that made sense to me. Eric was cool through it all, even as I was preparing for the sky to fall. He told me not to worry, and not to call grandma who would surely ask embarrassing questions about girls. Eric was right, we found our parents in short order and got on with vacation.

No, this isn’t like that. Mom could have been in real danger and Eric would recognize that. Without even considering going to class, I’m off to find him, searching all the likely places an eighth grader might be.

As I encountered my classmates in the halls, everyone wore the same shell-shocked expression. We were scared and confused. Nobody was going to class. We didn’t know what was going on or what would happen next, but we could see the tower burning through the windows.

Then another plane hit the south tower. News flooded the somber corridors, contributing, of course, to the terror. Then the Pentagon was hit, the White House, the National Mall, the Washington Monument, the Empire State Building, the Sears Tower, the Space Needle and Mt. Rushmore. Rumor supplanted truth and the knot in my stomach grew to watermelon size. My bowels were going to release and my heart was going to stop. What if Brooklyn was next? Prospect Park seemed like a likely target. Hell, even our school could be hit; we’re only a block from Borough Hall.

And still, I couldn’t find Eric.

Then the south tower collapsed. It fell straight down, but the radio in the drama teacher’s office said it could have tipped in any direction, had a gust of wind shown up at the crucial moment. Thousands died, just like that. It could have tipped toward Mom’s building just like that.

I just want to go home, dive into bed and pull the covers over my head until it’s safe again, but first, I need to tell my brother that Mom is OK. I have to tell him, who else will?

Peering into empty classrooms while trying to maintain a dignified expression, I start thinking about the last time the World Trade Center was bombed, in 1996. I was 8 then. It was snowing. My Mom didn’t work on Fridays back then, so I wasn’t scared. I didn’t understand what had happened, or why we were sitting in the house watching the news on TV when we could have been outside playing in the snow. I knew her office was across the street form the two giant towers, but it didn’t seem like a big deal.

A couple weeks later, we saw Mom’s friend on the subway. She was breathing oxygen through a tube in her nose. I asked my Mom, in the way only an 8-year old can, why the lady had a tube in her nose. Mom told me that the woman had been in the World Trade Center when it was bombed. She’d been trapped in the dark, walking down an endless staircase, not sure if she’d make it to the bottom. Mom said the stairwell filled with choking smoke, and some people ran down, pushing aside anyone in their way. The oxygen was helping Mom’s friend recover.

Oh.

I was 8, but I sure understood the bombing a little better.

What if the bombing hadn’t been on a Friday, Mom? What if you had been at work? What if it was on a Tuesday?

Finally, I find my brother with a school administrator who, despite the general chaos in the school, had the presence of mind to collect children whose parents worked in the towers. They’re trying to contact Mom by phone, but of course, as I’d already discovered, the phones are dead. They hadn’t thought to try Dad. My brother, far from joking around, is near tears.

“Mom’s OK,” I tell him, blinking back my own tears.

Looking back, I think I hugged him, I sure hope I did.

The original version:

I always forget how Sept. 11 pulls on my heartstrings. In the days leading up to the anniversary, I always think it’ll be the same as any other day. I’ll go to work, get some exercise; maybe I’ll eat pasta for dinner, or maybe a burrito. Intellectually, I know that it’s the anniversary, but it doesn’t seem any different from any other day.

And then I wake up that morning and turn on the radio. Inevitably, there’s a broadcast of the memorial service from Ground Zero.

“Oh, it’s September 11,” I think. Then I sit down to eat a banana and some cereal, and everything is fine until the radio goes silent. It’s always at 8:46 a.m., the exact moment when American Airlines flight 11 hit the north tower. And suddenly, I’m back in high school. I’m 16, and I’m a junior, being herded like a lamb with all my peers into the Gothic chapel our school used as an assembly hall. The Tiffany stained glass windows shown in the bright September air. The school year was less than a week old. As we shuffled into our pews there were whispers that a plane had hit the World Trade Center, but I didn’t believe it, there must be some other reason for this unplanned gathering.

