"E-PEE-EYE-SEE!?!"

"E-PEE-EYE-SEE!?!" What kind of race/ride "qualifies" as an "Epic" one? Well, I guess it depends on what side of the handle bars you're looking from. I tend to be picky when it comes to awarding a ride with this badge of honor. The ride out in Bodega Bay last month with mah boy and the UCD Aggie Elite squad, 97 miles, King Ridge, Cruz Ranch, oodles of quad ripping climbs, on some of the most beautiful roads in Nor Cal, wind, rain, mud, in 5 hours...definitely earned the badge...maybe. Worlds Toughest Mt. Bike Race in 2004...90 miles, +13,000' of climbing, dislocated shoulder, piano player in the middle of nowhere up at Rubicon Springs, great friends, family meeting us half way and only seeing us for 5 min in the parking lot at Loon Lake, mah boy running along side us for the first 100m cheering us on as we continued and me having to tell him to turn back, hitting 52 MPH on a fat tire rig, in ? hours, insane ride home, lifelong friends...definitely earns the badge. This weekends festivities down in Snelling Ca., especially the early morning events, wind, rain, no less than 3 water crossings, mud, manure, debris all over the road, dodging moto refs and emergency vehicles at high speed, and loosing almost half of the field by the 3rd lap? Pin it!
Getting up at 4 am hurts when you find yourself still on the trainer at 8 pm the night before. Is there a cure for stubbornness? Think it's called a kick in the a$$! Sometimes there just aren't enough hours in a day, especially for those of us who've achieved Jedi status in the art of procrastination. (raising my hand right now...you can't see it) Isn't it funny how we've managed to program ourselves to do the same simple duties morning after morning without even thinking about it? Before I've even opened my left eye, I'm at the kitchen sink filling the kettle and scooping the perfect amount, of carefully measured coffee into the press pot. Getting much better at the pre-race prep though. AJ and I were up, gear loaded and out the door in an hour...not bad considering the sleeping habits of a 17 year old. We were already in Sac when I realized that I'd forgotten my contact lenses. Seeing is highly overrated in a racing situation anyway...right?
Snelling Road Race is considered by many to be the "Official" kick off for the NorCal race season. This was only the 2nd time doing this race for AJ and I, so we really didn't know what to expect. We'd missed it last year and it was only our 2nd race as "Roadies" ever, so apart from the weather, the bumpy roads, and some colorful people at registration, we really didn't remember much of anything.
Registration this year was pretty uneventful and surprisingly smooth. Buzz about the road conditions was already bounding across the parking lot. I tried my best to block it all out and just focus on my race prep. Knee warmers? A quick glance upwards showed no signs of letting up. Dark, ominous clouds filled with love from above as far as the eye could see. I caught myself smiling and breathing it all in as the rain drops kissed my cheeks. "Lots of oxygen in the air today." I thought to myself as I took a puff from my inhaler. For the past 2 weeks I'd been fighting a bad sinus infection with bronchitis. The Dr. actually asked how long I'd been a smoker because I was wheezing so bad. The inhaler was something new for me. JB walks up and asked if we'd come in on Keys Rd. "No" Judd replied. Then he proceeded to tell us about the lake crossing.
With all the rain we'd had, the road had a section just beyond the "feed zone" that was about 8" deep and about 20 meters across. "Nope, no knee warmers for me!" I dawn the rubber gloves and bust out The "Hot Sauce." AJ and I had recently tried some new embrocation, Q-oleum 3. We'd used too much the last ride and ended up paying the price. This stuff is so F'ING hot that it actually felt like I'd poured battery acid on road rash covered legs. Seriously, it almost brought me to tears in the shower. Taking a cold shower after a "FA-RRRI-GID" ride is absolutely out of the question, so I had to endure the pain. My legs were on FIRE! I was NOT making that same mistake today. Another lesson I'd learned? Don't put your energy gels under the legs of your bibs for quick access when you have said embrocation on your legs! This stuff on your lips and tongue...not recommended. :0/
Sitting at the start line and Paula confirms what JB had told us about "The Lake." 8" deep, about 25m long. Not only was there that one, but there were 2 more on the back side of the course. Greeeeat! Good to see so many familiar faces though. For the most part, the Masters 35+123 crowd is a bunch of coool cats and I was jazzed, no matter what the conditions, to be lining up with them. I take a quick glance around, all the usual suspects. J. Brown, Bradley, Baker, Phipps, Innes, LaBerge, Holtz, Fonseca, Martin, Nils, Melcher, Spence, etc. Joining me were my teammates, Judd, Chad, JB, and Robin. I liked our chances. Today was going to be a "Hard man's" race no doubt about it.
The whistle blows and we're off. Not even 5 min. in, I hear "Pssssss!" Some poor, unlucky (or lucky considering the weather and road conditions) dude flatted. "Well, that's the end of his day!" said the guy next to me. I was about 3 wheels behind Chad, JB, and Robin and couldn't see Judd. I take a peek back and still, nothing. "No way could it be my only teammate that's not in front of me!" I tell myself. I see Chad scanning, then turn his attention back to the front and see nothing in his body language that suggests anything, so, I pedal on. About 2 miles later, Spence rolls up to me and says, "Hey Jas, I don't know if you know it already, but that was Judd that flatted back there." "WHAT!?!" I reply and immediately hit the brakes and float to the back. Once there, I realize that he'd had a better chance of rolling back to the car and grabbing another wheel than me turning and riding back. A quick glance around and I see Phipps, Innes, LaBerge, and Melcher all just kickin' it on the back. I ask Phipps how far back he thought Judd was. "He's quite a ways back man." "If he's lucky, he'll get into the P12's." I look back and see nothing but green rolling hills and wet pavement.
Judd was our top rider and now we're down to 4 of us. This changes things. I wasn't sure what I'd have and really didn't feel all that good so I figured I'd kick it in the back with 3-4 of the top guys in our category and watch them for the 1st lap to see what they'd do.
The first lap was a blur. It was full of surges, and being on the back of an 80+ rider pack, dealing with the accordion effect of sprinting and braking was hell on the nerves. The 1st time through "The Lake" was crazy. Guys were freaking out, hitting their brakes, swerving all over the place, and being on the back, not only did I have to plow my way through the water, but I was being hit with waves from every direction from the riders before me. I remember thinking, "Well, so much for staying dry!" as my entire bike moved 4 inches to the left. I was soaked from head to toe. Picture Garfield the cat's face as he surrenders himself to whatever life altering travesty that Odie the dog had bestowed upon him...yup, that was me. Sprinting full out to catch back on to the pack was fun too. Once there, I had time to register what had just happened, and realized that my mouth was full of grit. I reach down, grab a water bottle, put it up to my mouth without looking and get a mouth full of mud...or, what I thought was mud. The smell that was wafting through my half congested sinus's wasn't the smell of wet soil. Gagging now, I squirt my face off and take a drink. Nothing like a mouth full of manure to wake ya up in the morning! Yay! Protein.
There was debris strewn across the road on every corner and wind seemingly coming from every direction. I pretty much stuck with Phipps and would move up whenever he did. JB, Chad, and Robin were all looking strong and seemingly managed to keep out of the wind for the most part. I'd look up and see JB hammering to cover moves and would make my way to the front for a brief stint. Every time through the smaller water crossing on the back it seemed to be getting deeper and deeper. A few guys would go up the road, but nothing was sticking and the pack was pretty much staying together. There were a few guys that got tangled up after riding onto the shoulder, but other than that, I didn't see any crashes.
By the third lap, I'd figured out that if I just barreled through the left side of the lake, I'd avoid the idiots that were braking and not have to chase so hard to get back on...that, and making my way up towards the front on the hill through the feed zone helped a bit too. Racing without my contacts wasn't such a bad thing after all. Especially on a day like this. Other than the fact that I had to rely on others to tell me who was up the road, it wasn't so bad. I'd began to rely on the crossings to wash all of the crap and debris off my glasses and legs. I look up and see Chad bouncing on his bike and looking down. Damn, another puncture. And then there were 3.
Earlier in the race I'd been chatting with Phipps. He'd said he was pretty sure it would stay together. I jokingly told him that I knew it was just a matter of time before he went, and to give me a signal when he did. I'd been watching Innes as well. I don't think the expression on his face ever changed. Like a flippin' machine, that guy just pedaled on, his helmet cocked to the left side, hardly looking like he was even working up a sweat. I'd lost track of he and Phipps after moving up when Chad flatted. Coming through the finish to start the last lap, I see AJ at the line cheering me on. I tell him to grab my vest that I was taking off. Barley getting it off before the right hander, I throw it to the side of the road and look up to see the pack strung out. I hit the gas and try to find the slightest bit of draft while tiptoeing the gutter. I see JB at the front drilling it. His vest flapping in the wind like a superhero's cape. There was a gap that was getting bigger with about 20 guys up the road, and we weren't in it. Not good. I jump up 2 wheels to Robin and yell, "We've gotta move up!" I barely finish saying that and he moves 3' to the left and throttles it all the way to the front with me glued to his wheel. Once there, we roll by JB who looked thrashed. I say, "Get in J!" as Robin continued to turn that big engine of his at the front of the pack. I glance around and realize that no one is going to help us. The gap was growing, and was at about 100m at that point. I take a few deep breaths, squeeze my drops, and hit the gas with everything I've got.
I've closed plenty of gaps before, and, have created my fair share, but I've never successfully solo bridged up to a break. "I'm committed now!" I'm not sure just how long it took, but it seemed like I chased for about 10 min. I was about 20m off the back of the pack when we hit the feed zone. I poured myself all over the front of my bike and threw caution to the wind through the S turn and hit the water crossing like a buffalo charging across a river. I glance through my arm pit and catch a glimps of a wheel and say, "C'mon man!" By then, I've made it already. I've no idea how long he'd been there. Lesson learned though. Just as I get there, Innes attacks and the group shatters. I pick my way through riders who are throwing out anchors left and right and hit the gas again. I'm back on. I take 2 deep breathes, then realize what I'd just done. A smile barely starts to crack the sides of my face when Innes attacks again! F__K! I'm on a Safeway guys wheel and a gap opens. I've got just enough air in my lungs to say, "Grab that wheel!" He proceeds to tell me, "I can't man!" "You don't know how bad I want to, but I've got noth..." I'm thinking, as he continues, "If he can say all that crap, then he can grab that F-ing wheel!" I jump again. His voice trails off as I focus my attention on Baker's wheel. I chase for another minute or so, I get so close I can spit on Baker's back, but just can't hold the pace. I look up to see that 3 guys had gone up the road from the 4 that I was trying to chase, and helplessly watch as Baker's wheel gets smaller, and smaller. It takes a minute or 2, but I fall back to Nils, a Taleo guy, and the long winded Safeway guy. Nils and I try to get something going. I tell the Taleo guy that his teammate was off the back of the lead group and is now in the 2nd group of 4, and that his best bet was to help us reel the 4 in and have his guy sit on the back as the 7 of us work to bring back the lead group, but he was not having any of it. I was so pissed! Nils was going on about something too. I guess he was the one that started the break in the first place and something had happened. The thing I love about Nils, is that he just wants to race hard, not matter what. He had 2 guys up the road, but he just wanted to race. Love it! One last effort to talk the Taleo guy into helping was futile, so I left him with, "Good job man, you're racing for 4th place...well done!" We were eventually swallowed by the pack. Robin rolls by and says, "You need to hide!" I do my best to do just that. with about 3 miles to go, I was trashed. I tuck in behind one of Nils' teammates, don't remember his name, but I know he's a strong rider and do my best impression of a parasite. I'm not giving up anything. I'm stuck to his wheel like a 2 week old exploded gu in a jersey pocket. We make our way to the front along the last long crosswind bumpy section and as soon as we hit the right hand turn onto the finishing stretch, Robin guns it.
I'm sitting about 12 wheels back and know I'm too far back. I take a peek up and see guys exploding and starting to ride backwards down the right side. I jump to the left, skimming the back of some guys tire and punch it with everything I've got. I feel my quads rip wide open and my lungs shrivel to the size of raisins as I pick up rider after rider. I see the line rocketing towards me and barley see the guy on the front let go of his bars as I throw my bike at the line taking the field sprint. AJ later told me that I looked like a beast, grunting and giving an all out gutteral yell as I threw my bike at the line. "That was so awesome Dad!" he said as we rolled back to the car. I looked over as he gave his best impression of me. Cool man.
So, 8th place wasn't the finish we were hoping for, but, given the circumstances, and the fact that we lost almost half the field by the 4th lap, not too shabby. I was so stoked that AJ was there to see the finish. Again, I got all welled up when I was watching him imitate me. He was so proud of me. It was an incredible feeling. One I'd never experienced before. More importantly, he watched me take a field sprint. Every time we go out and do our sprint workouts, no matter where they are, I'm lucky if I can beat him once. Usually I'm several meters behind him. Hopefully it'll give him a bit of confidence in himself. I tell ya, once that kid realizes what he's got, he's gonna be a force to be reckoned with. I can't wait.

