Risky Business: Team Arc-en-ciel Newhouse Criterium

After racing five Sundays in a row, two races each Sunday, I was looking forward to one more Sunday of racing before taking a break.  But all week Sunday's forecast looked bleak and I started to steel myself for some rare-for-me rainy racing.

I also figured that I'd better get in some good, hard miles in case I couldn't race.  So Thursday after work, I took a risk and headed for the hills.  Uncharacteristically, I planned on hitting the steepest, longest climbs I could find along with some other local hills.  Unfortunately, I missed a turn at one point and ended up with all the hills between me and home - and I had to be back by a certain time.  The resulting TT effort back - not to mention the brutal climbs themselves - totally shredded my legs.  BION, that was the hardest day I'd had on the bike all year so far - racing included.  And the next morning's Rooster Ride (always a slugfest brisk ride) wrung out whatever was left.

 
Here are some charts from my hill route

So while one part of me wondered how - or even whether - my legs would recover in time for Sunday, the other part of me secretly hoped for a Biblical deluge that would, if not cancel the race, at least make it totally impossible for me to participate.  But Friday night I got a call from teammate SDC - he and his Missus would be able to join us for the races, rain or shine, and bring their cool "team car."  I'd do the Cat 3/4 race by myself and then join SDC for the Masters 35+ later in the day.  That settled it, I'd be racing Sunday, weather be d----d.

I took Saturday totally off the bike to go with Mrs. SOC on a "yarn crawl" in Rhode Island and to visit some local bike shops.  We hadn't been on a road trip together for a while, so it was great to get out.  And Mr. & Mrs. SDC showed up that evening for dinner and pre-race socializing, capping off a just-about-perfect day.  Mrs. SDC's "unofficial forecast" even called for clearing, if wet, conditions for our races.  Nevertheless, we packed multiple sets of clothes for the soaking we expected.

 
 
Packed up and ready to go

It was hard to sleep Saturday night with all the wind, thunder and driving rain.  But - miraculously - we woke the next morning to clouds that were breaking up and sun that was starting to peek out.  Strangely though, the wind seemed to be even worse.  We packed up and headed out, excited about the prospects of the day. 

 
This is us - looking excited

We got to Ninigret in time to get changed and warmed up.  With the increasingly sunny sky, I started to worry that I'd actually be overdressed.  But that disappeared once we were out of the car.  It was WINDY!  With all the windy races I've been in this year, this was by far the worst.  Tents were being blown around, and at one point the announcer told everyone to take their spare/pit wheels out of their bags since they were blowing down the track!  It's always breezy at Ninigret, no matter what it's doing in the rest of Southern New England.  But this was crazy, with gale-force gusts.

 

I lined up with a couple of friends at the back, figuring that I'd sit in and hope for a field sprint - my usual M.O.  I didn't think anybody'd be crazy enough to try and break away in the 3/4 race - and if they did, they'd blow up or the pack would catch them.

 
Part of the pack at the start

Over 40 guys lined up and went off at the whistle.  I was glad that the first couple of laps were relatively easy since I didn't warm up for very long.  But then the attacks started going off, and I knew folks were itchin' to race.  As each attack would get caught, a counter would go and pretty soon I found myself near the back.  "Oh well - My legs must still be recovering from Thursday's hills," I thought.  I did what I could to hang on some wheels, but when the race actually looked like it would start to break up, I knew I had to get closer to the front.

 

Fortunately, after a few especially hard efforts into the wind, I was in the front 1/4 of the race - perfect.  And good timing, as splits started happening behind us and folks were getting shelled by the windy conditions and increasing pace.  We even started to lap a couple of hapless stragglers.

 

It was no wonder the race was blowing up - it was blowing HARD!  A couple of times when we were stretched out, full gas, we'd go around the 4th corner into a strong head/cross wind and have our wheels almost blown out from under us!  The racing wasn't sketchy - everybody handled their bikes well considering the conditions - but the wind made for some crazy corrections and over corrections as folks struggled for shelter while trying to avoid having their wheels swept out by either the wind or another bike.

