One More Time: USGP Bend. Videos. Pics. Hijinks. End of story.

That was it, I was done, now I could just drink beer and cheer on Mark and Pepper while taking in the pro races. Radness ensued. I shot a bunch of video with my little camera and, in most of them, you can hear me, drunk and hoarse, usually yelling the name of a Canadian. Ah well, I was on vacation so there’s no shame. Here’s a collection of photos, videos, and other bits and pieces from the experience. I can’t help but feel compelled to do something with all the media and memories that you end of collecting on the way. 21st century journal, I suppose. But that’s it, all out and I can stop blogging about this thing. Can’t wait to go back for more.

A funny thing happened on the way to a bike race.

Mark had requested some pump up tunes for his last USGP (and race) of the season. I thought quickly and came up with some Daft Punk. Good beat. Energizing. Dope. And poetically appropriate for a guy that started racing his bike in March, competing every weekend while holding down a 9-5 as a bike messenger. Mark ought to get a chamois surgically grafted onto his ass. I queued up the track and hit play just as we hit a round-a-bout on the drive down. Mark was feeling inspired and we ‘One more timed!’ the round-a-bout approximately six more times. Yes, we drove around and around and around, laughing hysterically while all the traffic nervously held back from entering. I’ll be 39 in April but I’m going to tell you – you don’t stop playing ’cause you get old, you get old ’cause you stop playing. It was a riot and just the kind of stuff that makes driving your bikes 1500kms south to do some obscure, European sport, the brilliance that it is.

Some cool locals gave me this sticker and some beer. From the keg in their truck.

That’s ‘cross in Bend. We talked Canada-US relations, discussed the state of beers, talked about our races, and hoped to cross paths again in the future.

Jeremy Powers is really fast but also really nice. And I look like a muppet. Why does only half my face ever smile?

I can’t understand why anyone says anything bad about this guy. I guess people hate success, but he’s practically impossible to dislike. Sure, maybe you don’t dig Behind the Barriers, for whatever your reason, I happen to really like it, but as a racer and a human being ‘J-Pow’ is straight up and top notch. He was going into the outhouse just before the start of his race and I thought I’d take a photo of him coming out – that might be sort of funny, like, ‘hey look he’s human.’ So I’m standing there with my camera and he pops out. I’m about to take the pic when he goes, “Hey, want our picture together?” I wasn’t about to explain that I was taking a pic of him at the outhouse, and why not have a pic? So he got someone to take it. It didn’t work the first time so we had to redo it all while he’s racing in about 3 minutes. He was totally calm, cool, collected and considerate. I’m a fan.

Leaders charge the dusty singletrack on the first lap. I grunt something at Mark.

Its funny ’cause there are always jokes on The Twitter Feeds about Chris Jones crashing. And then, right there, he goes down!

This is the punchy little hill that you had to line up right to clean. Otherwise you were a’runningggg like Forest Gump. Best part is the guy going “Come on Sean Babcock, you’re killing it, dude!” So CX.

Some Random Pics

Kabush: The Suffer Face

BikeHugger was doing a great series on suffer faces in cyclocross this season and people would send in pics from all over the place of the sometimes abject misery that the sport can inflict upon the racer. I shot this little video in Bend of the leaders charging the stairs on the run in to the finish line and, man, you can see Geoff Kabush does not hold anything back. What’s great is that after this race he went out to just pound it off the front on the second day, he was flying, and was able to secure a third place overall for the entire USGP series. And ‘cross is just the guy’s hobby. World class.

And here’s the video, with me screaming as usual. Watch it frame by frame when Kabushy comes in.

Better Late than Never Ever: USGP Bend, Day 2

Whip it! Into shape! Shape it up! Get straight! Go forward! Move ahead! Cut to the chase! Its not too late! To whip it good! (New whip)

I went from being pretty nervous about racing on day 1 to really looking forward to it and vowing to ride as aggressively as I could. After having my best placing ever in a field that I would consider strong for its category – like, some guys had Zipp tubulars and they were all skinny bike racer dudes – I really wanted to go straight to the front and stay at the front. Maybe I could actually get on the podium and have an awesome souvenir if I was able to race as strong as the day before but able to avoid any mistakes or crashes. So, yeah, I was pumped.

I had decent sleep and got up to repeat the whole get ready and ride down to the start routine. My legs weren’t too sore and I was optimistic. Since I’d already had a great race the day before, and a great race a week prior in Washington, I felt free to just go out and give’r without any worry about the result. I wanted to do better, but if I didn’t, I had already had some good experiences.