Epic? I think so.

Thanks for reading.




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The weather's finally turning for the worse...if you're a cyclist...it's time.

Well, it's that time of year again. Almost all of the beautiful, vibrantly colored leaves have fallen to the ground. Temperatures are dropping. Appetites are growing. Sunlight is dwindling. Time to revisit one of the most incredibly epic performances of any human on a bicycle. First, in order for me to open the door for rational dialogue, I must admit my biased opinion being that the afore mentioned cyclist is...American.
Andy Hampsten wrote about his experience and instead of my chopping it up and perhaps failing to do it justice in summary, I figured I'd simply repost his own words. Every time that chill crawls up my spine while out on a blustery day, I try and imagine what it must have been like attempting to ride the wheel of this incredible cyclist on this day...this day of self definition, of self understanding, of mind, body, and soul numbing masochism.



So, here it is

June 5th 1988 The day the strong men cried... Read more!

"Ba-a-a-a-a-a-a!"

So there I was 2 days ago, gassed, starving for air, feeling much like a fish out of water, or, at least what I imagine a fish out of water would feel like, looking up the road, feeling my age. The day had finally come. I've known that someday it would happen, just not so soon...well, at least it seems soon. Yet, at the same time, as strange as it may be, on more of a paternal level, it couldn't get here fast enough. Since AJ was big enough to ride a bike, he's been following me. He's followed me all over this beautiful state. Up and down the coast, all over the Sierras, everywhere bikes are allowed, and some places they aren't. He'd ride his little 20' Trek down the Bear Valley Trail out at Point Reyes while I ran. He'd pedal as hard as he could, leaving me running behind. He'd look back at me with a smile that would brighten even the darkest places in my often troubled heart. I'd see the look in his eye, and watch, as the seed of competition started taking root. He was taking his first sip of that ever so sweet nectar. A sweetness unparallelled by any other, a sweetness that only a son would know.
I'd take him up to Auburn where we'd ride the upper side of the Forresthill Divide trail. Every time we'd go, we'd go just a little bit further. Sometimes I'd ride up ahead and out of sight, jump off, and crouch behind the brush, or a rock or tree and watch to see what his reaction would be. Sometimes he'd get frustrated and slow down. I'd see his little eyes well up and hear his little chest ripping open gasping for air, trying to breathe, trying to keep up with Dad. Other times, he'd grit his little teeth and I'd hear him grunting up the hill. I'd holler at him to keep going, and "suck it up." I sometimes would say mean things, things that shouldn't be said to a little boy. I thought I was motivating him, thought it would make him stronger. But, most of the time, he was having to pay for my shortcomings in life. I'd take my frustrations out on him. I whip myself with those memories.
I was just barely a young man when AJ was born. At 22 years old what the hell did I know about anything? I had been heading in several different directions simultaneously. He was 6 months old before I held him in my arms. Once I did, you'd have to shoot me dead to keep me away from him. He was my son. And that was that. He quickly became my reason for getting up everyday and doing it all over again. I considered myself lucky in fact. While most other guys my age were searching for their own reason, all I had to do is walk a few feet down the hall every morning, look into the next room and there was mine, sound asleep. Off to work I'd go.
Most of the time I'd help him. I'd ride up a steep section of the trail, dismount, and run back down to the bottom and push him up the hill. Running beside him, I'd ask him, "Are you a little mouse, or are you a mt. goat!?!" He'd let out a "Ba-a-a-a-a" imitating a little mt. goat and with the heart of a lion, he'd work his little legs until they couldn't go anymore. We'd take breaks on logs, or rocks that would overlook a meadow or a running stream and eat our lunch before heading back. It was Pizza or In-n-out Burger that was on both our minds by the end of the ride. It's those times that I love and cherish. But it's the times when life would get the best of me, when my patience was at it's end that I'm tortured, and tormented by and it's those same memories that come to me now as I watch him ride up the road leaving his Dad behind. At first I'd get frustrated, like before, only, different now. I'd get upset because I'd feel as if he had no respect for me, conveniently forgetting that every ride that we'd been on, from the time he was just a little boy, to now, he'd been eating his Old Man's dust and taking all my crap on the chin. He's been waiting for this for a long damned time.
Just yesterday, while climbing the first roller through the feed zone on Cantelow, I looked at him and said, "Go!" "What, what do you mean?" he replied. "Go, don't let me hold you back." He proceeded to drop me so fast that I thought he must have ridden off the road. For a second, I was looking down the side of the hill as I crested the first roller after the feed zone because there was no way he could drop me THAT fast. Just as I round the corner, I look up the road and there he is, out of the saddle, hammering up the next roller and not looking back. Drinking in that sweet nectar that only a son would know. That sweet nectar that comes with finally besting your Dad, and knowing that it'll never be the same. He's been sipping that nectar for quite a few months, but now, he gulps it down, hardly taking a breath. Dad can no longer push him, in fact, the tables have completely turned, I wait for the day that he looks back and says, "Come on Dad, suck it up!" "Are you a little mouse, or a F***ING mt. goat...BEEOTCH!
Until that day, I practice my mt. goat impression...in silence...of course. Read more!