Mr. Pearson, our usually affable and energetic headmaster, took the podium with a look of such consternation on his face that I knew something big was up. He told us, in very plain words, that an airliner had been crashed into the building, and that the government believed it was a terrorist act. He told us to go to our classes and to carry on with our day as if nothing unusual had happened. But something unusual had happened.

My thoughts immediately flew to my Mom. She worked across the street from the Trade Center. I walked through the complex’s enormous courtyard to get to her office from the 4 train stop on Fulton Street.

As soon as Mr. Pearson dismissed us I ran to the pay phone. All my peers had cell phones, but I thought it was cool to resist the trend. I dialed Mom’s office. No answer. A lump formed in my throat. I called her cell. No answer. My stomach twisted into a knot.

What if her building was next? Would she know to leave? Would she be able to leave? How could she get home, the subway was in the Trade Center! I called home, no answer there either. With trembling fingers, I dialed my Dad’s home office, and there was no answer. Taking a deep breath, and blinking back tears, I called Dad’s cell. Mercifully, he answered.

With a tremble in my voice, I asked if Mom was OK.

“Mom’s fine, she went with some co-workers to someone’s apartment in Stuyvesant Village,” Dad said. “She’s going to come home as soon as she can.” With a shudder of relief, I hung up the phone and slumped against the wall. I closed my eyes, but something was still wrong. I thought of my brother. He was 13, in eighth grade.

Would he know to all Dad’s cell? Would he be as scared as I had been? Maybe he wouldn’t be worried at all.

I thought of a time he and I had gotten separated from our parents on a ski slope. I was eleven or so, and I was a worried little kid. No, I was a panicked little kid. If we couldn’t find our parents, how would we get back to the hotel? How would we get back to Brooklyn? How would we eat? In that moment, I was ready to find a payphone to call our grandparents to come rescue us, even though they were in Florida and we were in Colorado. Eric remained cool through it all. He told me not to worry. Sure enough, we found our parents in short order and got on with our vacation.

No, this wasn’t like that, I decided, Mom could have been in real danger. Surely Eric would recognize that. Without even considering going to class, I took off to find him, searching all the likely places an eighth grader might be.

As I encountered my classmates in the halls, we all wore the same pallid expression. We were scared. We didn’t know what was going on, we didn’t know what was going to happen, and you could see the tower burning through the windows. Then the second plane hit. News traveled like a wave through the school. Then, the Pentagon was hit, the White House, the National Mall, the Washington Monument, the Empire State Building, the Sears Tower, Seattle’s Space Needle. Rumor supplanted truth and the knot in my stomach grew to watermelon size. I felt simultaneously like my bowels were going to release and my heart was going to stop. What if Brooklyn was next. Prospect Park seemed like a likely target. Hell, even our school seemed like a likely target, we were only a block from Borough Hall!

And still, I couldn’t find Eric.

Then the south tower collapsed. It fell straight down, but the radio said it could have tipped any way. What if it had tipped toward Mom’s building. Eric must be so scared!

And I was terrified. I wanted to go home and get into bed with the blankets over my head until the danger was gone. But first, I wanted to tell my brother that Mom was OK. I had to tell him, who else would? Nothing was as it had been, but Eric had to know that Mom was OK.

As I walked through the halls looking into empty classrooms, I started thinking about the last time the Towers were bombed, in 1993. I was 8. It was snowing. My Mom didn’t work on Fridays back then, so I wasn’t scared. I didn’t understand what had happened, or why we were sitting in the house watching the TV news when we could have been outside playing in the snow. I knew her office was across the street form the towers, but it didn’t seem like a big deal.

Then, a couple weeks later, we ran into a friend of Mom’s on the subway. She was a healthy looking woman breathing oxygen through a tube in her nose. I asked my Mom, in the way only an 8-year old can, why the woman had a tube in her nose. My Mom told me that she’d been in the Trade Center when it was bombed, that she’d been trapped in the dark, walking down an endless staircase, not sure if she’d make it to the bottom. Mom said the stairwell had filled with choking smoke, and some people ran down, pushing anyone else out of their way. The oxygen was helping Mom’s friend recover. Oh. I was still 8, but I sure understood the danger a little better.