It was a couple of degrees colder on the Sunday and there was some frost on the ground. I think it was about -4 Celsius when I left the condo. I did a bit of riding around to stay warm and started to notice that, yeah, I wasn’t as fresh as the day before. I still felt good, but I wasn’t all that eager to take any big digs during my warm-up.

I lined up very close to where I was on Saturday and we all waited for the gun. There was a slightly different crowd for day 2. Many guys from the previous day had stuck around but there were also some more skinny dudes with Zipps and high end looking gear. And, by the way, all that means to me is that this is someone that is serious about improving, has made the investment, and very likely has put the time into their body too. Some people wank about 4′s and 5′s having nice gear but f that, if this is my thing I’m going to get involved, y’know? Every 3 was a 4, right? I liked that there were people here ready to compete – I was and this was my crew. Hell, I’d bought some sweet shit for this showdown, so yeah, bikes are awesome – spend your money.

At the gun I absolutely buried it. I went harder than the day before, for longer, and when I got to the first corner after this slight hill, I looked up and there were twice as many guys in front of me as the day before. Huh. Looked like it was going to be a harder day. I was prepared to tough it out though so I settled into the line and tried to relax and control my breathing. It started to spread out pretty quick with 2 guys up the road and 4 guys just behind them. I was latched onto the last guy in that train holding on for dear life, but the space started to grow: centimeters became meters and then minutes. I let them go and figured I’d hold onto 7th or 8th or so.

Hockey fight at the CX race? Well, ok, then.

One thing pissed me off. As much as I appreciate guys that are similarly invested and ready to go hard at these things, I don’t like any jitbag bullshit. I’ll bump shoulders with a guy if we’re fighting for a line and have an equal chance of getting it. If I’m behind, he’s got it, and I’m only going to play games by moving up on him, then I don’t. I’ll wait till there’s a spot I can come even to duke it out or attack to get around outright. I’m saying this ’cause this yahoo starts to come up on my inside going into a right hand corner. I look up and basically its going to work out that if I don’t move off my line and let him take it he’s going to ride into the stake. As much as I don’t want a complete stranger to impale himself on a metal pole, I’m not going to just give him my line out of courtesy. Especially when he’s barely got his front wheel even with my rear. So I point that out as he gets more parallel: “Hey dude, you’re going to get boxed out trying that ’cause I’m not going to just move off my line for you.” I was polite and was just trying to point it out ’cause maybe he didn’t understand what was happening. So he drops back, all good. Until the next corner. This clown pulls even and starts to totally, needlessly lean into me, pushing his arm into mine and trying, intentionally steering, to ride me into the tape. I guess he thought I was being a dick earlier or something but I didn’t appreciate his little reindeer games. I probably weighed 40 pounds more than him, have had a brown belt in jujitsu at one time, and, if I wanted to, could’ve shoved him back to Nevada or California or wherever he had rode up from. But I didn’t. I briefly considered punching him, but I didn’t do that either. (Although I did ride around looking for him, to just have a word, after the race before realizing I was being a juvenile jerk by holding onto any hostility). I let it go but not without pointing out to him that, “if he tried that shit in Alberta, he’d get looked after.” We’re Canadian, we race straight up, man. Our national rep is for being polite but that’s not entirely accurate. Its more like we’re patient and accommodating and resilient. Until you cross the line and then the gloves are off, buddy. Anyway, there’s some jingoistic and uncharacteristically non-Canadian fervor there for you. But enough about that. Sounds more intense here than it really was.

The Great Wall of Thermal.

They had reworked the course on the way into the super punchy little hill so that if you didn’t get the line right you’d need to run it. I tried to ride it every lap. I made it once, unclipped in traffic halfway up another time, made it to the top with a dab the third, and cleaned it the fourth. Some people cheering called me tank, which I though was funny as I was decked in green Synergy gear and, well, a bigger dude.

The announcers made some jokes too, when I pulled even with another large fella in lycra across the start-finish line:

“And here’s Kevin Rosmanitz from Calgary, Canada, and Synergy Racing. He’s wearing his regulation Canadian thermal wear out here folks.”

“That’s right, those Canadians know their thermal gear.”

“It’s the Great Wall of Thermal.”

Those guys are great. In fact, previous rant aside, the fans and people overall were rad and super approachable, smiley, friendly, and always ready with help or advice. I’ve noticed that about people in Oregon in general. I don’t know much about a lot of the other States, but Oregon is great like that, and Bend is the best of the best. Or maybe its cyclocross, I don’t know.