3 elusive cats, finally found...

Monday morning at 6:55 a.m. with tired eyes and strained consciousness I roll over, sit up and open up the laptop. It had been another long weekend, topped off with falling asleep on the couch...again. Lovely. I check my emails, check the weather, log onto Face Book and contemplate posting something silly and witty, with just the right amount of cynicism/sarcasm about my weekend, but reconsider, and refrain. I log onto my Twitter and hold the same internal debate about posting...I'm tired. I'm drained. I need coffee, but don't feel like making any.

Sunday morning started insanely early. Up at 4 a.m. Shower, wake up AJ, make coffee, load the car, wake up Dawn and roll out for Chico. Again, we're running late. I mean really!?! Waking up at 4 a.m. and still running late!?! Gimme a break! The Jr's race starts at 7 a.m.!?! C'mon! Gimme a EFING BREAK! Luckily, AJ's not signed up for it. But, we are trying to get him there in time to do the E4/5's which is the very next race that starts at 7:40 so we're pushing it. Hopefully they're running late.

I'd sent in his CAT3 upgrade request first thing Monday morning following the Folsom Cyclebration weekend and hadn't heard anything yet. According to everyone I'd spoken to, including my own experience, I should have heard back by now. It was Thursday. There were a few Jr's races where they'd raced the 15/16 together with the 17/18's but scored them separately. I'd combined the fields when sending in his upgrade giving him the best chance at earning the most points. If they were going to be fickle about it, then AJ only had around 18 of the required 20 points. If not, then he was sitting on around 23. Being that I hadn't heard anything, I decided to go ahead and sign us up for the Chico Downtown Crit. The last race of the season and the last chance at earning upgrade points. I went ahead and registered both of us for the E3/4's because if he didn't get it, I'd be able to race with him and hopefully have the opportunity to lead him out for a podium finish or at least a top 5. Since I was there anyway, I also reg'd for the 35+123's. It would be a perfect encore performance for me. Knowing that I didn't have any teammates heading up, it would also afford me the rare opportunity to race for myself as well.

We roll into Chico at around 7:25 after I'd taken the long, short cut by driving in to Sac from Davis, only to then take I-5 up through Woodland. "I know where I'm going!" "Ieeeeee know where I'm going!" Duh! We park, take AJ's bike down, Cody's there and helps air his tires up, and we make a mad dash to registration to find that they are in fact running late, about 15 min late. Whew! We get AJ rag'd, pin his # on, and send him off to get in a warmup. Neither of us had done the race before so there was a bit of added nervousness to it. I run back to the car, grab his spare wheels and get them over to the pit. I hate signing him up for any 4/5 races due to the fact that there's always a bunch of newbies that just don't have a clue yet pulling stupid moves. Not their fault, we've all been there before, but it's just a little different when you've got to sit on the sidelines watch your son have to deal with these idiots.

3 laps to go. I'm sitting in between turns 2 and 3 as they round the corner. AJ's sitting around 15th wheel or so. I yell out for him to move up and before hitting the corner for turn 3 he jumps up about 5 wheels. Looking across the park I could see him coming through the Start/Finish sitting around 8th wheel. Good, but bad in that the group is all together. Not a good thing in a 4/5 race. I hear a "BANG!" echoing off the buildings and through the streets. I ghasp. Holding my breath I watch as rider after rider rounds the corner of turn 2...but no AJ. "F&#%!"... "F&#%!" I'm yelling as I run full speed up and around the corner to turn 1. Rounding the corner, I hear, "Medic!" "Medic!" The shock of a full on Cortisol dump hits my body as I look up to see my son sprawled out across the sidewalk.

I've had my EMT-1A certification, I've done ambulance ride along's, and I've done ER internships, not to mention being raised by a cop, so I understand the importance of keeping a level head and emotions in check. But when you're standing there, looking down at your child who's writhing in pain, bleeding from several locations, and may have serious, even life threatening injuries, for me at least, it's one of the hardest things I've ever tried to do. I've never really been good at it. Even when he was little, I'd get so upset.

I run up, and right off I notice that his helmet is securely fashioned to his noggin and is in place. I exhale. I put one hand on his chest, the other on his knee and ask if he's O.K. Before I could tell him not to, he yanks off his helmet and sits up. I give him a quick once over as I grab his helmet and closely inspect it. Not a scratch on it. Cool. He's complaining about his lower back. I pull up his jersey and see that he's got a pretty nasty raspberry, but no deformity. I'm watching him breathe and listening intently. He tells me that some dumbass cut the corner and took out about 8 guys. I yell out as I'm glaring over at the other 6 or 7 guys laying in the gutter and on the sidewalk in pain, and bleeding, "When the F*** are you IDIOTS gonna learn not the cut the F****** corners!?!" They just look up at me and say nothing. Yeah, nice, just what they need right? Like I said, I've never been really good at reeling in the emotions when it come to my boy being injured. I immediately regret yelling at them and turn my attention back to AJ. I ask if he's hurting anywhere else. "My elbow." He's got a pretty good gash with a steady stream of dark Burgundy blood flowing out of it. "Anywhere else?" I ask. "No!" I start to breathe a little easier. Just then another rider pulls up and says he saw the whole thing and that he was a medic. He'd pulled out of the race just to lend a hand. I think he was either a Sierra Nevada guy or a Chico Velo. I'll know him when I see him for sure and will do my best to help him out in any way I can in the future. He starts to give AJ a full assessment. An ambulance rolls up and the medic takes over. I watch as AJ responds to all the questions and seems to be doing fine. They patch up his elbow and turn their attention to the other riders. The organizers don't have any medical personnel what so ever. These guys were just eating breakfast and heard the accident and immediately responded without being called. Awesome!

We get him up and on his feet. Cody and Dale are there, along with Freddy and Dawn. I'm holding his bike as we're checking it out trying to make sure it'll at least roll. Busted handlebars, both wheels are bent, and just when Freddy says, "Lets get him on it and just roll him back to the car," Cody looks down at the chainstays and says, "Whoa, what's that!?" I look down and can see that the frame is broken right at both chainstays...damn! AJ completely deflates and almost looses it. "It's alright!" I say. "Don't worry about it!" "It'll be just fine!" "The good thing is is that you're O.K...it's just a bike!" It takes me all of about .30 seconds to realize that our day is done. We get back to the car AJ sits on the back of the car, looks up at me and says, "Dad, you should still race." Dawn agrees and I start to entertain the thought. But quickly snap out of it. "The only reason we're here is so that you can earn enough points for your upgrade bud." I say. "That's the only reason I even registered." "No, forget it...we're done." There's no way I could let AJ sit on the side of the road, all banged up, being forced to watch as his Dad races his bike. Having to explain what happened a hundred times over to concerned people wondering why he wasn't racing. Having to dwell on the fact that his frame was broken, that he wasn't able to get his CAT3 upgrade before the end of the season...I don't think so.

We roll over to Riteaid, spend $50 on first aid supplies and head to the park so that we can properly patch my boy up. Bandaid has this wonderful new antiseptic wash that has Lidocaine in it. The gash on his elbow is fairly deep and I've got to look and make sure there's no debris in it. The wash has a little hole in it which allows you to irrigate wounds really well. I squeeze and proceed to deep clean the cut. It's pretty deep. It might need a few stitches. I finish cleaning and patching him up and we hit the road. I call JB who lives in Yuba City to say hey and tell him what had happened. Without skipping a beat he asks, "How tall is AJ?" "6' 2"" I reply. "Me too!" He says. "AJ can use my Orbea that's just been hanging in my garage." Sweet! Man...we've had the good fortune to come to know some pretty wonderful people in the past few years, and J and Diane are two of them.