 
After struggling like this for a while and about 1/2 way through the race, I realized that a 3 man break had actually gotten clear.  I didn't worry about it too much at first, but when another 2 guys attacked and started chasing them - gapping the rest of us - I hoped that the pack would chase (and carry me with them, of course).  I didn't know until I heard the announcer that Bill Yarbroudy - local fastman from NBX - was one of the two chasers.  I also noticed that newly minted Cat2 Kyle Foley - who had animated the race earlier with his attacks - was his companion.  Even to my daft racing brain, these started to look like winning moves.

But "Why isn't the field chasing?!" was the thought most occupying my brain at that point.  Every time we'd string out a bit and put in some effort, we'd come around a corner, into the wind, and the pack would fan right out, slowing down to a crawl.  And the break and chase group continued to motor along, putting over 15-20 seconds into the rest of us.

I did what I thought I could to try and get the pack motivated, doing my best not to miss turns at the front and keep the pace high.  But I'd be dipped if I was going to work so hard while others sat on my wheel (heh - precisely what *I* would most likely be doing myself, if in their cleats).  Fortunately, friends BJ and JM were of the same mind and kept things fast when they were at the front.  But - realists - they weren't interested in towing the entire field either.

After a particularly hard pull - and after having been in a few small chase groups trying to bring the breaks back - BJ pulled off and shook his head when I suggested we go.  I couldn't blame him, the wind was howling and the pack was clearly losing motivation with each lap.

I've mentioned before that I have a lot to learn when it comes to reading races.  So much of doing that well is instinct born of experience and I'm still relatively new at this (or maybe I'm just a slow learner).  Hearing how SDC evaluates race dynamics, factoring in every imaginable condition and variable, makes my brain hurt.  I *wish* I could calculate all that while I'm racing, but I'm usually spending all my mental energy on the basics: "stay on that wheel," "stay upright," "dose your effort."

And if you've been reading this blog for any time at all, one of the things you know about me is that I cannot stand timetrialing, getting into breaks (since I often can't stay in them) or doing solo efforts.  Consequently, I seldom attack unless necessary to help a teammate.  Never for myself.  I know my limits.  At least I thought I did.

So when BJ shook his head and I found myself at the front just as we entered the backstretch, I can't tell you what I was thinking.  All I knew was that I was at the front, heading into the wind, and I didn't want to be there.  There were about 8 laps to go (I figured - there weren't any lap cards) I knew the likely winners were up the road and as much as I wanted to melt back into the security of the pack, I knew if I did I was getting nowhere and all I'd get at the end would be a decent workout.

But if I was just going to get a workout, I was at least going to make it count - and, heck, I might even get lucky and catch one of the breaks up the road.  It took me about 2 seconds from the time BJ drifted back to decide to go for it.  I put my head down and started pedaling for all I was worth!

As I went past SDC, standing on the sidelines, I heard him yell "1000% effort!!" and it was - I hit corner 4 at speed and into the gaping maw of the biting headwind.  And just about stopped - at least that's what it felt like.  The Ninigret track is pancake flat, and after racing 5 weeks at Bethel - often doing over 70 laps up that blasted hill - I just tried to imagine the headwinds as just another "hill" and tailwinds as "descents" - my only chances to recover.  I think that, more than anything else, helped me dose my effort properly and keep from totally blowing up.

 
Me going by a yelling SDC - thanks for the photo ChrisB!

When I cleared corner 4 - the first after my attack - I looked back and, amazingly, saw I had a HUGE gap.  Of course the pack hit the same wall of wind that I did, but without my singular focus they'd fanned out and slowed down.  By the time they strung out again, I'd put 5 seconds into them - and the gap was growing!

