The Suitcase of Courage

The Hardest Easiest Race

I want to thank all of you that took the time to post a comment and for sharing your thoughts about Markus.  The way our racing community has expressed its support and shared in this loss has been truly amazing and a great comfort.  Time will heal, but we all in our own way will continue to bear the scar of this loss.

Ever since it was announced, I knew there was no other place I could be than at Francis J. Clark Industrial Park this past Sunday morning for a memorial service honoring Markus' memory.  After a very tough week for so many of us, we needed to be together, to encourage each other, and to hopefully - somehow - start healing from what happened.

The rainy weather kept the number of racers down and the fields were smaller than usual, but nothing diminished the outpouring of support during the memorial.  Well over a hundred racers milled about waiting to start the silent lap.  When Markus' team, Pawling Cycle, decided to go to the site for a few moments of silence, everybody else decided to follow them, not quite sure what else to do.  Once they came back, the owner of Pawling Cycle made some very moving remarks and then everybody went on the official lap.  SDC, the series promoter, shared some thoughts as well, and then the rest of the day's racing continued.

It was cold and raw, so most folks were content to hang out in Panificio Navona, eating snacks & sipping coffee.  Those that were watching the Cat4 race, though, got to witness something special.  Brandon Freyer of Pawling Cycle won the race, pointing to the sky as he crossed the line.

Seeing the next race, then the race after that, was a strange experience.  Things seemed to get back to normal a little bit - whatever that means.  Each time the official made his announcements, the whistle blew and I heard the sound of cleats clipping in, it became just a little bit easier to imagine that we could in fact do this again.  We could remember Markus and race as we know he loved to do.

My one race of the day was the Cat3/4 race and it was pretty mellow.  I expected that the wet roads would keep speeds down, and I was totally ok with that.  Being off the bike for almost two weeks, I didn't know what to expect fitness-wise, and I certainly wasn't planning on doing anything aggressive under the day's conditions.  Seems others felt the same way and our race felt more like a fast group ride than an actual race.  Things were spirited here and there, but once a break established up the road - taking all but one of the points with it - folks seemed content to just ride.

There were a few attacks and a couple of times somebody attempted to bridge to the break.  After one of the primes I heard someone yell "yeah - he got it for Markus" and realized that Brandon was one of the guys in the break, and had won that prime.

Though things were subdued, we were still racing and with about 10 laps to go, I asked BJ whether he'd like to try to bridge - I'd see how far I could get him.  I pulled him as far as I could, getting 1/3 of the way up the hill before he launched.  He was out in no man's land for a good three laps, but the break was too strong for him to catch.

As the race wound down, I went back to see whether SDC wanted to do anything for the end.  We thought all the points were up the road, so decided we'd just ride.  I wanted to get one more hard effort in, though, so with about 5 laps to go, I took off.  Friend Esteban came up to me a lap later and we started trading pulls - him doing much of the work and me fading fast.  I'm not usually one to be in a break, or a chase group, much preferring to stay in the shelter of the pack til the end.  But we held together until the start of the bell lap, when I came off going around corner one.

We'd gotten a pretty good gap on the field by that point, but I heard later that the break had almost lapped us.  Unfortunately, the gap wasn't enough for me to hold off the pack, and I got swamped going up the hill toward the finish.  The only good thing for my race was seeing teammate SDC - or rather hearing him - whoosh, whoosh, whooshing up the right side, winning the field sprint for 7th.  Just outside the points.  Esteban had come in 6th & I wished even more that I'd been able to hang on for just one more lap.

Despite how hard I'd made the final laps on myself, all the numbers on my Garmin said it was an easy race.  But it was one of the toughest I've ever been in emotionally.  I can only imagine that it was even tougher for others.  Markus was never far from our minds, and I don't expect that he ever will be as long as we race here.

And that may be one of the best memorials to his memory there can be.  Everybody wants to be remembered in some way, to have some validation that they mattered and were important to somebody.  The thoughts and words shared Sunday morning certainly expressed what Markus meant to so many whose lives he touched.  But whether we knew him personally or not, I know that every time we race the Bethel Spring Series, his memory will continue to live in our hearts.

 

Markus Bohler, In Memoriam

Last Sunday was a beautiful, sunny day - one of many we've had during this warmer-than-normal March.  It promised a spectacular day for racing, but I was home sick, missing my first Bethel race in years.

That afternoon, I got the first news that something had gone very wrong on this otherwise perfect day.  In the race I'd missed, there'd been a crash and the race was neutralized.  Then cancelled.  One guy was rushed off to the hospital, somebody I didn't know.  But we racers assume the risks of the occasional crash, the occasional broken bone or bike.  So I prayed and hoped that the guys involved in the crash would heal up quickly and get back to racing soon, even if it meant having to listen to the same stories that all of us who've taken a tumble too often tell.  But I wasn't there.  I didn't see what happened.  Those that were, and did, prayed and hoped harder than I could've imagined necessary.