So I spent a quarter lap laughing. And then I spent the last quarter lap suffering abjectly to stay ahead of a train of four that was coming on way faster than I could stay away. I came out of the singletrack area, bombed down a hill next to the beer gardens, and came into the barriers the last time trying to ride fast enough to not get caught but conservatively enough to not blow up. But I stacked it into the first barrier and there went any opportunity to just hold them off. These guys were right behind and I briefly considered sitting up and letting them past and not having to deal with the feeling of every nerve ending being bathed in lactic acid anymore. But I got up, pulled my shit together, got myself over the two obstacles and up the hill, remounted, and had to charge up the only real climb of the course to navigate a really tight, loose, off camber corner. I knew that they couldn’t pass going into that section so I completely stopped pedaling and crawled towards it to get a very brief rest, trying to lower my heart rate which was going ballistic. I got through the corner without bailing but then had to bury it from there to the finish. Up the flyover, down the other side with my head hanging, around the corner and into the stairs as hard as I could manage. You could pass before the stairs, on the stairs, or right at the top. But after that there was no other chance until the pavement. I could hear them on the stairs behind and all these people were screaming like mad. I got back on and nursed my bike through this windy off camber stuff, hit the pavement and s p r i n t e d. I crossed the line unable to feel to my fingers and looked back….they were way back there. Its amazing that you can go so hard and, in the grand scheme of cyclists, still be really, really slow. But its a personal experience and therein is its value and attraction.

I think I was happier with holding tenth on Sunday than I was with getting seventh on Saturday. My whole body felt like jello but it was a nice way to end it.

And here’s my Garmin bits.

Better Late than Never: USGP Bend, Day 1

‘Sup? You wanna race bikes? This stuff’ll blow yer mind, man.

Ok, so earlier I had mentioned doing all sorts of running around in the week before these two races and how I wondered how it would all shake out in the end considering I was feeling a bit haggard and starting to really closing resemble Nick Nolte’s strung out mug shot.

Well, Saturday morning came and I got up nice and early, around 6:00, to put on the lucky woolie Bow Grand Nationals socks that Cyclemeister Craig Debellefueille hooked me up with. I wore them at Alberta Provincials in the slow guy Sport category and felt like I had a good race that day, 12th or something, despite a back of the pack start. I replicated this in Washington and things went well there, too. So I’ve basically vowed not to wear any other socks. Ever. I’m wearing them now, as-a-matter-of-fact.

Early Start for the 4s. Lucky Socks ON.

I had decided not to eat too much so I didn’t need two hours of lead time to digest it. I just had a Pro Bar and then a gel on the start line when they called 4 minutes to go. That seemed to work well. I had the typical 3rd lap slowdown but it wasn’t as dramatic. My theory is that there’s enough glucose in the blood, if you’re eaten right, to sustain for around two laps at intensity, maybe a third if you’re smooth and ride some wheels. For me, anyway. Around the third though I think your body transitions from glucose as an energy source to using what’s on board – yer fat. But that doesn’t happen right away. Problem with that is you’re racing your bike and you kind of wish it did. I’ve found that you just gotta ride it out and then, like your MAC turning on, , the juice is back in the legs and you’re back online.

The course was going to be a bit frosty as the temperature was right around zero Celsius. I got kitted up and then threw on a ton of clothes over top for the ride down to the start. I got there, set up my little camp right next to the Cannondale team truck – they nodded hello – and peeled off a couple of layers to get a lap in on the course. It was a bit slick so I let a tiny bit of air out of the tires and did another lap. That felt right. It was pitch black when I left our condo at 6:50 but by the time we were called to the line at 7:50 it was bright enough to see.

I had a good start position. I had no idea that the call up was based on the ordered you registered in. Huh. In an event where your first lap can often dictate where you finish this was good to know for future. I was in the second row on the inside. There was about a 400 meter stretch of pavement before the first corner onto grass, which also had a slight kick to it before turning back again and rolling down into some rutted out dirt and narrowing significantly. You’d need to be well positioned before that narrowing onto the more technical singletrack stuff. It felt like the place to move up was right after the pavement – so this meant that there was a sprint for position and then you had to keep it on almost full gas so you didn’t lose what you’d gained by flailing all over the place on your bike in the first 400.

I got in my pedals smoothly and hammered for all I was worth going into that first corner, when I got there, made the turn, jammed up the hill and finally had a look around there were only 4 guys in front of me. I was in 5th spot out of about 50 and I decided I would go as hard as I could to stay there until I was cooked. Ride aggressively and not just to limit losses.

I had my Garmin on but in my back pocket and after the race, when I looked at the numbers, my heart rate was an average of 177 for the 45 minutes. Not bad for an old guy. At least I knew that I couldn’t have pushed it any more. To go higher than that, aside from a couple of spots here and there, would’ve completely cratered me. In a 45 minute race you don’t recover once you blow up.