We're just about home and I look back and ask AJ, "How would it have felt, sitting there, watching from the side of the road as your Dad raced his bike?" He sat there for a few seconds looking out the window, turned to me and said, "It would have sucked Dad."

So, I'm sitting there, first thing in the morning, the sun wasn't even up yet, blinking, trying to open my eyes and up pops this little email;

Your upgrade request has been approved and the USCF database has been updated to reflect you are now a Cat 3 on the road. Since the road season is almost over and I will not send you an upgrade sticker but when you go to renew your license it will show you as a Cat 3 on the road. If you will be racing again this season you can use a copy of this message as proof of your category

Casey

Sweet.....but a little bitter too...if we could have only got it a day sooner...oh well...he's got it...finally, and I'm proud of my boy.

Thanks for reading.


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Folsom Cyclebration 09 (AJ)

"This is the song I want reverberating in your head whenever you feel the wind on your face!" We were on our way to the Folsom Circuit race early Sunday morning, the third and final day of racing in this years Folsom Cyclebration Omnium. The song was "Use Somebody" by the Kings of Leon. In an effort to get him to understand the importance of conserving his energy, I told him, "Today, I better not see you at all!" Meaning that he'd better be tucked behind a wheel and out of the wind. It's something that both of us have a problem doing. We love mixing it up and would rather have our face in the wind forcing something to happen than sitting in, bored to death. However, doing that can have a detrimental effect on ones attempt at finishing well. "Today, we practice hiding." Referring to him of course. For me, it was no doubt going to be another day of pressing my face into the wind, chasing, covering, and sacrifice for the team. It's been a season full of scrubbing, lotioning, and flossing for me. It's hard work keeping this 25 year old face looking this pretty. ;)

AJ was competing in the Elite 4 category and trying to earn his last few points for his CAT 3 upgrade. It was a last minute decision really. We didn't have a TT bike so I figured I'd just register him for the crit and circuit races. He came to me and asked if he could do the Omnium, I couldn't say no. With just a few hours to spare, I reg'd him then immediately posted to both my team and the DBC list serve's asking if anyone had a TT rig he could borrow. The response I received from the DBC list serve was unexpected, and amazing. In the end, EOB (Eric O'Brien) a teammate of mine came through with the bike, and local Pro Paul Mach came through with a set of wheels. AJ was in awe. "There's 3 World Championships on these wheels!" Paul said as he handed the wheels off to AJ. He was enchanted, as if he'd had some sort of pixie dust sprinkled on him, he didn't walk back to the truck, he floated. He didn't say a word the entire drive home, just sat there, smiling. We got home and he disappeared into the garage.

AJ's never been on a true, bona fide TT bike, neither have I for that much, never been able to afford one really. He hasn't even had his clip-ons on since last year so I was worried he'd trash himself. The Time Trial is such a different animal all together and he'd spent ZERO time working on it this year. I was worried he'd do more damage to his psyche than anything else.

I walk into the garage after a few hours. AJ's focused. He's oblivious to everything around him. Cleaning, lubeing, coddling his new toy, a loaner, but his, if just for the next few days. I sit there for a moment, watching, smiling. "Hey bud." He looks up, the resolute look on his face quickly changed to a warm, lighthearted smile as he seemed to exhale every ounce of intensity and anxiousness and breathe for the first time since escaping to the garage some 2 hours earlier. It was as if I'd caught him doing something that he new he shouldn't be, but, at the same time, knowing I wouldn't be mad at him for it. "Time for bed bud." "I'm almost done." he replied. "It's late bud, don't worry, it'll be ready by tomorrow." He quickly wipes the bottom side of the downtube running his rag from the bottom of the head tube down to the bottom bracket giving a few extra scrubs to the bottom bracket housing. Looked back up to me, smiled, then threw the rag to the work bench and walks past me and into the house. Usually we just exchange "Goodnight's" and that's it, off to bed. But this evening, he catches me completely by surprise, startles me really. He walks up to me and gives me the biggest hug. It felt foreign.

We stopped hugging and giving "see ya later kisses" back when he was 12. I used to drop him off at the bus stop before heading to work. One day, instead of a hug and a kiss on the cheek, he sat in the passenger seat, looked at me with an uneasy look on his face and said, "Ok Dad, I'll see you later." and waited for my reply. Time stood still. It too took me by surprise. I looked at him, focused on his big blue eyes and over his left shoulder I could see his friends watching. I smile, he smiles back. He understands, that I understand. "Ok bud, have a good day. I love you man." In relief he says, "Love you too Dad." Opens the door, gets out, and closes it without looking back. I was a little devastated to be honest. Took a deep breath and drove to work. Cat's in the Cradle started playing in my head. The day was a bit darker.

His arms wrapped around my shoulders, I felt so small. I wrapped my arms under his and after a second, remembered. "There's my boy" I thought to myself. "There's my little buddy." My heart smiled as I chuckled over his shoulder, "You're excited huh?" "Hyeah, I am." he chuckled back. "Me too." "I love you." "See you in the morning." "G'night bud." "Love you too, g'night Dad."

Off to the garage I went.

I take his bike off the trainer, put the talismanic disc on the rear, and off he goes to the start line. I frantically throw everything in the truck, lock it up, and jump on AJ's bmx bike and pedal my ass off trying to make it to the start line before he goes off. In flip-flops, sweating my butt off, I ride by, offering words of encouragement to my teammates who are warming up, as I pass them. "AJ looked sick in the Rock Kit!" a teammate says. AJ doesn't have a skin suit and was going to borrow one from Cody, his teammate. When we picked up the suit, we both noticed it was ripped. He'd gone down in it. Bad Mojo. I could see AJ's eye's fill with anxiety. I grab my skin suit from behind my seat and throw it to him. Grinning from ear to ear, "Awe coool Dad!" Felt like Mean Joe Green throwing that kid his jersey for giving him his coke. I was stoked. I secretly wanted him to wear it anyway, which is why I brought it. He did look sick!

I fly by the registration table, field a few comments from friends a acquaintances in reference to my geeked out TT ride and hammer my way to the start line. I'm pedaling frantically down the right side of the canal, must have been averaging about 150 cadence, hugging the shoulder so as not to interfere with people warming up. A fellow cyclist comes up along side me and says, "NOW THAT'S THE WAY TO WARM UP!" Absolutely scared the living shit out of me and sent me flailing into the ditch. "OH SHIT!" I reply as I careen down the trough of the ditch from one side to the other before regaining control and easing my way out of it. Frazzled I look up and see AJ thundering off. "F#&%!" At the time I had no idea what had transpired before they released him. I ride up to the finish line where I wait, impatiently. After about 20 minutes and 10,000 strained looks up the road, there he comes. I run about 30 yards up from the finish line and scream, "DIG!" as he flies past me tucked, every muscle in his body straining to get as small as he could possibly get. He grips the aero bars, his legs crash down on the pedals with every rotation, his knees brushing the top tube, fully adorned in his Haka face, he crosses the line.

I jump on the bmx bike and off I go, again, spinning so fast I'm bobbing, trying to catch up to him. I ride up beside him, he wants nothing to do with me. He ride's up ahead, glancing back at me, avoiding me. He's upset. "Hey!" I yell. Nothing. "HEY!" again, nothing. "AJ!" He finally looks back. "Slow down!" We get back to the start line, ride passed everyone before he slows enough for me to ride up next to him and starts to tell me what happened.

Apparently, as the guys at the bike shop gave him a last minute fitting the night before the TT, they locked out the rear deraileur effectively giving him Jr. gears, or so we thought. Well, when we put the "Talismanic" Paul Mach rear wheel on, it had different gearing which made him over geared. Not by much, but enough for him to be deemed illegal. They've let him race with similar gearing in the past, so I was more than just a little upset. Well, they just kept him there, not really sure what to do. His # came and passed. He sat there shattered, as the seconds ticked by. Finally he asked what the heck was going on. The officials looked at each other and said, well, we might as well let him go. So, a full minute after his official start time, they release him. I went to the official, who was listening to no one. Asked him what was going to happen. After my 3rd attempt to get an answer or even be acknowledged, he said, "Well, his time is his time and there's nothing we could do." "But you held him a full minute and a half before releasing him!" I said. "Yeah, well, we shouldn't have released him at all!" Can't argue with that I guess. I had AJ roll his bike over to the official taped rollout line for Jr's, and sure enough, he was over...barely. So, I looked at AJ and said, "Don't worry about it bud!" You can't use Omnium points towards your upgrade anyway, we'll just focus on Crit and the Circuit. It did little to ease his frustration.

