A little less Huck for the Buck

In the world of mtb racing, there are few phrases as sacred as "beer lap." In fact, for some of us, our only true biking talent is easily described by those two wonderful words. With these thoughts of frosty beverages in our mind, Chris and I suited up for the 2007 Huck-a-Buck, a short three-lap race around the confines of Lake Crabtree County park. Singlespeed style, of course.

Chris was poised to take the GhettoBike award even before we rolled up: as he's recently flown the coop and been riding with gears (shock! dismay!), his quick conversion back to a onesie involved three chainrings up front and a derailleur in the back. While high on the street-cred meter, he was certainly below some of the custom rigs we saw, as my SS-dedicated Rig was much more the norm. The prize unawarded, we lined up for the start.

Much to our chagrin, the word around the pits was that there were to be no beer laps!!! We were beyond disappointed. I mean really, why race? With no in-race PBR on the menu, we had to change our hydration and nutrition strategies, and even toyed with riding expert just for the hell of it. Eventually we just lined up with a SS crowd that was probably 15 deep. True to tradition, the Happy Fun Racers lined up across the front (there were probably six or eight of them), and while that definitely put us non-HFRers at a disadvantage, it was no real big deal. Hey, it's their race, after all!

Out of the gate Chris and I had to do a lot of HFR-passing to get to the front. As Crabtree is pretty tight that wasn't easy, but we worked our way up into third and fourth places by midway through the first lap. From there we pretty much just rode. The trails were dry and loose, and Chris and I both dabbed, but other than that it was just a fast spin through the park. I would have certainly liked a little higher gear (I was running 32x18 on the 29er) as I felt like I was spinning more than necessary, but really the biggest regulator was having to thread our way through all of the riders from the other classes. At the end of lap two we got stacked up behind four or five slower riders with no place to pass and just kinda plodded along until we could find a way around them. This happened throughout the third lap, as other riders -- and not the terrain, or people in our own category -- became our main obstacle.

As we neared the end we caught up to the lone HFRer still ahead of us, but with little of the course left and no place to pass on the switchback climb, there was little we could do about it. First place was a little further away and probably out of our reach, but we rolled across the line with a respectable third and fourth.

Unfortunately, as I spun across the finish line I looked down to notice a rather large crack at my seattube-toptube juncture. It wasn't all the way through the joint, but it was pretty significant, and I don't think it would have made it another lap. Alas, I think that the Rig might be going to meet the big Gary Fisher in the sky. Luckily, it's under warranty, but unfortunately the logistics of warranty repair mean that there won't be any Off-Road Assault on Mount Mitchell for me. (I suppose that's OK, as I wasn't really in shape for it. We'll call it an equipment excuse.) I should have a new, upgraded frame in a couple of weeks. (Details to follow.)

I will say one thing for HFR: those kids do have good prizes, and Chris and I walked away with better loot than we might have hoped for. It didn't totally take the sting out of our sobriety, but it was something, and probably less damaging to the liver in the long run. Maybe next year...

Summer Solstice Doldrums

DP (do we really have to use these anonymous names? sheesh) asked in the comments how my stage race went three weeks ago. In the interest of revivificating the blog, here's a quick report. OK, maybe a quickish report.

So for those to whom I haven't been writing, a quick recap of my race season prior to the Summer Solstice stage race. The spring road race series turned out better than I ever could have hoped, with me winning the last two races and coming in 2nd in the overall standings. So I had reason to be optimistic. On the downside, I'd taken some time off for recovery after the spring series, and the time off had gone on a little too long, so I really only had about two weeks solid training before the races began. So be it.

Rather than give all the blow-by-blows, I'll just say that in the end, the stage race ended up being a bit of a drag, with really boring racing. The problem was that the courses were mostly flat and non-selective. There wasn't even a good wind to bust things up. Plus, the time bonuses for stage wins were miniscule, like 3 seconds. So anybody could tell that the best strategy for the GC was to sit in on all the road races, as they were likely to end in pack finishes with no significant time splits, then throw down in the TT. Heck, you could dominate the road races, win all three, and you'd only have a 9 second advantage. That's nothing compared to the TT, where first and last were separated by over 3 minutes. And if the non-selective courses weren't enough, several teams were banking on their designated TTer, assigning all their other guys to chase down any whiff of a break in the road races. Time after time, these teams would chase down a break, and then not counter-attack once it was caught. Boooring.