As more reports came in, it became quickly clear that this crash was different.  That the guy who'd been rushed to the hospital was in really bad shape, that he might be there for a while.  Then the speculation started that he actually might not make it.  Please God, No!  That's not the way it's supposed to happen.  Sure, he can be battered & bruised & broken.  But that's it - that's all we agree to when we clip in.  We don't agree to worse.  We can't possibly imagine it.

And then, Monday morning, the worst news of all.  Markus Bohler left us.  Ever since Monday morning - and for many, since Sunday afternoon - it's been hard for a lot of us to get on our bikes.  To do what we love to do.  We take a little more time to be with our families rather than be out riding.  If you're at all like me, you've been in a kind of fog for the last four days.  The feeling of having the wind knocked out of me isn't due only to the severe cold I'm recovering from.

I didn't have the privilege of knowing Markus personally, but I know that I often raced with him.  He was part of our family in the sense that we bike racers are a very close-knit community, and the thoughts and words pouring in from all over the country in tribute to him are evidence that he was one of our best.  Knowing how his passing has affected me, and the darkness it's caused me to confront, I cannot possibly imagine the pain, the heartache and the questioning of those closest to him or anyone that was racing with him that day.  My prayers for them, as well as for Markus' family, continue.

It's cliche almost to the point of being meaningless to say "Life is precious" - "Live each day to its fullest."  We've become experts at denying life's inevitable end to the point such reminders are as common as they are disregarded.  How many of us truly live as if each day could be our last?  You can't truly live if you're always in the shadow of death, but you can't appreciate how blessed life is if you never confront that darkness.  Events like this are cold reminders that we cannot take life for granted. 

My main way of "coping" with such thoughts is to move on and forget as quickly as possible.  But I can't.  Not this time.  The death of a fellow racer, doing nothing wrong, doing what we all love doing, on a track known for its safety, makes no sense at all.  You can't just move on and forget - you have to stop and lift the veil from your own mortality, consider how you spend the precious days you've been blessed with, and what there may be waiting for us on the other side of this life.

Some may be tempted to say "what a waste" and be angry at what happened.  Depending on your perspective, the fact Markus died doing what he loved is either the highest privilege or the cruellest irony.  But even in the middle of this tragedy there are glimmers of consolation: the overwhelming outpouring of love and support of friends, the generosity and kindness of strangers, the eradication of the complacency (even if only temporarily) that life and loved ones can ever be taken for granted.

One of life's paradoxes is that we sometimes learn the most about a person after they've left us, from the people who knew him best.  Their testimony is evidence of a life lived, whether well or poorly.  Everything I've heard about Markus is that he lived his life well, he was highly respected by all who knew him, and could often be seen encouraging or helping others, whether on the track or off.  His legacy is one we could all be proud to call our own and we owe a debt of gratitude to his family for sharing him with us.

There are a number of ways we can offer some comfort to them and help preserve the memory of our friend and fellow-racer.  You can read about one such effort here.  There will also be a memorial service/ride at the track this Sunday morning and you can learn more about that here.

Hopefully, as we draw together as a family and allow healing to take place, we'll again be able to ride and race, doing what we love to do, treating each and every day as the gift that it is.  I can't think of a better way to honor Markus' memory.

2012 Racing Season OpenerRonde de Bethel

Like the first crocus or robin, the Bethel Spring Series is a harbinger of spring and the start of the bike racing season in Connecticut.  It’s always fun anticipating the series start – the Sweep Day the day before the first race is like last-minute holiday shopping and race day itself is a unique combination of Christmas & family reunion, with a lot of pain and reckoning thrown in for good measure.  Whether we’re targeting it or not, those of us that plan on racing Bethel at all are sure to train over the winter, and this past Sunday, March 4^th, was our first chance to see whether the training would pay off.

The past couple of years, I’ve headed into Bethel with the smug confidence that comes from knowing I tolerate the indoor trainer more than many, much better, racers.  And last year’s Snowpocalypse prevented a lot of training and seemed to give me an edge.  But this year’s mild winter promised hot racing.  And yesterday didn’t disappoint.  Or did, depending on the state of your legs.  Mine were a mixed bag.  My training has been going as per usual, but everybody else seems to have raised their game a bit.

There were a lot of firsts yesterday as well:

• First time I've (tried to) help SDC with the race;
• First time Mrs. SOC has missed a Bethel race;
• First time I've started a race without warming up;
• First time I've raced my bike off-road, without crashing;
• First time I've finished dead last.

I wanted to get there early to help where I could, but I don't exactly live close to the track, so had to get up and leave extra early.  Too early for Mrs. SOC, and she decided it best to try and whittle down a long list of things she wanted to get done at home.  Once I got to the race, I couldn't believe everything that SDC does.  He has lots of wonderful help, but it's amazing how much there is to do.  He makes it look so easy.  Unfortunately, he makes racing without warming up first look easy too.  It isn't.  I rolled up to the line with him right before the whistle went off and immediately regretted not having gone around the track at least once.  I was immediately at the back and struggling.