I got passed, then passed a guy that crashed, then got passed, then crashed and got passed, and in the end I figured I was about eighth. Turns out I was seventh, which was as good as I ever could have hoped for. My goal was to just be somewhere in the middle or, ideally, in the top half of racers – to be top ten was rad. I felt like my bike handled well and was glad that I’d done a lot of mountain biking going into ‘cross. There were some spots on the morning pre-ride where some people were hesitating, unclipping to have a look, and then riding it, but everything I came across I just bombed without thinking. Of course its easy when you’re fresh. YOU’RE FRESH!

They had the same announcers out that do the pro race even for us lowly beginners and that was pretty cool. They made some jokes about me being from Canada and how the weather was no big deal to me. I was the only Canadian in my race, but Andre Sutton from HardCore Bikes in Edmonton raced the Masters Elite and killed it with an amazing 4th place ride. I like watching that dude race. I don’t know him at all and he seems like a pretty laconic fellow. But he rides his bike like a beast. He’s fierce on that thing, gritting his teeth and mashing and whipping his head around like a Viking on the pillage. Aside from that, Mark’s pro race had 3 other Canadians in it, I think, two of them national champions: Kabush and Shepard, a Bend resident now.

Tracked With the Good ‘Ol Garmin Edge. Click through for stats!

PRO.

Pepper and Mark raced in the afternoon so I rode back up to the condo to shower and eat something. On my way, Tim Johnson, the C’Dale pro and a US national champ was riding alongside me and yelled out, “Nice bike!” I was riding a Cannondale SuperX, same whip he was on. That dude’s a nice guy.

Pepper was right in the thick of it in her race, amongst women that are paid to ride a bike. She came in 9th, ahead of a few of those women that are 24/7 CX professionals. Cannondale Cyclocross World’s Nicole Duke (hawt!) had a mechanical right at the pavement and ran her bike across the line to preserve a top ten finish – that was cool and cooler still was that she was 2nd on day two. Katerina Nash of the Czech Republic won both days.

This was the most fun part of the trip for me, but especially so on Sunday, after my second race. The pressure was over and I got to just wander around the beer tent watching the fast people go. Since the beer tent was right in the middle of the course you could see about 70% of by running from one area to another. The barriers, the stairs, the flyover, the tricky lead in to the start finish area, and the start of the muddy-dusty section into the trees.

So I drank a beer and screamed like an idiot. McConnell rode to 29th, which was his best placing at a USGP. He was a bit bummed before he found out because he didn’t feel he raced well, but it turned out good for him.

PROtein.

These nachos cost $9 and had BBQ pork and all kinds of other amazing stuff on them. Nachos like this in Calgary would be passed off as some kind of gourmet experience and they would charge $18 for half the amount. Calgary is weird like that. People think its good just if it costs more, so everything costs more. Duh.

Kabush Tells Mark Where to Go. For Coffee.

On the USGP pre-ride day, Friday before the weekend’s races, Canadian mountain bike and ‘cross ace Geoff Kabush was wandering around with a coffee in hand and Mark approached him to ask where he got it. It’s a funny photo. McConnell with this look of concentration on his face and the multi discipline national champion, World Cup winner, and Olympian gesturing to over yonder to where the Thump crew was set up.

“Take yer mustache and git outta here, kid. There’s only room for one Canadian with expressive facial hair in this town.”

USGP Bend, Arrival

Planes, Trains Bikes, and Automobiles. And Ponderosa Pine.

A month ago I did some bike races in the U S of A and had a good time doing that. Here’s my update. Hey, better late than never. After having what I felt was a great race in Washington I had one day to hang out in Portland with the guys before I had to fly off to LA for a two day work thing. The work thing was something I didn’t want to say no to as it was a project I had helped get up and off the ground and it was finally coming true – we were going to race two cars at an old Air Force base in San Bernadino County. And I can’t really say more about it until the ad comes out! But it was cool to do and fun to see it all come together.

I flew out of Portland for LA and arrived at around 7:00pm, rented a car, and drove the 2 hours to San Bernadino, had a quick meeting with our team, and went to bed without being able to eat as everything was shut down. We were then up at 5:00am to get on set for sunrise and a 12 hour day. I did the same thing the next day and then immediately drove back to LAX and flew to Redmond where Mark picked me up at the airport, just outside of Bend. I had arrived – pretty tired, but pretty elated. I had two nights to get as much good sleep as I could before the 8:00am CAT4 start on both Saturday and Sunday, which would require getting up at, again, 5:30 so I could eat something, ride down to the course, dress for the conditions, and warm up.