 

But it HURT.  I literally put my head down for much of the time, concentrating on putting as much power into the pedals as possible while keeping my legs limited to a slow burn to keep them from totally igniting from lactic acid.  I only looked up often enough to make sure I wouldn't ride right off the track.

I knew this was the "do or die effort" I'd always read about but never had the nerve to try in an "actual" race (as opposed to a training race).  I'm not a risk taker by nature, opting to (over)analyze things until I know I can succeed on the first try.  And if I don't think I can succeed, I don't usually try.  I know a lot of other folks that have the same tendency.  And I know how hard it is to overcome that tendency.  But even more, I knew as I was in No Man's Land between the pack and the break, that I'd either catch them or totally explode trying.  It's a cliche to say "nothing ventured, nothing gained" - and as true as that saying is, it was little consolation as I continued to grind around the track.  All I wanted to do was to catch those guys ahead of me, or at least keep the pack from catching me.

"YOU'VE GOT 15 SECONDS!!  KEEP GOING!!"  I had a cheering section consisting of SDC and friend ChrisB (who'd graciously waited after his Cat5 race to watch), and the Missus' SDC & SOC taking shelter from the wind in the car.  Every few corners, I'd look back and - inexplicably, remarkably - the pack was the same distance back, or just a little further away.  Eventually, I noticed another guy trying to bridge up to me.  "Great - that'd be some help."  But I didn't dare slow down to let him join me.  I knew I was WAY out of my comfort zone, engaging in a risky business considering my natural (or assumed) abilities.  If he caught me (likely, I figured), I assumed I'd be the weaker of the two of us, so why wait?  And if he didn't catch me, then he'd not be much help if I did wait for him.  At least that's all my addled brain could reason.

So I continued to churn the pedals.

"Number 186 is putting in a huge effort - not sure who that is" - I heard the announcer say through the PA at one point, much to my satisfaction.  Unfortunately, legs don't run on ego, else I would have been able to go faster.  One of the big downsides of a conservative racing style is that nobody ever knows you're in the race, unless you get on the podium.  Flying under the radar is a risky business in its own right.  Everybody else wants to get on that podium too, so you seldom have a chance at notoriety - no matter how minimal that may be in The Grand Scheme of Things.  But anybody who races is lying if they tell you they don't get at least a little boost when they hear the announcer mention his name.  And, given the fact I was out on my own for almost 8 laps, I got to hear my name announced more times than during the whole rest of my racing "career" put together.  It was another cold comfort as my legs and lungs started to sear from the effort.  But it was much welcomed and appreciated just the same.

 
It looked like this for a while - Note the other guy in No Man's Land and the pack chasing (pic by SDC - click to enlarge)

10 seconds, 12 seconds, 4 seconds.  Those were the gaps SDC made out between the break, the chase group, me and my chaser.  And they stayed pretty consistent for most of those remaining 8 laps.  On my own, I was going as fast as the pack chasing me, but so were the guys in front of me.  We were all condemned at some level, but at least we were all in the money - provided we could keep the pack from catching us at the end.

And of course, if you've ever watch a bicycle race, you know that the pack - no matter how lethargic it may have been for the whole rest of the race - gets a fire in its belly with a couple of laps to go.  I was racing for 6th place, but the pack was racing for only 8th, and that clearly didn't sit well with them.  By the Bell Lap, my gap - which had stretched out to 20 seconds at one point - was down to 12 seconds.  They strung way out during that last lap, going full gas.  The first break - and even their two chasers - were well clear.  It was only me and the other guy still left to pick off as the pack got the bit in its teeth and started charging hard.

I looked over my shoulder going around the penultimate corner and couldn't believe they were getting so close so quickly.  Of course, I was just about out of gas - and I wanted them to put me out of my misery - but I wanted even more to hold them off.  "I'll be dipped if I'm going to give up now, after I put myself through so much hell."  I dug deeper.