With no TT gear, a break was my only shot at the overall placings, so I was forced to play the long odds. I spent a fair amount of time off the front, including 8 miles solo in the second road race. Most of it was just me being pissed and losing my fight with impatience. For a while, I was seriously considering singing Josie's toilet training songs, in the hopes of annoying the pack into action (I can do it myself, I'm a big kid now! I can do it myself, 'cause I've got POTTY POWER!). Well, I just couldn't be that mean, so off the front I went.

In the pack finishes, I did alright but would have liked a little better. Friday night, I moved up too early and had to fight to stay near the front in what ended up being a very active finishing run. By the sprint, I didn't have much left and just held on for 7th. Saturday morning, I felt like I had a reasonable sprint in me but got swamped and boxed in in the last mile. Tried hard to get out to my right and got shoved back into place, tried to the left and made it out as I heard someone's QR pinging the spokes of my rear wheel. By then, it was only 75 meters to the line and I only had time to move up to 9th.

As expected, I didn't exactly set the world on fire in the TT, coming through midpack over a minute and a half behind the winner. So I skipped the Sunday race, being so far down in the GC that it wasn't worth abusing Heather's patience any more.

So with two top 10s in 70 person fields, I shouldn't be complaining. I would have liked a break to go, though, and baring that, a top 5 in a pack finish. At least I finished in the money on both road races, covering my fees and a whole $12 extra.

One final notes: I had what will hopefully be my stupidest moment for the year in the Saturday road race. I had gotten some guys to work with me at the front and string things out as we headed into the one selective part of the course, a twisty little chicane down into a stream valley and out. I was pounding away at the front when I looked up and saw a T intersection only about 50 meters ahead of me. Now, I could have looked for the pace car, or for the cop telling us which way to go, or for the arrow markers pointing out the course, but in my reduced oxygen state, I decided to yell a question to the other riders about which way to go. Well, I thought they said left, so I went left ... then looked over my shoulder and saw the beautiful and tragic scene of a long strung out line of riders making a right turn. Crap. Fortunately I got back on, but it took me another whole lap to work my way back to the front of the pack.

One final final note: the cat 3 overall was won by a guy (Dan Campbell) who only did his first road race in February. How's that for advancing quickly?

Five days, four rides, no hating of freedom

Ladies and gents:

Just because our ever-present lameness has kept anyone from updating the blog lately does not mean that we haven't been riding. In fact, Duke Cycling was out in force over the past few days, generally rolling obscene amounts of miles while consistently not hating freedom.

Saturday found CO2Cycle, me, Jonah, el Coachadora Kevin Todd, and three (anonymous for the purposes of the web) associated operatives headed down to Saxapahaw for a long, slow ride. (If you're having trouble figuring out how to say that, think "Sexin' my Paw-Paw." Just don't actually think about sexing up your (or anyone else's) PeePaw.) For better or worse, some of the associated operatives just can't go slow (fast bastids), so it ended up being a long, relatively fast ride down to the river. Highlights along the way included goats, goats-in-cages-in-truck-beds-talking-smack, hotdog stops, and pulling the old route switcheroo on the way home, thus dividing the pack. Total miles: about 75.

Sunday is widely known as a day for dirt, so CO2Cycle, myself, associated operative B.Bergeler (ok, anonymity is overrated), and two other contacts hit New Light. Other than a general dead-leggedness -- presumably from a little too much Sexin'mypawpaw -- it was a relatively uneventful ride: one lap, a little bushwhacking, and then some extra. We'll call it an optimistic 12 miles.

DukeCyclists rest on Monday...