I was a bit nervous. In the preceding five days I had spent 15 hours in a car on the drive south, 4 hours in airports, 5 hours in the air, and 5 hours driving a rental to and from an airport. With two 5:00am wake up calls to 12 hour work days thrown in the mix. Not really the type of week you want leading into your goal events of the year, but the dice were thrown and that was that, no choice but to suck it up, get positive, and try to have as much fun as I could.

 

There’s Pros Everywhere.

And it was fun. On my flight from LA I was psyched to see Tim Johnson the multiple US national champion; Chris Jones, a Rapha-Focus pro, and a few other skinny people wearing Cannondale Cyclocross World hoodies and stuff. I sat next to a guy named Chris that commutes from Bend to San Fran to do SEO work for AKQA, while his wife works for Ogilvy in Bend. Nice guy and we chatted work stuff for the whole flight. When I got to the airport arrivals terminal in Bend Geoff Kabush was renting a car. He’s a multiple Canadian CX and mountain bike champion, an Olympian, and a World Cup mountain bike winner. So, no big deal. These are the guys that Mark would be racing against – doesn’t get more elite in NA than that.

Speaking of pros, we were shacking up with the Harltons for our time in Bend. Pepper and her mom, Judy, were racing, and Pep’s dad, Kelly, was shooting video, while running around and keeping his girls uber well supported, getting some riding in during the down time. Pepper was racing the same elite category as Mark and had already regularly cracked the top ten this year, racing against women who, for the most part, have a pro team behind them with mechanics and people to help organize and orchestrate for success. I thought a bit about this after the first day, when Pepper was outside cleaning her bike off at 9:00pm after a 9th place finish. I’m sure she’s not the only one that is full on DIY like this but I bet a number of her competitors had some help with stuff like that. She is strong and committed -  pretty rad.

Morning came fast but I had the luxury of not needing to be anywhere bright and early this day so I forced myself to stay in bed and try to get more sleep after waking up at the normal time. I zonked till about 10:00 and woke up feeling significantly refreshed after the previous week’s early wake ups and 4-5 hours a night of sleep. We kitted up and rolled down the hill towards the Old Mill District, where the Deschutes Brewery is. Man, I LOVE Bend! The air carried the smell of Ponderosa pine and sage with some juniper thrown in. If you closed your eyes and waited you could get a wiff of one, then another, then all at once, drifting around on the high desert wind.

The course looked to be awesome. I love the races I’ve been able to do in Alberta, and I think our courses are brilliant and make the absolute best of the geography that we’re permitted to use, but seeing what was going on in Bend, one of the Meccas of CX in North America, I was really impressed…and inspired to see if I can help grow the scene in AB once I got back there.

The weather was bone dry so the course was more dusty than anything, with one windy singletrack section bombing through the forest. Rocks were hidden underneath the fine, loose dirt and I made a mental note to make sure I remembered where the big ones were. Hitting one at speed, unexpectedly, would end things pretty quickly.

As we reconnoitered the course, with Mark and Pep both in full on focus mode, there were all sorts of fully kitted up pro team athletes zipping around, just flying through the course incredibly smoothly. I could hear Tim Johnson tell his support team that he wanted to go out for one more ‘hot one’. Er…ok. His warm up pace was twice the speed I’d be racing at, but hey, I was a participator here for a good time.

Pics From the Carnival, When I Remembered to Take Some.

Portland Days. Portland Nights.

That title makes this sound dramatic, but its not. Here’s a recap of all the stuff we were able to squeeze into our time in Portland – well, my time in Portland. Two days after arriving I flew to LA for a 2-day work trip, so I missed a couple of days there.

The Bike Bar

Our Alberta crew headed out to eat something and we ended up at HUB – the Hopworks Urban Brewery, aka The Bike Bar. Everything in the place was catered to and organized around bicycles. And not that penny-farthing olde school fixie tweed aesthetic that is more fashion than cycling (which is still really cool, btw), but the stuff here was straight up legit turn yourself inside out bike racing culture. The beer taps had Euro or US head badges on them, the lights hung from chopped down bike frames, the food had a cycling theme to the naming scheme. All in all – beer and bikes – rad. It was a great pub with good food and normal, aka not bikey, people just enjoying themselves.

There are two stationary trainers outside that are electrically wired into the building. There’s a sign that says “For every minute at 75 watts HUB can pour four pints.” So we all took a turn winding that thing up. I wanted to go down in full club kit and do it for an hour – thought that would be funny.