Fortunately for me, coming around that second-to-last corner put the wind a little at my back and after the final corner into the finishing straight I had a full tailwind.  Unfortunately for the pack, there was a cross-wind gust that caused just enough of a brake check to give me just that little bit more.

My legs couldn't lift my butt out of the saddle, but I clicked down another gear, squeezing out of them whatever was left, started sprinting seated, trying to take as much advantage as possible of the tailwind.  As I flogged myself to the finish, I heard a guy coming up on my right.  Not the guy that'd been chasing me into the pain cave, but somebody that'd launched off the front of the charging pack.  No dice - no way I could challenge him.  I let him go by, but I kept pedaling.

As I looked over my right shoulder to see how much of a gap I had over the rest of the field, all I could see were bodies sprinting.  "Chris Adams is gonna hang on though" the announcer said as, from somewhere deep deep down in a place totally unfamiliar to me, I wrung a few more watts out of my pureed legs and threw my bike at the line.

Here's how it looked in Mrs. SOC's finish line video:

 

I held them off by maybe 1/2 a wheel at the line.  I came in 7th, but I might as well have won the Tour de France.

I'd been at my absolute limit, hit the bottom, and dug even further.  My legs, lungs, and even my heart (which I worried about briefly after I crossed the line) were absolutely killing me and it was all I could do to keep my feet turning enough to keep my bike upright as I continued past the first corner.  But as I came back down along the backstretch, past where I'd launched my attack what seemed like an eternity earlier, I suddenly forgot everything but how wonderful it felt.  Not to be done, but to have tried my best.

 Post-race jubilation pic courtesy SDC

For someone whose reach seldom exceeds his grasp, I'd stretched further than I thought possible.  Yeah, it might have been more dramatic if I'd actually caught the break and then went on to win.  But that's the stuff of fiction.  What was real was that I'd taken a risk and - at least as against all but 6 other guys in the race - and with a little luck, it had paid off.

 Heh - it even paid off literally - I treated myself with some of my prize money.

After all that - and probably with an overdose of adrenaline and endorphines - I was already ready to race again.  I lined up to help out SDC in the Masters 35+ race.  But that's another story.  Considering we were racing against the likes of Mark McCormack, it's a (really) short story for some other time.

Suffice it to say that I'm learning a lot from this bike racing thing.  I'm learning how to push myself further than I thought possible; learning that my limits may be beyond what I think; learning that sometimes taking a chance - whether or not it ends up as you hope - is a much better way to live than resting in the numb embrace of low self-expectations.

Risky investments are certainly no way to earn a living.  But sometimes engaging in some risky business is the only way to earn a richer life.

Wonk Fodder:  Cat3/4  http://connect.garmin.com/activity/79915526
M35+  http://connect.garmin.com/activity/79915523

Comments

[Anthony Eisley]

Chris,

Well done my friend! I am not sure if you remember me Anthony Eisley I raced for Central Wheel the past three years before joining CLR this year. It was great to see you took a risk also. I was in the break killing it with the two other boys on this mild windy day:)and it finally paid of with my almost first win. Keep pushing yourself and I'll see you at the races. Once again love reading your blog

[MSL]

no risk, no fun.

chapeau, mon frer!

[ChrisB.]

Seeing it in person was inspiring . . . to say the least. Two days later and I'm still blown away! I'll be using this as mental fuel for my own training for a long time to come.

[Marten]

Followed a link from SDC's blog, great race story! That's real racing...

[Ridethecliche]

Well done!

[Dennis Desmarais]

After all the work I put in over the winter, I thought I might have at least partially closed the gap between us, but it looks like you've somehow found an extra gear to stay clear of the likes of me!

Congrats on finding & clearing another pain threshold on your way to a great result!

[gewilli]

now that was an awesome race report! and race! Mystic Velo, up next!

[Suitcase of Courage]

Thanks to everybody for all the great comments and feedback - VERY cool to see y'all weigh in (and meet some new readers too). I'll try to reply to each of you individually via email...