Congratulations on yesterday Eric, Marc et al.

here's some youtube footage of the HPCX C race:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YoOaCvr5kNM

Nice report Rich... congrats William on the podi finish and to all for a racing in such fun conditions!

Congrats all --nice finishes Marc and Eric!

I have little to add to Rich's excellent report.

The low point of the race for me was being lapped by the leader relatively late on the last lap. Fortunately, the high point came seconds later when I heard "OUT OF THE WAY PIGGY!" from just behind me and WDC steamed past in third place followed pretty closely by Rich in the 6th or 7th slot.

If it's true that the indigenous Sami People of the polar region have hundreds of words for snow then I think cyclocross culture needs a dozen for the various incarnations of mud. We experienced at least three of them in this morning's race. I don't think I've ever seen a course change consistency as quickly as this one did. As the sun started melting the snow cover and the field churned the mud underneath, it felt like a different course every lap. Michelin Mud Max (Deux) [which I switched to last night] did a surprisingly decent job of hooking up in the mixed conditions.

Final observation: Sometimes the snowier line is faster uphill than the muddy one.

By the way, WDC got to try on my neoprene gloves (which I did not race in). Josh-Eat your heart out... : ) I couldn't find you after the race.

From my end:

Went through the hole shot in about 8th place. Settled in with a group of 8 or so guys with the leader about 5 seconds out in front of us. We battled for the first 1/2 lap, slogging through the developing mud and the left over snow. Near the end of the first lap, in my excitement at being in the lead group, I forgot bike handling skills 101 and leaned too far into a corner and went down. Lost contact with the group as I tried to get going again in a too large gear on a slight incline. Got picked up by the next group and 20 seconds later go down again. 3 guys went by before I got the pedals turning again then dump it a 3rd time on the icy pavement coming in towards the finish line. By now I figure I'm in about 20th and the adrenalin is pumping and I'm cursing. Settled in with another group of about 5 guys at the start of the 2nd lap when William and Rich go by gangbusters. I start to concentrate on my handling and leaning the body, not the bike. I feel my new tubbies that I glued up last week doing their job and I gain more and more confidence as the lap goes by. Unfortunately this group contains someone named Larry who it seems is a friend to everyone in the middle of NJ. Every person we go by yells "Go Larry!". After about the 20th such blast from the sidelines it's starting the grate on me. I want to yell, "My name's not Larry!" but instead decide to drop that group in pursuit of William and Rich. I give it a big dig on a muddy uphill section and I'm free from Larry! Rich and William are long gone but I concentrate on picking off a couple more guys and have one more in my sights when we hit final uphill pavement. I whimper as I cross the finish line and pull up next to Neil. He hands my a Cliff block which I lick off my muddy glove and chew done with a mouthful of central Jersey mud. Good for 20th. Excellent rides by everyone and great places for William and Rich.

Looking forward to some Beacon reports.

Here we go.
I am not sure why I was going to Beacon with the horrible impending weather, but I convinced myself that I really like this race and the promoter who I've known seemingly forever. Heck, I was going to this race when it started and I knew the prior promoter as well.

Not yet raining as I get up. Raining slightly as I leave. I had to convince myself to even bring the pit bike with thoughts such as "that's why you spent the money," and "you'd be really pissed to drive three hours and not finish." So, I brought both bikes - one in the trunk and one in the backseat - didn't want them to get pelted with rain on the way down.

I can't believe I'm doing this!

Rain, temperature dropping slightly as I drive south. Ugh, this is going to suck, but its a sandy course I think...

Get there, its cold, its really wet and I have to pee badly. Along the walk to register, I relieve myself - ahh! Now then where was I? Oh, its raining and I'm getting cold. I stop at the announcer's tent - say hi to Joe Saling and Wade Hess (promoter). He's wet and cold. Joe is warm with propane heater.