Coffee Drinking in the Fog

Portland is an empire of bikes, beer, and…coffee. Caffeine and sugar are the drugs that best combat the lethargy and melancholy of chronically overcast rainy weather. Well, those two staples and crack or crystal meth, too. The Pacific NW has these things in spades and PDX is no exception. Despite the availability of what I’m sure was some truly great crack we opted to caffeine ourselves into optimism and vitality. It totally worked. The first espresso I had, at River City Bikes, right out of the car, had my mouth bone dry in ten minutes. I was literally shaky and vibeing all over the place. I bet I was super annoying. Although not as super annoying as when I eat a bunch of cake. We hit Powell’s Books – a LEGENDARY book store. The sci-fi section in there is a nerd’s paradise and its located right next to the cafe. You can coral up some finds and hit a bench with a latte to inspect your finds. Awesome.

I felt it polite to not drink my coffee alone, so I always purchased something sweet and usually vegan, locally sourced, and delicious to go with it. I tell ya, I could sit on a stool in Portland, Oregon with a book and a latte for many, many hours, just watching the street roll by. A very nice balance to riding and racing your bike. You go all out and then you go all in. Like, all inside the warmth of a cozy little cafe.

Rapha NW

When England’s much polarizing purveyors of fine threads for the road experience were setting up a base of operations in the USA they chose Portland, of course. Actually, they put a shop in San Fran and, I think, for a little while NYC, and then set up their office in Portland. This makes total sense. I’d chose Portland over SF as well, if you can believe it. We went in there to process a return and met the guys running the show there – really nice dudes and a cool little loft space right about a flower shop. You had to enter through a little garden. I snapped a couple of blurry photos and then we had to jet to get me to the airport so I could leave the fog and green of PDX for the sun and dust of LAX.

Random Gallery of things Riden’, Eaten, Drunk or Witnessed

GPMC Winter ‘Cross – Washougal, WA

Smokey gets his Bandit.

After spending the two previous days in a car we were up in the air about racing on Sunday, but in the end we decided it was the best way to get with the program immediately. I wanted to be able to pre-ride and to register and pin my numbers on without that typical last minute panic that goes down. Its a given – no matter how organized and prepared you are, no matter how much leeway you allow, you will end up late, pinning your numbers on as they call you to the line, stabbing your thumb with the safety pins, and trying to wipe off the gel that you just smashed into your face. So of course that’s how it went down. We were making great time until we got pulled over by a Washington State Trooper for going over the limit in a construction zone. It was 8:30 in the morning on a Sunday and dead quiet, but we weren’t going to argue. He was pretty cool though and made the ticket out for only 5mph over. Fair enough. Of course, cause the guy was Russian we spent the next week saying stuff like, “How fast you know car is going, ok? Keep mind.” I know: assholes, am-I-right?!

Hear that? Sounds like horses. Big ones.

The GPMC is the Grand Prix Molly Cameron, its run by a well known local pro named Reggie Feggetti. Just kidding. Molly Cameron was fresh back from Japan and I spotted her in attendance, checking out the racin’. There are 9 races in the series and this would be the 9th one. What’s cool about Oregon is that they often have a – very well attended – Clydesdale category for dudes that are +200lbs. I was clocking 198 with just my skivvies on before we left, so that’s what I registered in. There were about 18 Clydes and then around that many guys from another category that all started at the same time. I got in on the second row behind a couple of guys that got called up there. Right off the gun four guys were well and clear of the group and I found myself in the middle, just behind them and ahead of the rest. I dug in and got up to the four leaders and decided I’d sit there and see what happened. I got around one guy and after two laps it was the two leaders and then me. The course was muddy, fast, and super fun. Not too much climbing, which suits me, but with one punchy and slippery riser that was right after a hairpin right. Most everyone in my category was running it but I was able to ride it without too much trouble for the first three laps till my legs lost some punch. McConnell was yelling my trademark heckle back at me, “YOU’RE FRESH”, and ‘ol Two Cup was going “You’d be first if your bike was smaller!”

I was really enjoying racing. I was talking to the guy in second the whole time and joking around, he quipped back a couple of times but then just started to ignore me. I was psyched! I was racing my bike in muddy, loamy Washington! There were a couple of spots where I wondered if I should pass or not, and when 2nd place started to fade I pushed and got around him on the punchy climb and then started focusing to see if I could get the leader.