We arrive in plenty of time for a good warm up for the crit the next day. I've got 6 teammates in the top 10 of the GC's in 2 different categories, so I register for the Elite 3 crit as well as the Masters 123's, but that's a different story all together.

AJ spends the majority of the race no less than 4-5 wheels from the front and most of it, in the wind closing gaps and chasing the whole pack back on to break attempts and primes. As a result, he comes in somewhere in the top 20 for the sprint. After sitting there watching him work, I had a feeling that this was going to happen judging by his body language and the look on his face throughout the race. His mom was there making matters worse. It's not often that she comes to watch, and when she does, he wants so badly to do well that often times he goes out too hard, too fast and overcooks himself. This day was no different. Oh well, all we can do now is hope for a good showing at the Circuit race the next day.

I made the mistake of not signing him up for the Jr's Crit and I wasn't going to make the same mistake this day. Though it was a much harder race I knew that AJ wanted to redeem himself for the previous days performance. It was going to be a long day. His first race was at 10:20 and his last race wasn't until 5:15. We make our way through the traffic, surprised that there's so much so early in the day. We're lucky. As soon as we pull into the jam packed parking lot there's a huge SUV just leaving. We're just across form the Start/Finish. AJ bolts out of the truck and over to registration. He's already signed up for he E4 Omnium, so the Jr race will only be $10. We're rushing, trying to get him ready. We both know that he's running late, but we purposely avoid mentioning it so as not to freak him out. Just then, Cody rides up, "Dude, are you doing the Jr's with me!?!" "You'd better hurry!" We both turn and snap at the kid, basically telling him to shut up! In stereo it comes out much worse than either of us intended. Poor kid.

Have I told you how much I love watching this kid race? I'm watching from about 50' away. Far enough to be unattached, yet close enough to still see the expressions on their faces. They're all sitting at the start line waiting for the whistle. They're announcing the top 3 kids in the Jr's Omnium and AJ's applauding and congratulating the younger riders as they make their way to the front. Most of the older Jr's are registered in their respective Category Omnium's so they're just doing this race as an add on like AJ and Cody. I sit there watching, still amazed at this young man sitting on his top tube looking all grown up, all serious. He looks familiar, he resembles the little boy that I used to know, that used to be full of questions and used to look up to, and at me. Who used to watch and study my actions, my words, and try and emulate them. He glances over at me, all serious and focused. I give him a nod and that little boy emerges for just a brief moment and flashes a big smile. I find comfort knowing that I can still see that in him. Something that no one else can see. Often times I sit and watch others around him watching him. They can't see it...but I can.

I spend the majority of the race running from the Start/Finish line to the fence that runs along the side of the overpass where I could see the boys round the last corner after the 180 and hammer down the onramp to the bridge cheering my boy on. He sits around mid pack for the majority of the race and is doing a wonderful job of staying hidden. I see him closing a few gaps here and there, but he's looking much more comfortable today as opposed to yesterday. The pack blows through the start finish and I hear voices from everywhere cheering my boy on. Cody, his teammate is doing a fine job of stringing things out, forcing the selection to be made. They come around for the final lap and AJ's sitting comfortable right around 6th wheel. They round the last corner and all at once I see a kid in a white kit jump, then another kid jumps and AJ follows. He's a little late in his reaction but still manages to make up some ground as he throws his bike around in what seems to be a full body conniption and grabs a solid 3rd place. Saweet! I'm all welled up with pride as I realize that it's AJ's first podium in his bike racing career. I'm overcome. I run up and give him the biggest hug. I'm so proud I can't even handle it. I have no words...believe it or not. Everybody's congratulating him. All of my teammates both new and old all come through at one time or another congratulating, patting him on the back, hugging, high fiving...it's awesome!

So we're sitting beside the truck relaxing after his first race when Justin and Chad walk up. After racing with Chad in the E3 crit the day before and moving him from 3rd to 2nd in the overall standings I was undecided about a 2nd day of near back to back efforts. My legs were still tired. In the end, I let Justin talk me out of doing the E3 Circuit, a decision that I'd later regret. But again, that's another story.

His 2nd race also happened to be the last race of this years festivities. Most people had left, but there's still a fairly large crowd. My race had just ended so AJ was going to have to get warmed up and be to the line without any help from Dad. I wasn't worried. Dawn had come out with Isabel so I knew that she'd make sure he was good to go. Not that AJ couldn't take care of himself, but making sure that every things put away and locked up so nothing "walks off" is another thing. It's nice having someone there to help with all of that.

He managed to stay "hidden" for the most part in the Jr's race which is why he was able to podium, but being that it was his 2nd race of the day in a faster, larger field he wasn't expecting anything spectacular. I'm standing at the Start/Finish cooling down with Judd, Eric, Carol irving, and Heather, Judd's girlfriend. It's so cool listening and watching all the people who've come to know my boy fairly well these past few years cheer him on every time he passes. It's a little overwhelming to be honest with you. Looking around at not only all of our friends, but many folks who know him that I've never met. I realize that AJ's had a lasting effect on lots of these people. Some are parents of kids he's helped mentor, and some are parents of kids he's raced against all season. I can't tell you how many times I've been approached by perfect strangers asking me if I'm AJ's Dad. "Yes, I am" I say with a smile as they proceed to tell me about my son and the impression he's made or the effect he's had on their child. I'm telling you, it's times like these that really afford me the opportunity to appreciate the things that matter the most. All of the trials and troubles that life brings seem to pale and, at least in that moment, fall by the wayside and are in fact inconsequential. Just as he did in his earlier race, I watch as he stays right around mid pack and easily rolls by lap after lap. In fact, he's doing such a good job of "staying hidden" that I don't even see him a few times, causing Dad's heart rate to spike unnecessarily! Dang it!

I hear them announce "One lap to go!" My heart's pumping, adrenaline is off the charts. I run to the side of the road, about 60 meters up from the Start/Finish line and wait. I've chewed a hole right into the inside of my lower lip from all the excitement. All bunched up, they round the last corner and explode towards the Start/Finish line. At first I can't see AJ, but all at once, I see him. He's huge! He fire's out from behind a wheel like a chained Rottwieler, not looking anything like that little boy I used to know. He's a Beast...a rabid animal, sweating, spitting grunting, foaming at the mouth hunched over his bike violently throwing it from side to side pouring himself over the handlebars. I'm waving my arms in the air like a crazy chicken screaming, "DIG, DIG, DIG!" as he fly's past me. I hear the sound that we all hate to hear. It's worse than nails scraping across a black board, worse than teeth grinding, worse than utensils scraping the bottom of a plate over and over again. It's the sound of rubber, precious metals, carbon, and human flesh impacting the ground at an accelerated rate of speed. It's happening right in front of me not 8" away and misses be by less than that...but I can't be bothered, every ounce of my attention is focused on my son as he hurls his body and bike down the road. It's not until I see him cross the Finish line unscathed and at the front of the pack that my attention goes to the young man laying just 10 ft. from me. I rush over, pick his bike up, reattach his Power Tap computer, lay it to the side of the road. He's already being attended to by a few others and I hear a gentleman proclaim that he's his son. Been there, not a happy feeling. It's down right frightening in fact. It's not until I make my way across the road and to AJ that I find that he missed the top spot on the podium by just a few inches.


Again, I'm absolutely overwhelmed, not only by the fact that it's his 2nd podium of the day, but by the amount of people that are approaching him, congratulating, hugging, high fiving him...it's a feeling that I could definitely get used to. JB's there, Judd, EOB, and Mike Jacques, a new teammate comes up, gives him a huge hug, grabbing AJ's shoulders coming out of the hug, turns to me and says, "Dude, I don't even have kids, but this so awesome, I'm so proud!" Totally cool man! Tow-ta-lly cool! Good thing I've got glasses on. They can't see my eyes well up with tears. With the amount of people hollering at AJ, you'd have thought he won it. He looks at me with the biggest smile I think I've ever seen. We embrace each other squeezing and not wanting to let go. After the podium ceremony he comes up and pats me on the back so hard that my Blackberry goes flying out of my hand and into 4 pieces once it hits the ground...I don't even care. Not only did he grab 2nd in the race, but managed to pull himself into 4th place in the Omnium...3 podiums in one day. Perspective? If that doesn't give you a little....I don't know what will.

Thanks for reading.




















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Winters Road Race

"I love my bike...I just don't want to ride it anymore!" These words started as a whisper back in the deep crevices of the vast emptiness of my mind about a month ago but have recently become more of a motto, more of a mantra that I've begun to try to put to music during my last few races...have yet to strike that perfect cord though...so, I pedal on.