I then get colder and wetter waiting in line. Marc Bertucco comes up to me - its really wet and full of puddles he says. I'm colder and wetter now and head back to my car. I don't own rain gear. Turn car on, heat on high and try to dry off as I plan my dressing, warmup and race clothing strategy. Slowly slowly slowly, the sloth like Eric pulls gear out and lays it out ever so carefully. Slowly slowly slowly, Eric gets ready (thank you Eric Carle).

As I am in my skinsuit, I realized that my shoes were in the trunk and my carefully planned strategy to emerge from the car with 35 min to race time was foiled. Then what to my wonderous eyes should appear, but Marc Bertucco like a reindeer!

Marc says "I thought it would be better to only burn fossil fuels in one car to stay warm." So he joins me after getting my shoes.

Time to face the music. Baselayer with wind front - check. Skinsuit for speed - check. Leg warmers for carrying extra water and mud - check. Thin wool socks - check. Winter jacket - check, race gloves in jacket, rain cape, hat, glasses, helmet.

Let's make this HAPPEN!!!

Put bike together, Marc puts pit bike together and agrees to pit. I go to warm up (figuratively). THe course is open, so I get on it and try to stay out of the puddles and drier. I can't believe it - 5" deep mud, 6-8" deep puddles, riding up streams - INSANITY. I am cold and wet.

STAGING time.

We're all jumping up and down trying to stay warm. At 30 seconds to go, I rip off the rain cape and throw it to Marc - same for the glasses. GO! I am behind Edwin Bull. I start with the wrong foot and don't clip in for a while - not my best hole shot. I find myself in the 30's heading into the muddy turns and battling to try and move up as people crash and ride all over the place. Its really hard to move up as there is really no place to pass as people ride three abreast through the woods and the turns are just mucked up. But, I persevere and get mud in my eye, mouth, nose - pbbbbtssss (sound of spitting to remove mud from mouth).

I come through the pits and MArc yells "that's it Eric top -25." I hit the amphitheater and come back past Marc "Top 20!"

I keep fighting and riding steady hard and start to catch and get around guys who I know I am stronger than, it just takes so bloody long to do so. It turns out though that my secret weapon was that I didn't even have to (apart from one) ride them differently than last year when it was sunny and dry, In fact, I probably rode the turns faster. Well, with each beach run (where I would ride and catch people already running - I tried to ride the whole beach, but just wasn't willing to drop to a small enough gear). and each turn, I kept dropping people and catching new ones. And each time through the pits, Marc was gicing me place updates and they kept climbing higher - top 20, 17th, 14th, 12th, 10th.

I couldn't believe it. Then I got caught from behind by a C3 Sollay rider and caught Kris Auer (old time friend, excellent top 10'er masters racer). I was riding with them and content with 12th if that was it. Then through the pits Marc tells me I'm in 8th. WTF??? We kept trading off (me and Kris that is and I thought the other guy was dropped, but he got back on).

Last lap (10+ minute laps - eternity - gawd!!!), I can't feel my right fingers and am concentrating for all I'm worth to shift. I come off the paved straight and dive into the turn, get a small gap and attack. I keep up the pressure and am starting to ride away. I knew I could do it. Churning through the 5" deep mud, I suddenly felt my wheel turn and grab and I went down - SPLAT on my left side. Somehow I got out of my pedal and got back up in front of the two teammates. But that was kind of it as they soon passed me. I kept on them as best I could but Kris gapped me on my slowest section and his teammate bridged. I tried to make it back, but ran into a fitness wall. I gave it all I had up the amphitheater the last time, but even though I was lapping guys, I couldn't spring up the steps like in laps past. I pushed and went hard at the end to make sure I wasn't caught.

Straight to car. Rip gloves off, open car, start car. Get mud everywhere.

Then Marc shows up and saved me. He helped me get out of those clothes and put the pit bike in the trunk as I sat in the car and screamed., shook and otherwise remained not in control of my shivering limbs. A great thank you Marc.

I couldn't really believe how well my bike handled and how I slogged on through. Thanks to everyone over the last couple of years for coming out and letting me show you how to handle a bike as apparently, it helped me too.