It was exciting for me, having never been in a position to win anything before, and having people cheer me on as the underdog, unknown guy. Some dudes called me a “beast” when I rode the hill and some chick yelled, “you’re awesome, way to get into second.” I was like, no lady, YOU’RE awesome. The guy I was chasing, Shane Gibson, was the series leader and had a bonafide leader’s jersey on that made the whole event feel organized, legit, and super cool. It felt like I was reeling him in a bit but then as the grass softened up  I went down and lost some oomph and momentum, and like that he was gone. With a lap and a half to go I started to fade big time. I crashed two more times and pretty soon I was fighting to stay ahead of the chasers, who were right behind me. I crossed the line with other large men in spandex, who must’ve also smelled the chili, sprinting all over the place and was pretty sure I had held onto second, but turns out I was third.

Either way, I was happy with it and the course and atmosphere was a blast. They were Belgian waffles and beer and some bleachers to watch from – very, very cool and I can’t wait to get back. I met a nice guy named Matt that is also a Clyde and he introduced me to his wife as “Kevin, a Clydesdale from Canada.” He said that the two strongmen of the category in the larger Cross Crusade series would be racing in the Master A’s the next season, so that the dude I was chasing would be the guy to beat overall, for both the Crusade and GPMC – man, it would be neat to be able to do a whole series where I was actually able to contest for a win or podium spot. If I lived there I’d eat burgers and fries and hover at 199 and totally do it.

“Showing us how they do it up North.”

AKA: Remember that time McConnell won a ‘cross race?

I was excited for Mark’s race. I had finished and was happy with my result, the pressure was off, and now I got to just wander around with a cup of fine Oregon microbrewery and see how it played out in the Elite race. I knew Mark was a fast dude because I’d seen him race many times this year. He’d won a bunch and had raced a whole lot. The only guy in Alberta that seemed to be above and beyond the level Mark’s at is Schooler – and Schooler is super fast. But I had no idea how all that would play out in Oregon, the hotbed of cyclocross culture in the US. I suspect Mark wasn’t entirely sure, either. It gave the race a great element as a spectator.

Because he’d never raced here before, and had no call up, Mark went to line early to get a good spot. I wondered what some of the other guys thought, here’s Mark standing on the line, alone, and they’d never seen him before.

Off the gun he was about 9th or 10th going into the first few corners.

The next glimpse I got, he was about 4th wheel.

The next, he was ahead by a bike length.

He crossed the line in the lead on the first lap and held it for all ten laps. One guy, Ross Brody, got pretty close. He would bridge up to Mark, Mark would respond, and the gap would remain. The deciding factor was the steep little hill. Mark was riding it every lap, cleanly, as were most of his category, but now and then a guy would just miss it and need to dab over the top. When that happened to the second place guy I screamed my head off for Mark to go and he pinned it. The announcer didn’t know his name and when he heard me cheering loudly and purposefully he immediately ran over, after about 7 laps, and asked who he was.

I told him and the guy nodded his head, ran back to the announcer’s booth, and got to work. It was pretty cool:

“Well, here we have Mark McConnell from Synergy Racing, down from Calgary, Canada. He is not here to play, people. With 5:00 lap times for all ten laps he is crushing it and showing us how they do it up north.”

Rad.  Alberta makes a couple more impressions!

Here’s my Garmin stuff from the race. I turned it on and hid it in my pocket ’cause I felt a little too fancy with that little piece of tech on the bike…it only seems to work in Firefox, even as a link.

(I pilfered a couple photos from some people out there, hope they don’t mind. Here’s links to their work and some more images from the events: Brian Hansen, Leonard Johnson, Will Sullivan.)

Oregon Bound

Mark and myself took it upon ourselves to represent Synergy in some races down south and so we loaded up his fine American automobile and booked it out of Cowtown Friday after work. Our destination was Portland, Oregon and then, ultimately, Bend, for the USGP there. It would be Mark’s 5th and 6th race in the USGP series this year and the first time I’ve raced my bike outside of Canada. He was racing men’s Pro/Elite, and I had signed up for the CAT4 races and their 8:00am start. I think Mark’s best finish at the USGP, which is raced by the strongest guys in North America, was around 34 or so. When half the field has UCI points and a lot of them get a call up to a more forward start it can tough to crack the higher ranks – something that I would learn with absolute clarity: in ‘cross, you kind of tend to finish where you start.

We cruised it down to Sandpoint, Idaho in seven hours and stopped there to crash for the night. After an early start we made super good time to Kennewick, WA, where we stopped in Safeway to get some eats. Perhaps its a response to a depressed economy, but they were given’ the food away in this joint. By the time we ordered up some sandwiches from their deli-thing we were half full. As we went through the process of paying for said sandwiches I’m suddenly startled by this crazy alarm klaxon going off. Sirens and the whole lot. A dude gets on the PA and announces, to the entire store, “We’ve just had another $25 prize winner!!”