What if the bombing hadn’t been on a Friday, Mom? What if you’d been at work? What if it was on a Tuesday?

Finally, I found Eric. He was with a school administrator, who had collected children whose parents worked in the towers. They were trying to contact Mom by phone, but of course, as I’d already discovered, the phones were dead. They hadn’t thought to try Dad’s cell. My brother, a jokester with a constant mischievous smile on his face, was near tears.

“Mom’s OK,” I said, now near tears my self. I think I hugged him, I sure hope I did.

Election night pants dance

I just had the chance to re-read my post from last night. It was riddled with a greater-than-average number of typos. First, let me apologize. Second, let me explain. Yesterday was primary day. I was charged with covering two of the local primary races: the Independence and Democratic primaries for City Court Judge, as well as 25 separate races for seats on the city's Democratic Committee.

Results started coming in at 9:30 p.m., and our drop-dead-line was 11 p.m. Needless to say, it was a very intense 90 minutes of calling the various winners and losers, trying to talk and type at the same time, keeping the results straight, and getting correct the numbers of votes cast.

In a strange way, the experience was similar to a certain act, one usually performed in bed, with the help of a partner. Here's what it was like:

There was a steady increase in tension throughout the day as the votes were being cast. Things worked to a fever pitch in the early evening as the various candidates encamped themselves in a couple of bars, and the voting precincts got ready to close.

As 9 p.m. got closer and closer and closer, the anticipation of the returns was palpable, like a band of energy connecting the two opposing camps and my desk in the news room. Then there was the furor when the returns started to come in. Then hands and phones and keyboards and pens and paper were flying. There was shouting and swearing and yawlps. It was an all out free for all for about 90 minutes... with the energy building, building, building, building. The deadline was coming. I wasn't sure if we were going to make it.

Then there was an ecstatic moment of euphoria when the stories were done. Done. Sent to the page.

I leaned back in my chair and smoked a cigarette.

OK, I didn't actually smoke a cigarette, but the feeling of release and relief was very familiar. I left the office a bit later, and ran into one of my colleagues from another newspaper on the street. He really was smoking a cigarette. Apparently the experience wasn't mine alone.

Is this an over share? Sorry.

In other news, I had a meeting with the media relations folks up at Skidmore this afternoon. In all my focus on racing, and work, I'd almost forgot that Skidmore is back in session. The campus was bustling with students going back and forth between classes, sitting out side the cafe smoking, and rolling around on bikes and skate boards. It was fun to see my old stomping ground. I hadn't been up the campus since sometime last spring, although I do occassional cut through on my way home from ride.

We ate lunch in the d-hall, which was perfectly tastey. I'm told that students still complain about the food. I would say that the problem with the d-hall is not the quality of the food, it's the occassional lack of variety. For one meal once in a while it's a nice change. Every meal, every day? It gets a bit old, or at least that's what I remember.

The other funny thing about the d-hall is that it has student employees, many of whom are first years (I know, because I worked there back in the day). The new employees were clearly still learning the ropes: my sandwich was a little cock-eyed.

Not to0 much else to report from campus. Everytime I find myself up there, I worry that I'm going to run into someone I know (the current crop of juniors and seniors are the last classes that was at Skidmore at the same time as me), but I got off easy today, only running into one acquaintance. I did stop in to a professor's office to shoot the shit about the primary, but that was sort of a different thing.

Anyway, it was fun to go back and visit. Soon it will be time to start swimming, so I'll be on campus more often. Perhaps I'll have reports of awkwardness from that.

Lance is Back

A quick post tonight, because I was at work late covering primary elections, and I'm exhausted.

Chances are, you already know that Lance Armstrong has announced that he will return to competitive cycling in 2009. You can even see a video of him announcing his return here. Now, I've never really been too big of a Lance fan, but even if I were, I would still feel that this is one of the most foolish decisions the cyclist has ever made.