Hey Bud...talk to me!" I say as I ride up in my flip-flops. He'd just crossed the finish line. I throw my right leg back and over the saddle while lifting up on the handle bar with my left hand. Pushing down on the saddle with my right hand, I hop off as I hurl my bike to the left, letting go of it completely, sending it into orbit. My natural satellite much like the moon is to the earth. I reach up, grab the stem, rescuing it from it's moment of suspended animation, seemingly sending every other moving object back to it's natural trajectory. In a movement as natural as brushing the hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear, it comes to rest at my side. For some reason, the instantaneous snapshot of that very moment is branded into my memory. How, I don't know, because my eyes never left AJ's face.

The man standing over him turns to me and asks, "Do you know him?" "He's my son." I reply. He looks at me with a befuddled look. Never turning my attention from AJ I kneel down to get a closer look. He's sitting in the shade, slumping. His elbows resting on his knees, his head, heavy, bowing between them. I say, "Come on, get up!" as I stand up. This time with a tone that was less concerned as it was demanding. Still looking at me, I could see the expression on the man's face turn from befuddled to one of contempt. "Come on! Get up Bud!" I grab his bike, and forcefully hold it out to him and say, "Come on! Use your bike to steady you...let's go!" He was struggling, but he hadn't puked or shite himself and I needed to get him across the street to the sprinklers. He's too damned big to carry so I had to get him up and moving. Besides, I knew my son.

My race started 10 minutes after his. We'd arrived in plenty of time. Got his #'s pinned on and made sure he was all set. He'd wanted to get in a bit of a warm up, so off he went while I continued to get ready. I walk down to use the restroom one last time and when I return to the truck, I noticed my bike was missing. The 3 guys that were parked right next to me had been there the whole time. They hear me say, "Alright, who took my F'n bike!?!" They all turn and say something along the lines of, "Oh shit man!" "You've got to be kidding me!" "We never saw a thing!" They were serious. Goes to show you how fast and easy it is to have your stuff taken. Even in a parking lot with hundreds of cyclists mulling around and getting ready. I see something out of the corner of my eye...It's Fonseca, hiding behind his car, laughing. There my bike was, sitting in the gravel across the parking lot behind his truck, relieved now that I'd finally found her. I walk over, "Very funny guys!" We chat for a few minutes about how much I love my Nago, guess it's the bike they're getting for next year. I head back to finish getting ready. It put me about 10 minutes behind schedule and rattled my nerves a bit. Nice.

So the "plan" was to let the "Grimpeurs," or "climbers" go and reel them back on the flats and to basically work to bring back anything that got away while keeping JB tucked safely out of the wind, saving him for what should have been a podium finish. Since Judd wasn't with us, he was by far our strongest teammate in the race. Having raced with him all year, I knew how strong he was in comparison to the rest of the team. It was an easy decision to make. Well, having a well thought plan is one thing, carrying it out is something all together different. The truth is, you never know what you'll have to give, let alone your teammates. Not only that, but how much of it you, or they are willing to give to "The Team." It's a common problem on teams both new and well established from what I've gathered. Even those that seem to have it together share in this jostling of team members, all vying for their shot. Individuals who have personal goals that are not exactly in line with what we're trying to do as a team. We've all been there. We feel good, we feel that if we were the one sitting in, we'd be just as likely to podium as anyone. So, we sit in, or we do just enough to look as though we're doing our job, while at the same time, saving just a little bit for the finish. Or, we disagree with the overall plan so we remove ourselves from it all together. I know, I've done it, and I've also learned that it's just no the way to do it. What's good is that we're all hungry. We all strive to be better, stronger, faster. We all train hard and deserve our shot just as much as that "next guy". The only thing is, more often than not, that "next guy" is a teammate who's just flat out stronger than we are. It's a tough pill to swallow for some of us. Tough to accept. We'll get it. We've already proven that we can pull together as a team so I'm not worried. Some days are just better than others.

Like me, AJ tends to get a little emotional at times. Though unlike me, he's a little better at "not" wearing them on his sleeve. He'd given everything he had. He was completely spent. He was also...disappointed.

We walk across the street and rest the bikes up against a tree. I'm watching him closely. His respirations were shallow and rapid. He leans his bike gently against the tree, it begins to slip, I grab it and tell him to walk over to the sprinkler and stick his head in it. He slowly walks over. His steps are short and focused. He leans over, fills his bottle and pours it over his head. He takes a few deep breathes and begins to settle down. After a few moments of drenching himself and drinking, he's completely gathered himself. To make sure he's ok, I tell him to rinse his cleats off which by now had become caked with mud. Testing not only his motor skills, but mental capacity as well. Wondering how long it'll take him to realize that there was no way he could effectively get all the mud off because he was in fact, standing in a mud puddle.

You know that scene in Jumanji where the kid runs to the wood shed for the ax, finds the woodshed locked and picks up "the ax," the very thing he was looking for, which was leaning up against the shed, and just as he's about to break the lock to the shed, realizes it? Well, that's the look AJ gives me after trying to re-rinse his right cleat. We both smile. He's good. We jump on the bikes to head back the the truck and he begins to tell me what happened.

His race started 10 minutes before mine. I'd just returned from a quick 20 minute jaunt down Putah Creek Rd. and was already dripping with perspiration. My gloves were already soaked through. I arrive just in time to see his start. He's calm, looking poised and confident. He had about 5 other members of DBC Elite squad racing with him...I liked his chances. I watch as he clips in. Relaxed and looking like he was born to do this, he easily rolls by, glancing my way for a quick nod. He's so damned mature now.

The whistle blows and we're off. First lap so no one is expecting anything to happen, at least nothing of any significance. Well, within the first 5 miles, 4 guys manage to get off the front. I'm sitting about mid pack and watch as they roll off, taking a peek every so often by standing on the pedals and "Giraffing" is what I like to call it. Stretching as tall as I can get out of the saddle without letting go of the hoods trying to see what's going on up the road.

First time through the feed zone. I'd started with 3 bottles so I slam down the remainder of my first and drop it. I didn't grab another since I had 2 full one's and wasn't at all thirsty. I roll up to Justin on the first roller and he offers me a bottle holding it out for me to grab. "I'm good bro, don't need it!" "SHIT!" he replies as he's diggin' deep to get up the hill. The first time over Cantelow is...tame. The group pretty much stays together. Justin chases back on. JB's been close to the front and I see him start looking around after a few miles down PV Road. No doubt wondering where his teammates were. Chad heads up to the front and takes a quick turn at the front before I pull through and begin to ratchet it up. I flick my arm and pull left to allow the next rider to pull through to continue the rotation, but there's no one. I look back and see Greg Anderson smiling at me with another of his teammates sitting on his wheel. I see JB back there around 5th wheel and Chad a few wheels behind him. Greg's got a teammate up in the break and isn't pulling through. I turn my attention back to the front, lower my head and start turning it up believing that shortly there after, one of my teammates would rotate up to help. I pull for a solid mile and a half before Justin comes up just before we turn right on Putah Creek. I'm thankful. He and I take turns at the front, rotating through, we find a smooth rhythm when Mike Jacques comes up to lend a hand. Mike's new to the team and is already proving to be a huge asset. He joins in and we press on. The 3 of us hammer for a few miles rotating one after the other, smooth, flawless. I feel myself well up with pride. After a few miles I tell them to throttle back a bit and allow someone else to come up and take a turn. I pull wide right and wave back to the guys to see if anyone would come up. Nothing. I float back to see what was going on and see JB sitting on Metcalfe's wheel. I lower my right hand and signal to J. "Go ahead Jas" he says as he slows just enough, opening a gap allowing me to slot in. I figure if Metcalfe was going to go, I didn't want JB to have to work to get back up to his wheel so, there I sat for the rest of the lap up to the rollers. Justin and Mike completely crucify themselves for about 10 miles, giving everything they had to bring back the break. I'm proud of them. I watch as they take turns with a few other guys at the front, sacrificing themselves for the good of the team. I want to join them, but I want to make sure I've got something for the last lap to give to JB figuring that the rest of the team must have been feeling a bit sub par since I hadn't seen any of them come up to lend a hand.

The 2nd time up the climb was a bit harder. I found myself finishing the last of my 2 bottles and grabbing 2 more. EOB was awesome in the feed zone. Producing bottle after bottle, feeding his famished, depleted teammates. Rod Fernandez, an ex teammate of ours with DBC was also there lending a hand. Cool. I've definitely got to get better at that. I was gapped the first time through the feed zone and had to hammer hard to get back on. This time was no different. Only this time, I wasn't able to get back on before the decent. Off the back baby! I pass Chad on the second roller and say, "Let's go big guy!" He jumps on my wheel as we hit the first decent.