So, thank you Safeway of Kennewick for your prize.

I collected my gift card and sandwich and a few people politely clapped. McConnell captured the first win of our trip, which was used for some delicious microbrew beers.

So, thank you again Safeway of Kennewick for carrying cool beer.

We arrived in PDX the next day, with enough time to go straight to River City Bikes. Like, straight there. No checking in to our place, no bathroom break or food stop. We breathed about two lungfuls of Oregon air after being in a car for another seven hours and we were promptly back inside again. But what a store. I could spend hours in that place. They gave us espresso and, coincidentally, we watched some live footage from one of the track World Cups where fellow Albertan Monique Sullivan was racing. The girl helping us with the coffee goes, “Oh, she’s really fast, she has our track record.” Aw yeah. This would be the second time it was apparent that Alberta came to represent.

So we spent some money at RCB then found our place, a cool house right off of the Alberta Ave district. It was perfect and we where psyched, which was a good thing ’cause I was racing at 9:30 the next morning, in Washington, a 45 minute drive away. This would require being out of the door by 7:30ish.

The Blessing of the Curse

It’s been a long break in the blogging/diary/tracking efforts due to travel, work, and a series of emotional roller coaster rides, but here we are. I’m just back from a trip where I had the whirlwind pleasure of racing three times in Oregon over a seven day period with a two day trip to LA for work thrown in the milieu. I was really happy with the results of the trip, but I was mentally prepared to not be. It really could’ve gone either way and I honestly feel that I’m fortunate to have had results I can see as being definitively better than those of earlier in the season. If that wasn’t there, the momentum would be very hard to maintain.

This has me somewhat reflective.

After just missing his first major win of the season, and at 36 and perhaps on the cusp of contemplating moving from elite to master, US ‘cross godfather Adam Myerson said “Its just stupid bike racing, but, you know, it means everything.”

Myerson wears his heart on his sleeve. Well, his heart and a bunch of tattoos, but that’s beside the point. This is a guy that has been doing and growing cyclocross for around 20 years. He’s pretty passionate about it and isn’t afraid to share that. I think that’s rad. What he talks about it is very real. For him its a much bigger deal, but even for amateurs, and rank beginners, these sentiments ring true.

I often feel that riding my bike is both a blessing and a curse. The amount of time I could put into it is more than is considered socially healthy. This is a common thing with racers at all levels of the game and to be one requires either extremely tolerant people around you or a near ascetic lifestyle more commonly seen among monks and friars. When you’re leading up to a goal event and the miles stack up, there’s the pain of injuries both new and past, stretching and physio to do, you’re skipping beer for water, and irritable from eating bland oatmeal with no sugar every morning and carrot sticks for a snack, the comparison to the restrictive lifestyle of some mountain-top, cave-dwelling holy guru-dude is obvious.

If you’re feeling what CP Walsh refers to as “the keen”, then you can end up gleefully and joyfully structuring everything in your life around the act of trying to ride a bike faster than you did last weekend, but if you’re in the doldrums, and the performance you wanted isn’t there, a dark, depressive wave of futility, like heavy, rain-laden clouds off the water, will descend and cloak your mood and temperament for days and days. When this happens, and it probably will, there’s an irony in the fact that respite is often at the very gears of the machine that has condemned you. When all thoughts of ever trying to race again are buried under the shameful feeling of having given up a very lot for a very little, the simple act of going for a ride is most often the thing that will lift you. Forgetting training, forgetting racing, forgetting carbon fibre, heart rate and watts, and just pedaling your bike ends up being the thing to plug you back into the discipline and commitment that keeps the racer on the course. Now this will sound more morose and somewhat pitiful than it really is, but when a culture or a passion like this has been all things to you for a long time; friend and enemy, benefactor and detractor, it ends up becoming your core. And in the end, we all need this. Something to centre oneself around outside of work and family and real life. For some its religion, or some other sport, pastime, or hobby, but to the bike racer it’s a 23mm tread of rubber and a search for elusive perfect circles. I’ve both loved and hated myself riding bikes, proud of the smallest of successes while simultaneously embarrassed by their insignificance even within the culture and sport they’re a part of. If one’s racing means zero in the big picture of the sport, then its value in real life truly is quantum. This, of course, is the curse of the blessing. We’re connected to this thing on a level that is difficult to explain to outsiders or to people that have adopted the sport as a fashion.  One poison is as lethal as the other so its up to each individual to choose what there’s will be. Some just pick a bike.