You won seven Tours de France, you have nothing left to prove! Even if your blood testing is the most transparent of any athlete ever, the doubters will still doubt you. And, despite, what you say, age is a factor. For examples of older athletes excelling at the Olympics are both women, and women are known to reach their athletic peaks later than men.

Feel free to prove me wrong, but I'm going to predict, right now, that this comeback attempt will end in abject failure. This think about other athletes who have attempted to return to their sport after retirement: Hamilton, Cipolini, Michael Jordan, the list goes on. For one reason or another, each of these individual's best days are behind them, as are yours.

Furthermore, what's with that video? I know that you're allegedly training full time, but you still can't even be bothered to shave? Put on a descent shirt? Point the camera at something more interesting that your wall and a couple of coffee pots? Honestly. You say you want to come back, but your announcement comes as internet rumors, followed by a video that looks like it was shot by a couple of high school kids in their parents' den -- you see, this comeback attempt is already half-assed, and it's less than a month old.

And honestly, why would you choose Vanity Fair, or all places to make your formal announcement? If you'd chosen a cycling-literate publication, maybe the story about your return could have been half-way decent, with all respect due to Douglas Brinkley, who I'm sure tried very hard.

God dammit Lance, can't you just enjoy your money, land, water waste and Olsen twins in private?

Tour of the Catskills Photos

This pretty well sums it all up:
waiting for my team mates to finish stage one
Racing capes are so stupid.

There were some awesome photos taken this weekend at the Tour of the Catskills, at which I placed sixth on stage one and tenth on stage two, for ninth overall. These photos were taken by Reed Ruby of Razorfish. As usual, I've reproduced these photos without permission for your enjoyment!

In no particular order:

Stage two
I'm off the back, trying to chase back on after my wheel change
Exodus was pushing the pace

Josh and Jordan on the big climb
Josh pulled a wheel off his bike and gave it to me when mine malfunctioned
Thanks Josh!

Jesse on the start line of stage two
Visit Jesse at The Bell Lap
He helped me stay off the front on stage one

Josh on the start of stage two
Ready for a punishing day in the saddle
and enjoying the sunlight

Jordan on the start of stage two
I don't know what he's smiling about,
this is going to hurt!

A group of sodden finishers on stage one
I was already done when this crew rolled in
Done and cold and wet.

Cody on the start of stage two
Cody drove down and back up with me
Good racing with you, Cody!

Desperate times
A mechanical forced me to swap wheels on stage two
Here I am trying to chase back to the leaders.

Better times, 40-second lead:
This was my second attempt to get off the front on stage one
This is before the rain really started

Ready for battle
Start of stage two
Good thing that Bell logo got in there!

So dramatic!
Jordan and me talk on the start line
Stage two

And we're off!
Stage two rolls away
I go for the hole shot, because, why not?

The cheering section at the start line,
Stage two
Thanks Wyatt!

More photos here:
http://gallery.me.com/RRubey#

Thanks again, Reed.

Tour of the Catskills

A bizarre problem with my wheel put me in the chase for mile after mile
It was one of the most painful days I've ever had on the bike
But I successfully defend my top-10 GC position

Wow, that was a hard race. Hard but very fun. I just got back from the inaugural Tour of the Catskills. This was a first-year, two-day stage race, that was very successful. My campaign was ended by a problem with my rear Ksyrium's hub, which put me on the chase for miles and miles. But it was still a great two days of racing. Here's the blow-by-blow:

DAY 1
Saturday started at Hunter Mountain, went generally downhill for about 20 miles, then went on some steep rollers for a while, then some more flats, one more long, steep climb, then rollers to the finish.

Two juniors, one from CRCA, one from Max Power, attacked basically from the gun, and since I had been right behind them, I jumped to get on their wheels, thinking that I was keeping the field together. Jordan was right on my wheel, but the rest of the field stayed back. So it was Jordan and me in a group of four at the front of the race. Without working to hard, we extended our lead through the downhill section, reaching a maximum lead of about 1:30 over the field. Jordan told me he was cooked right as we approaching the first climb, which was a steep, switchback ascent. I told him to drop back to the field quickly, thinking I could keep going with the juniors. Unfortunately, neither of them could climb. I kept slowing down to stay with them on the climb, and before too long, the field was back in site. The race came back together shortly thereafter.