Back before hitting the feed zone, just before Steiger Rd. we'd passed the 30+ field...actually, we flew around them like they were standing still. Well, just before we hit the steep part on Cantelow, I'm starting to pass 2 guys on my right and just before clearing both of them, the 30+ field is starting to pass me. Some A-HOLE pushes on my left hip. It takes everything I've got to prevent from slamming into the guy to my right while screaming at the A-HOLE to keep his F'ING hands off me. He flips me off and tells me to fall back if I'm not with his field. What a DICK! As I'm re-gathering myself to hammer up the road and give him a piece of my mind, I get a huge shove from behind. The guy pushes me right up next to the A-HOLE and I crank hard and bump his bar with my left hip as I fly by him. I look back to see him freak out and struggle to stay upright. I slow allowing him to catch back up expecting some sort of exchange. He keeps his head down and says nothing. Once again I let my temper and emotions get the better of me, I dump the adrenaline all over my bike as I summit. I'm gasping for air and gears at the same time trying to keep my momentum up and over the top setting up for the decent.

I've done this decent hundreds of times and know it like the back of my hand. Only difference is, we've got the whole road and don't have to worry about oncoming traffic. I hammer. I'm passing riders one after the other. Cutting corners at 40+ miles an hour, reaching 45 at the base. I love my bike. Chad catches back on about a mile down Pleasant Valley. "Ouch, that hurt!" he says as he pulls up to my wheel. We're joined by a group from the 30+ field. One of the guys says, "Hey man, I was the one that helped you back there, that dude was being an A'HOLE!" "Yes he was." "Thanks man!" I replied.

I'd just passed Rick Bradley who was with the lead group up over Cantelow but had flatted. "C'mon Rick, let's go!" I say as I passed by. I'd slowed a bit to allow him to catch on knowing he'd be a huge help in getting back to the main group. We spent the next 8 miles or so trying to chase back on, but saw no light at the end of the tunnel. My stomach had started cramping as well so Rick and I decided to call it a day after about a mile into the 3rd lap. I hated dropping out, but didn't think I'd be much help to the team at that point and was wanting to see the end of AJ's race.

Turns out, Chad was able to chase back on but popped hard going into the feed zone. He'd pulled off to the side of the road and was grabbing a few bottles when AJ passed through looking strong heading up the hill for the 3rd and final time. Shortly after that, AJ flatted. He was sitting 3rd wheel with 3 of his fellow DBC elite's in a 7 man break. Now, I'm sure, or at least I'd like to think, that if they'd known that AJ was just a few points from achieving his CAT 3 upgrade, at least one of them would have offered up their wheel. But that wasn't the case. AJ was dropped. He was walking back to the feed zone when Chad rode up. Of course, AJ was absolutely distraught, after having been plagued by flats all year long and being forced, yet again, to watch, as his race left him standing at the side of the road. Chad asked, "What's wrong!?!" "I flatted!" Chad, being the cool-ass "Uncle" that he is, selflessly gave up his wheel and sent him on his way sacrificing the rest of his race. Everything happens for a reason...gotta love the Diesel.

As AJ and I rode back to the truck, he began to explain what had happened in his race. I could tell he was trying hard to keep his voice from cracking. Pausing, taking a drink from his bottle, clearing his throat and trying to compose himself. My heart started to hurt. I apologized for raising my voice and seeming inconsiderate. I explained to him that I knew a lot of it had to do with the fact that he was disappointed in himself. He wanted to do well and I knew that he had it in him to win it. I told him that I knew he was a strong cyclist and that he'd just had some bad luck. That he didn't have to finish in the top 10 to impress me. Just finishing after a day like that was impressive enough. "I dropped out a mile into the 3rd lap!" I said. His head snapped around. Looking me right in the eye, he asked, "Really?" "Why?" "What happened?" "I was trashed man...done!" I replied. "So you're stronger than your "Old Man," that's for sure!" Still hoping that hearing that would somehow give him a sense of accomplishment. Not sure if it holds the water that it used to...I guess that's a good thing. No, I think he's reached that age where I just don't have all the answers anymore. The look on his face is one that, I'm sure, all of our Dads have seen at one point. A deep, despairing look. It was hard to look at him. It took me back to when he was just a little boy. His mom and I had been separated for only a short time. He missed his mom dearly. He looked up at me with those big blue eyes one night as I was tucking him in for bed and asked, "Da-ee, why doesn't Mommy live with us now?" I just sat there. How could I explain it in a way that he'd understand. I gently placed the heel of my left hand to the side of his forehead and softly let my fingers find there place as I brushed back his hair wiping the tiniest remnant of a tear with my trailing thumb from under his eye. I turned his head and cupped his little face with both of my hands being careful not to look too deeply into those eyes. I knew that this time would come at some point, thought about it often, and still, I didn't have the answer. At least not an answer that I thought would help him understand. I kissed him on his forehead and offered my explanation. The look he gave back then, is the exact look I was seeing some 13 years later. I felt empty, unworthy, inadequate. I wondered when my Dad had seen this look and what he said. Then I remembered, I was 22, AJ's Mom was pregnant with him. I was thinking about asking her to marry me. I drove over to the house. My Dad was in the garage, as usual, and Mom was in the house making dinner, as usual. Dad was working on one of the vehicles, I walked up and started helping. He knew why I was there. We shot the shit for a while, just small talk. Then, after a pause that seemed like 5 minutes, I asked him. "I'm thinking about asking Michelle to marry me." "What do you think." Without turning his attention from what he was doing, without looking me in the eye, he offered up his answer. "Well, it could be a lot worse." and turned and walked over to his workbench and went about his business. Did he feel the same way I did? Is that why he couldn't look me in the face? Did he know at that point that he didn't have the answers to my troubles?

Trying to turn his focus to something else, I continued to explain why I was so stern with him earlier. I told him that we all have a choice to make when we reach that level of exhaustion. We can either sit there and allow our bodies to systematically start shutting down, or we can get up and do something about it. I told him that by simply getting up and moving around it allowed his body to start cooling down by evaporating his sweat. Getting to the sprinkler was just the carrot, at first, then of course, drenching himself probably saved him from having to have medical attention.

It's been a tough year for AJ. He's had some terrible luck with flats. That, combined with a few selfish teammates has made it a very difficult year to stomach for both of us. It's tough when there's nothing you can do but sit back and watch as your son continues to learn that there are some things that you just have to accept. Things that you have absolutely no control over. I envy his strength. His ability to deal with each obstacle as it presents itself and put it behind him amazes me. His resilience. His patience. He's teaching me.

As for our race...JB ended up grabbing 9th overall...and that's about all I have to say about it. A learning experience I'm sure...for all of us.

Onward and Upward!

I love my bike...I just don't want to ride it anymore...

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Dunnigan Hills/Thrills/sans spills