...In order to be ready for FakeRacing Tuesday! CO2 issued a call to arms about FakeRacing, hinting that anyone who wasn't there probably had a little hate in their soul for that thing we (and FoxNews) call FREEDOM! DukeCycling does not hate freedom. (B.Bergeler does.) The crowd was a little light (presumably from all of the freedom-hating going around -- we may need to alert Sean Hannity), and the lollygaggers at the shop decided that we should, well, lollygag. Alas, it was not to be.

Instead, from the first time up Sinai we pretty much hit it hard. Big Steve (of Cannondale 'cross-bike glory, though he's now on his road ride) decided to work the pack early, and people were getting spit off the back all the way down Cornwallis and Kerley. By the time we made it to Sinai-take-two people were looking rough (and Big Steve was gone -- whatthe?), and while Rusty made a half-hearted attempt to attack CO2 on the climb, there was no hate of freedom in CO2s soul, and Rusty fell back in line.

Things smoothed out a little the rest of the way up Sinai and across University, with the remnants (I believe there were five freedom-lovers by that point) forming a fast, but fairly cooperative paceline. We did pick up a few late adds at the top of Sinai, but after some jumpiness on their part they began to work seamlessly with the group. As always, things started to slow up just a hair on Old NC 10, as people started to check each other out and prepare for the sprint. There was a little break about a half mile from the finish, which CO2 and another guy jumped on, and they were able to get a few yards down the road. The remnants of the pack were pretty scattered at that point, and when Rusty wasn't able grab the break it looked like the finish was going to be pretty interesting, with CO2 in a good position for the win.

Then I decided to do a little freedom hating of my own: as I caught Rusty on my slog (it couldn't be called a bridge) up to the break, I told him to grab on and I'd pull him up. You may be asking yourself why I would be helping someone who is by far the strongest sprinter in the group get into a position where he could easily take a break that was wearing itself out? Because evidently in my oxygen deficient state, I hate freedom. It's hard for me to admit this, and it may not be conscious, but why else would I aid Rusty, aka Bin Laden's sprint devil?

In any event, with me spent, the break eyeing each other and equally spent, Rusty was easily able to take the last fifty yards or so for the win. Dammit. Total FakeRace miles: 30ish.

Not to be daunted in our quest for freedom, DukeCyclists planned a Revolution-and-Independence ride for Wednesday the Fourth, with plans of long, easy miles, hotdogs, PBR, and the like. Once again, associated operatives were enlisted, and they ultimately proved our undoing: while B.Bergeler joined Jonah, CO2, and me in a laid back approach to our holiday, Steve and Geoff from DCC (yeah, it's the Bicycle Chain now, but it will always be DCC to me) had other ideas. (DCC newby Ryan was also involved, though less with the leg-breaking-ness.) Instead of our casual ride down to hotdog heaven (aka Saxmapahaw, aka Sexin'mypawpaw), we tooled around Orange, Chatham, and western Durham counties for a few hours, alternately chasing county line signs, talking smack, and lusting over Geoff's new wheels.

We had a brief moment of paceline bliss, but generally it was a mid-range mash, interrupted by random sprints for arbitrary markers of supremacy. (My personal favorite is deciding a sprint line and then not telling anyone about it until I'm passing them and they have no hopes of grabbing on: good for my freedom-loving ego.) With no hotdogs, no goats, and even few cows, only Ryan's bonk served as distraction. Even then he didn't reach the always fun silly-hallucination stage, just the tired and painful stage, which isn't fun for anyone. Still, it must be said that we did a lot of not-freedom-hating on the ride, celebrating all kinds of July 4th-worthy things on our roll, including revolution, the violent overthrow of government, political dissent, and the like: in short, the stuff that made our nation great. (Most of this celebration might have been internal, it must be admitted.) Bill O'Reilly would be proud. Total miles: 70.

And then we napped. And ate. And drank. And watched fireworks. And complained about our legs. And our sunburn. (OK, maybe those last two were just me.)

All told, we got in something like 187 freedom-loving miles under our belts in just five days -- not too shabby, I don't think. And if we tack on commuter miles during that time, I'm sure that most of us would be over 200, which signifies nothing, but is a nice round number to tell your friends. A few more days like this and we might actually find ourselves in shape!

Until next time, --DukePirate