Riders were getting shelled on every climb, and by the time we made it through the first set of rollers the front group was down to 30 or so (we started with 60-70). Not content to only go off the front once in a race, I attacked just before the feedzone, about 18 miles from the finish (I thought I was a lot closer than that). I got a good gap, and was quickly out of site, but I was alone. I started to loose time on the last big climb, and got caught by a very select group of about 20 as I went over the top. It was starting to rain pretty well by this time, and we lost a few more people on the last rollers coming in to the finish in Hunter. It was pouring by the time we were in the last couple miles. I had descent positioning for the sprint, but we were restricted to one narrow lane (there were cars parked on the right), people were riding aggressively, and with the rain, I didn't think it was time to start attempting field sprints. I was eighth in the sprint (sixth in the 3s). A guy from Exodus won.

Josh dropped his chain at some point during the rollers, and had to stop to fix it, putting him a few minutes down. Jordan had a flat, but was able to finish after fixing his flat. Perhaps they can fill in a few more details.

DAY 2

This race started at Windham. With my result from day 1, I started sixth on GC, and the top eight were all within 15 seconds, so my initial plan was to sit in, stay at the front of the race, not work too hard, and hopefully have a strong finish to pick up a few spots on GC. The race started with a couple miles or false flats, then a long, fast decent with strong winds. The pace was high from the gun, and I knew we were in for a tough fight. I worked hard to bring back a big move that went early with all the big teams represented except us. Once the field was back together, Jordan took over on the front, setting a high pace, and keeping the group together. We hit the rollers at the bottom of the decent and the group was still largely intact.

Then things started to go bad. My rear hub started to make a loud grinding noise any time I got out of the saddle. Not knowing what was going on, and concerned that there was a serious problem that would bite me in the ass at a bad moment, I started to think about getting my spare wheel from the follow vehicle. But then I started thinking about Jordan the day before, who had time to put a new tube in his wheel before the van showed up. So I did the next best thing and asked Josh to give me his rear wheel (actually, it was Jason's, thanks Jason!). He kindly obliged, making the ultimate sacrifice for BVF's GC hopes. We did a pretty quick swap, and I took off on a furious chase over the next set of rollers. The moto official dropped back at one point and told me I was about a minute down. Eventually, I closed to within 15-20 seconds, and was only a hundred or so meters behind the field, but that was right about the same time we hit the day's major climb. 7-miles of 10% average grade. The field was going nuts at this point, and I was riding through groups of dropped riders, but couldn't make contact with the front group.

Eventually I fell in with a guy from CRCA South Africa and two juniors from the Max Power team. Turns out, the team should be called "little-to-no-power." Anyhow, we chased for a long time, over the remainder of the rollers, and down into the Windham Valley, which was a shallow uphill with a tailwind. We were working pretty well, but everyone was pretty well cooked. At that point I was only riding to minimize my time losses. We finally finished about 3 minutes down, which isn't too bad after a 30+ mile chase. I wound up 10th on the stage, 9th on GC, and worked for every second.

Jordan and Josh finished a bit behind, after riding together for a while. Jordan actually suffered a second flat, making it a roundly crappy weekend for BVF, mechanical-wise.

On the whole, the races were very hard, harder overall than the road stages at GMSR, I think, and the field made it challenging and fun. I'll race again next year, hopefully with a better result!

Also, thanks again to Josh/Jason for the wheel, I'm sorry I couldn't make the switch worthwhile by getting back into the race. Thanks also to Josh and Jordan for helping me out when you could.

And a big thanks to Josh Pulver and his wife and parents, who put me and my friend Cody Miller up for the weekend. If anyone ever has a chance to visit chez Pulver, on the banks of the Hudson, I highly recommend checking it out!

*P.S. The photo at the top of the post is courtesy of my friend Jesse. There are plenty more photos over at his blog, The Bell Lap. He also raced the 3/4, and helped Jordan and I get away in my first break attempt on stage one. Nice riding Jesse!