"This isn't what I had planned for the day!" I say to Jason as I pull through right smack into the cross/head wind for my 3rd rotation just 5 miles into a 90 mile road race. Was it experience, or lack thereof, maybe a bit of both? I dunno, but Rick Bradley and Chris Baker were with us, so you decide. First break attempt of the day, I was close enough to the front to react, didn't see any of my teammates in it and we were one of, if not the biggest team out there with 8 guys. So, I covered.
It was great to see so many members of my "Wolf Pack" out there with me. For the majority of the season we've never had more than 2 or 3 guys in most of our races so it was cool to have some company for this slugfest. We had Judd Van Sickle, Jason Boynton, Robbin Van Valkenburgh, Eric O'Brien, Chad Demasi, Sean Smith, Stephen Janke, and myself.
So there I was, red lining just 5.5 miles into a 90 mile road race. I just couldn't get those little friggin' #'s on my computer to drop below 185 bpm. I keep reminding myself that my max is 196 so I've got it in me. It does little to quiet the screaming voice in my head...or was it my body, at times like this, they tend to come at me in Dolby Surround Sound so it's hard to tell who's saying what. I take a peek back to see that we've got a pretty good gap so I lower my chin to my chest and drill it.
I think one of the problems of being such a new team is that we really haven't figured out our abilities, both as individuals, and as a team. Being a Masters team it's even tougher. Life sometimes has a way of redirecting priorities what with family, work and such. Only getting to race but once a month with most of my teammates makes it difficult to gauge on another's fitness level. Up to this point, we've pretty much let the races dictate who's "The Guy" through attrition. Working for one another when the opportunity presented itself. This was one of those races.
I guess everyone was feeling the same way I was. That rush of adrenaline and feeling of urgency and excitement that comes with being off the front had left us as I look back and see why. Kevin Metcalfe is hammering at the front and we're brought back. Just before the peleton envelops us, Rick comes up and says, "Be ready, the next time we hit this section it's gonna go!"
Well, I'm warm now! I fold back into the shelter of the pack and attempt to recover. The winds were forecast at 8 mph but, as usual, they were way off. I drift back about 15 spots as we hit the overpass at 505 and it's immediately guttered. We're pummeled by the cross/head wind that seems to have gained another 10 mph as it smears the peleton across the road. Centerline rule is strictly enforced so it slams everyone against the yellow line. Like pieces of driftwood in heavy surf, the wind hurls us against it. A wall of desperate, diminishing riders, crouching, trying to get as small as they possibly can while struggling to find the slightest remnants of a slipstream from the wheel in front of them. I'm sitting about 20 wheels back. I know I've got to make my way up the wall and into the wind or risk getting gapped. So, I go. I jump up about 4 spots to Robin's wheel and let him know I'm there. I ask him to give me a little room. He moves 5" to the right, giving up what little draft he's getting to give me shelter. I tell him we've got to move up and without hesitation he jumps to the right and into the wind with me glued to his wheel. He delivers me toward the front as I pull up next to Judd. Again, I ask for a brief respite from the wind still feeling the earlier effort. Judd hesitates, then graciously, or maybe reluctantly gives up his sweet spot. Either way, he takes it on the chin for me. I sit for just a few seconds, enough to catch a few breaths, and jump to the front and back into the rotation giving Judd back his spot.
By the end of the first lap, we've lost over half the field and half of our team. A few were able to catch back on, as we hit the first cross wind section for the 2nd time. I was told by Judd and Chad to stay in the rotation or risk getting guttered, then gapped so I do just that. Only thing is, it's me, Chris Baker, Stephen McCaw, and one other who are doing all of the work, rotating through, pulling everyone with us. At first I'm a bit frustrated. I wanted to do well and possibly place in this race so I thought I'd have at least one other teammate rotating with me to help keep my nose out of the wind or to help get another break established. After a few minutes, I'm over it as I realize that I've got Judd, JB, Robin, and Chad back there who are all riding just as strong, if not stronger than I am and we've got a great chance of winning this if we keep it tight and play our cards right. I start to ease into realizing that it's going to be a looong lap.
Somewhere along the way Craig Roamer had gone off the front. We kept him within sight and let him dangle out there for a while. Then J goes up the road with Scott Fonseca and a few others. I rotate to the front and start thinking about jumping. I drift back a few wheels and nonchalantly move to my drops so as no to alert anyone of my intentions. I gently feather my thumb against my right shifter. I'm stealthy, I'm a tiger ready to pounce his prey, I'm a Ninja seconds away from launching his attack on his unsuspecting enemy, I'm....I'm...I'm too late! Judd jumps wide to the right with Chris Baker on his wheel and up the road they go. I watch as they throw their bikes from side to side, pouring themselves over their bars, powering away from the pack. I let out a silent scream, "NNNNOOOOOOOOO!" and reach my hand out, stretching in front of my bike in that despairing pose that we've all seen in those cheap, if not predictable movies where the hero or heroin has just lost a loved one and can't imagine another breath without them. Figuratively speaking of course. I can't go now. I'm stuck, left behind, a domestique once again. So, to the front I go with Chad and we proceed to slow the chase and allow the break to establish. There were a few flyers, but nothing serious. With all of the major teams represented in the break, controlling the chase wasn't that hard, but since we had 2 up, it was left to us to do it. Chad and I are on the front in the longer cross wind section and strike that all too familiar pose...the lean as we impale ourselves on the proverbial sword and heave our bikes and bodies into the unforgiving cross wind effectively doing what's expected of us.
By the time we turn right onto Old Hwy 99 the break is long gone. With 10 miles to go, Scott Cole, the only Morgan Stanley rider in the break was dropped and falls back to the chase. The 2 MS riders who'd been sitting in for the most part jump to the front along with Metcalfe and start drilling it. I jump with them and in an instant, the chase group goes from 15 or so, to 8. Chad's still with me.
Earlier, on our second trip through the feed zone I completely missed out. Daryl and his wife were cool enough to come out to work the feed zone for us. He and Chad had agreed to use make shift musette bags and have 5 or so bottles in them. As we roll up to the 1st feed zone I ask Chad, "Is Coach (Daryl) here, or at the 2nd feed zone?" "I'm not sure" he says. I start making my way to the right side as Chad yells, "He's here, he's here!" I'm not in position but I see Chad grab a bag from Coach two wheels up. I jump to the right and go to grab the bottle that Coach has produced with lightning quick speed and miss it. DOH! That's ok, Chad's got a bag full. I ride up to him and just as I'm about to ask him for a bottle, he's throwing the bag to the side of the road...empty. Robin, Sean, Judd, and Jason were with us and needed bottles just as bad as I did. Good thing I brought the 3rd bottle. I was still running low and knew I'd need a refill. "No problem bro, I'll share mine with you" Chad says. I was able to grab a bottle at the 2nd feed zone but ran out about 2 miles before that. In an instant, I was down to half a bottle.
Metcalfe is an animal and takes monster pulls. I'm on his wheel as he flaps his right elbow. I pull through at 32 mph and the rotation continues. Only 4 of us are rotating though and I can't seem to get out from behind him. I know he's going to go, and I know that I'll be the one who has to respond. He hammers on and keeps flipping his damned elbow. I have to oblige. It must be some sort of Hammer Head code or something. I know I just don't want to be "that guy." You know, the guy who just sits in and does no work at all. Too much pride I guess. So, I pull through, again trying to silence the voices and am purposely NOT looking down at my computer. Besides, I've got Chad back there to respond if anyone goes. All at once, Rick and 2 Morgan Stanley guys attack. I'm on the front I wait for just a second hoping that someone else will respond so I can jump on their wheel, but no one does. I stand on the pedals and slam it to the right of the road looking to catch their draft, but it's too late, there's nothing there but wind. It snickers at me. It laughs at my futile attempt. It's NO friend of mine. I turn myself inside out in rebellion. I rage against it. I'm emptying myself and feel my body as it starts to systematically shut down. Again, I'm forced to sit and watch as they pull away from me. I've done the math. There goes 9th, 10th, and 11th. I fall back. I'm reduced to embers as I'd lit what I thought was the last match in the book. I slip to the back looking for Chad and a drink of water. Before I knew it, I was 2 bike lengths off the wheel in front of me. I look back and see nothing but the moto ref. Damn, something must have happened to Chad. Turns out, he'd hit a pot hole and cracked his carbon wheel. So it's down to Metcalfe, Cole, McCaw, some lame ass who's sitting at the back shaking his head saying he's got nothing left, and myself. I've got a mouth full of cotton, can hardly breath and we've got about 3 miles to go. McCaw goes and all I can do is watch. Then, the lame ass who had nothing left back about 2 miles ago drills it. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who was bothered by it. Metcalfe looks over at me and says, "WTF man!?!" "I know bro!" I reply. "F that!" he says as he puts his forehead on his stem and drills it one last time. I pull through @ 30 mph as we catch him and set my sights on McCaw who's 100m up. As we hit the overpass for the final sprint I light the book with the last match and completely regurgitate my very essence all over the front of my bike. I cross the line, it's over...finally. I'm an empty shell. I can feel my skin flaking off in the wind as I'm completely reduced to ash.
I see AJ and J off to the side but can't even lift my head to acknowledge them. I stop and almost fall over. I look up and see Judd. He's holding up his hand. I have to blink a few times to clear my eyes that have a sticky film of sweat, grime, and sunblock smeared thick across them. I squeeze my eyes and try to focus. Squinting I barely make out what he's trying to tell me...he's holding up 1 finger and trying his hardest to smile. He looks like I feel. Saweet...

So Rocknasium takes it with Judd 1st, J grabs 6th, I end up 13th, and Chad, 20th. Yeah baby!

The next day at Suisun. Judd grabs 2nd in the Masters 123's and 5th in the Pro 1-2's earning his last point for his CAT 1 upgrade. Awesome.

As I'm walking back to the course with AJ to watch Judd in the P1-2's at Suisun, we're stopped by Chris Baker and Rick Bradley. "Bro, you were killing it yesterday man! You looked strong!" Chris says with Rick shaking his head in agreement. "Your team chemistry was awesome bro. You guys Rocked it!"
Cool...

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