I warmed up eventually and did what I could to help a team that was doing pretty well without me.  I helped bring back one of the breaks, but most of the work was being done by Joel (who's looking really fit and fast on his new bike this year), TJ (ditto - and after some real scary health challenges last year), Dennis (who still claims he's not a crit racer) and Lance (who's always strong and fast, unless he's broken his bike. Again).  Joe and Jeff were there too - and of course BeeJay.  At least that's what I heard - I was never at the front long enough to see any of them myself.

The racing was fast, but safe, and the only race of the day that actually had sunshine.  With 5 laps to go, and starting to actually feel like I could do something significant, I started moving up.  I wasn't sure where the rest of the guys were at that point - I could only hope they were further up than I was - but I found SDC about 1/4 way through the final lap and told him to get on my wheel.  I started leading him up the right side and was glad I had enough left to actually make some good progress.

But with about a 1/2 lap to go, on the backstretch, the whole field shifted right, pushing me into the curb.  I still don't know whether I just rolled up the curb onto the grass or if I actually hopped up - but I do know that once I was off-road the first thought I had was "oh crap - I'm gonna crash in my first race of the season."  Somehow I stayed upright, but then I saw a driveway coming up fast.  I hopped over that curb, onto the driveway, and hopped back up over the other side.  By the time I got back onto the track, the race was gone up the road.

I pedaled in dead last.  But at least I hadn't crashed.

And another huge consolation - I heard that SDC came in 8th and teammate BeeJay had won!  I'd hoped that with SDC on my wheel that he would have captured my 'cross antics on his helmet cam, but savvy racer that he is, he'd read the pack and moved left as they moved right - getting him into better position (clearly), but missing out on the entertainment.

After a quick bottle refill and a quick check of the bike (I remember hitting one of the curbs hard enough that I thought I might have broken my carbon wheel, but thankfully all looked fine), I had friend Dave cut off my Cat3/4 number to reveal the Pro123 number beneath.  And I lined up for another race - warmed up this time.   Well, as warmed up as you can be while standing there shivering uncontrollably.  The clouds had rolled back in and the temperature had dropped considerably.

Once we got started, I felt better.  It's a lot easier to race when your only goal is to sit in and hang on as long as possible.  And wanting to pay penance for a previous poor result motivates you to stay in way past when you might otherwise give up.  At 46 laps, on top of the 30 I'd just done, finishing would be a huge accomplishment.

After feeling relatively good for the first dozen or so laps, my legs started to remind me of all the miles I hadn't ridden over the winter.  My heart & lungs were fine - my HR would drop back to zone 2 by the backstretch each lap - but my legs got harder and harder to turn over.  And that blasted hill!  Each time I reached the top, I started telling myself "just one more time."

Such are the lies we bike racers tell ourselves.

When the lapcards FINALLY got into the low teens, I started thinking I might be able to finish after all, despite the increasing sluggishness (or decreasing peppiness) of my legs.  But that hill was taking its toll and going through the start/finish at the top, and with 5 laps to go, I was OTB.

As I rounded corner 1, I figured I'd at least finish the lap and call it a day.  But for some reason - maybe teams setting up for the sprint finish? - the pack slowed just enough for me to catch back on by the backstretch and I was able to stay in there for the next 4 laps and the finish, coming in 43rd out of 71.

But the results weren't as important as what I learned - I definitely need more sleep the night before a race, and I need to be sure to warmup at least a little.  I'll do that next week and see whether those things explain my performance or if yesterday was an indication of how 2012 is going to look.

If nothing else, I got in a good workout - 60 miles at a bit over 24mph avg.  I checked my records and I haven't ridden 60 miles in a day since last September(!)  Maybe that explains things a bit.

Best of all though, yesterday was more than a race (or races) or a workout - it was a great time to see old friends and meet new ones.  Many of these folks I see only at the races, and they're sorely missed during the offseason.  The last time I'd seen JohnM, he was spinning down the road at Jamestown (and not in a good way), but he was there yesterday - even though he's not quite ready to race yet.  And I even got to meet some folks that read this blog, and some that I only know online.  I appreciate their taking the time to come up and (re)introduce themselves.  And of course Rob, Frank, Rick & Rebecca, Dave & Melissa, and my friends out on the track - whether teammates or not - are all reminders that there's lots of great racing ahead.

That's what makes racing fun.  No matter how well or how poorly you do, you're still able to be outside, with like-minded folks, doing something you love - and getting fit at the same time (or at least mitigating some of what you did the rest of the week).  And how cool is that?

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For the data-minded, here are the numbers for the Cat 3/4 race and for the Pro123 race.