Finally, the weekend!

This has been one of the toughest weeks I can remember. The Green Mountain Stage Race was awesome, but exhausting. Despite how tough it was, my legs actually feel surprisingly good. Work was tough too. With several big primary contests coming up on Tuesday, I've been working double time to get everything ready for this weekend's election coverage. All in all, I would say that I'm ready for the weekend, and I'm ready for the new challenge of the Catskill race. In other news, I've been blogging continuously since last Sunday. That's the longest stretch in quite a while. It's time for a break!

Tops from the week:
1) Jamie and Rachel. Thanks for the great BBQ!
2) 12th up the App Gap. I guess all those Lake D repeats were worth something.
3) Heading down to the Catskills for the east coast's newest stage race!
4) Mr. And Mrs. Pulver. Thank you so much for the hospitality.
5) Track season is over, and the track crowd is finally gone!

Bottoms from the week:
1) My crit skills, or lack thereof. Blah.
2) My empty apartment.
3) My high rent.
4) I need a haircut. Bad.
5) I'm running the air conditioner. I feel bad about it, but it's true.

Cyclocross coming

Apparently, Cyclocross season is approaching. I don't race 'cross, (except that one time) because I don't have a 'cross bike, and buying a second new bike in 2008 would be ill-advised at best, given my current income, or lack thereof. Also, I don't feel good about a form of bicycle racing that requires me to get off the bike and -- of all things -- run. I hate running. Besides, I have more important things to focus my training on, like charity centuries, but more on that soon.

But some people really like 'cross. Some people, I've heard, only race on the road to get ready for 'cross. So, in the interests of serving my 'cross-racing readers, I've been asked to post the following information about a 'cross clinic, to be held this Sunday in Troy. I won't be there, because I'll be racing ON my bike (as opposed to racing along side of my bike) in the Catskill Mountains, but the clinic should be a good time for anyone who would like to learn how to 'cross correctly.

Information follows:

Cyclocross Clinic

Sunday, September 14, 2008
Prospect Park in Troy, NY

NYCross and CBRC present a beginner cyclocross clinic in Troy's Prospect Park. The clinic will take place one week before the first race in the 2008 NYcross.com Cyclocross Series that kicks off in Clinton, NY on September 21. New cyclocross racers interested in entering their first event, or intermediate racers who want to bring their skills up to speed should not miss this event.

The clinic will cover a wide range of skills and topics needed for cross racing:
Proper technique for:
- rapidly dismounting your bike at barriers
- remounting your bike
- shouldering your bike at run ups
- high speed cornering on grass, mud and other surfaces
- sand pits
- short steep hills
- long, lung busting run ups
Training methods for cross including:
- skill building drills
- weekly workout regimens for building speed on a cross course
- mental preparation and race tactics
- warming up for a cross race
- proper nutrition and hydration while racing cross
Bike set up:
- Tire choices, gears, set-up
- fit suggestions

The clinic will run from 10:00 AM until 1:00 PM and be divided into a short initial question and answer period, drills developing individual cross skills, a short mock race where students will have the opportunity to link the individual skills they've learned together on a short cross course, and a final Q&A period.
Space is limited to thirty! Please visit www.Bikereg.com to reserve your spot.

Now back to Andrew:

So that should be fun. There's a lot more information available on www.NYCROSS.com. I'll try to post information about other upcoming races in this area as they come up. And if anyone wants to lend me a bike, maybe I can be convinced that 'cross isn't so bad... In the mean time look for me on the road.

A few more GMSR thoughts

I haven't yet seen any photos of my smiling mug from the Green Mountain Stage Race, and since I was pretty busy racing, I didn't take too many photos. However, if I find any I'll be sure to post them. I did find the photo above, taken during one of the cat 4 crits on Sunday. It was posted on nyvelocity.com, and I think it pretty perfectly describes the speed and intensity of crit racing. Give me a mountain to climb any day and I'll be a happy camper.

Anyhow, I just had a few further thoughts about the GMSR that I thought I'd dash off tonight, before I start focusing my energy on preparing for this weekend's Tour of the Catskills, which I've decided to race, because, apparently, I'm a glutton for punishment and didn't get enough at GMSR.

Thoughts:

-I stayed with Jesse Chebot, a friend of mine who goes to UVM, during the race. He's the man, and it was great to hang out and race with him this weekend.

-Chris Hamlin, of Bliss Racing and the University of Vermont, is strong as shit. he motored by me in the time trial, and he motored by me on the climb up the Appalachian Gap. He's a force of nature, who cannot be contained. That being said, he got shat on during stage two, when he got a flat and lost four minutes when the field didn't stop to wait for him, despite the fact that he was wearing the yellow jersey.

-In addition, Chris's father is the man. In addition to turning out to watch the road stages and crit, Mr. Hamlin worked hard to help set up and take down the crit course, and I even saw him helpping an injured racer. Pure class.

-I know that officials work hard for little thanks, but it was annoying that they had such difficulty accurately compiling the results. On stage two, I was mistakenly not given KOM points that I won after a hard-fought effort on the road. After stage three, my freind Jesse was given a DNF, despite that he most definately finished the stage. The reason? An official issued him new numbers, but apparently failed to mention this to the finish line judge. After the stage four crit, I was given a DNF, despite that I did not quit the stage. This resulted in me not being placed on the final GC.

Each of these errors were corrected once brought to the official's attention, and for that I credit the officials, and I don't mean to be a winner, but when I shell out $180 for a race, I don't ask for much more than the opportunity to race without interferance from cars, and accurate results. The GMSR folks got half that right.

-There's nothing like a 27-tooth cassette for what ails you.

-I prefer my flats any time BUT 10 minutes before the start of a race.

-Congrats to the CRCA Affinity crew. For a bunch of guys whose climbing training consists of the Harlem Hill and River Road, they sure can climb! For that matter, they're pretty damn fast on the flats too!

-Stage racing is fun, and addictive. The GC, jerseys, and multiple stages give you lots and lots to shoot for. If anyone is on the fence about trying their first stage race, I certainly recommend trying one. And there's one this weekend... See you there!

GMSR Day 4: Back where I started

Really quick post tonight, because I'm really tired and I have to go to work tomorrow.

Today was the Burlington crit, the fourth and final stage of the Green Mountain Stage Race. The crit is a six-turn affair through downtown Burlington, including a pass through the city's pedestrian arcade, mere inches from where patrons dine on sidewalk cafes. It's a very exciting race to watch. It's a very frieghtening race to race.

I started the day 23rd on GC, and the crit offered both sprint points, and GC time bonuses. I'm absolutely terrible at crits, but I was optimistic that I might be able to stay in the race, and perhaps even move up a few spots on GC.

Any hope of that happening was torpedoed pretty quickly, when I got dropped less than ten laps into the 34-mile race, and was pulled shortly thereafter. I ended up 72 on the stage, uncomfortably close to DFL. I slid down a bunch of spots on GC, to finish 45th. Incidentally, this is one spot up from my initial GC position after the time trial on Friday. Uhg. It's pretty clear that I need to work on my crit skills before making an stage race attempts next year. I can do pretty well in the mountains, but give me a couple corners and it's all over.

On the whole, I'm satisfied with the race. I would have liked to have ended much higher on GC, and have finished the crit, but after Sunday's ride on the App Gap, I don't have any regrets. I went deep into the pain box that day, and managed to come out of it pretty well. And with my attempts at KOM points, I feel that I made a mark on the race. Really, what more can you ask for?

GMSR also has the added bonus of attracting some of the best competitors in the north east (and the whole country). It was great to meet some new people, and race with a deeper, more talented pool than those at most of the races I've done this season. Everyone brought their "A-game," which made the race fun and exciting. I wanted to give a shout-out to Andrew Lytwynec, of Full Moon Vista cycling, out of Rochester. This afternoon, after jokingly blaming me for his collapse on the App Gap, told me that he reads this blog from time to time. On top of that ultimate flattery, he also got my Kurt Vonnegut reference, and you can't put a price on that.