I hope that my steady, don't sweat, bide your time and move up strategy showed MArc (the only KCC spectator) about how you do it if you ca'nt get the hole shot and fall backwards.

I think given a good start, I would have placed higher. It just took 2 1/2 laps to get free of guys that were slower and to get up to the faster guys.

Long ride home into snow.

Thanks for reading - oh, I bailed on HPCX - too close, too warm and not wet enough!

your last line made me actualol

sounds like an epic race - congrats, Ewic

Same to you willyam

The course was a total mess by the time the B race came around. Very little snow and lots of mud. Soupy mud, slick mud, grassy mud, and muddy mud.

First lap was tough but I was moving up and riding next to some of the guys who have been placing in the top 5-10 consistently.

A couple pieces of bad luck set me back a bit... directly behind three or four crashes and one spectacular endo.

Kept moving up and was hearing "top 25." Nice. End of lap one was sitting on the back of a HUGE group. same as yesterday,

Held position and was out riding guys around turns and the mud. Was riding fast on the edges while others had to run. Felt good. Then about half way through lap 2 the mechanicals set in. First, jammed and dropped chain which I think was caused by the rear derailleur being clogged up. stopped to fix it and lost some places and track of the big lead group.

Then the rear brake locked up and was left rubbing really hard. I rode the last 2.5 laps that way. I tried to run with the bike backwards and fix it on the fly but to no avail. Shitty. Slipped back to the 30s and struggled. I was still occasionally able to pass folks on running sections. One nice part of the messed up rear brake was that I had no breaking power so I had to force myself to ride the course well. Todd finished just behind me.

Anyway. Fun. Total mess. My mom and dad came to watch and think we are crazy.

You mean we're not crazy?
Bike teardown clinic this week at my place. Mud gets everywhere!

A couple of quick notes. Eric and I weren't the only Kissena's racing at Beacon.

James Feehan and Dusan Strika tackled the 45+ category. Ben Reid raced his guts out in Eric's elite Master's race. And Perlberg very nearly got himself a top 20 in the B race.

And so there I stood, staring at the locked gate of the GWB ankle high in snow, 7pm, Saturday night, wondering how I was going to get home after dropping off my rental car in Fort Lee.

The day didn't start much better. Pre-dawn driving south on 95, my eyes were blinking and staying shut for far too long. The rain had started, my rental car's wipers snapped up and down with an untraceable metallic snap that was loud enough to make me think of a dozen things that might happen to my "uninsured" hoopty, but not loud enough to keep me awake.

Let me just stop for some Red Bull…that’ll do the trick. I pull into the parking lot of a rest stop, look at the distance I would have to walk in the rain to get me my chemical boost, glance at the clock and think...I’ll just shut my eyes for a few minutes. I’ve got some time. Good night.

15 minutes later, I wake with a start. Power to the pedal, I get to the race with about 45 minutes to spare to the start of the Cat 4 race. It’s still raining. It’s still below 40 degrees and the street is lined with parked cars, engines running, heaters on full blast. A few of the smarter riders are locked and loaded into their turbo-trainers, and a few have done recon laps. I’m not sure which route I’ll take.

Standing in line waiting for my number the frigid rain pelts my shoulders, the wind blowing water into my eyes. 449. I’ll be buried in the back 1/3 of the field for sure. Back in the car another glance at the clock and I’ve got exactly 15 minutes to start. What?! No time for a warm-up. I hastily pull together a collection of stretchy gear that I hope will keep me warm enough to race, but not strangle the moving parts of my body like a Boa Constrictor.

At the start line there’s no grid and call-ups are the least organized I’ve experienced this year. Miserable faces and shivering bodies all around me. I don’t see any of the other Kissena cat 4s who pre-registered. I’m helping another rider with a better start line call up re-pin his number. I should be one or two “rows” back from him, but after I’m done helping, I don’t bother to move back. I wait for my competitors to cry foul. I’ll move back if even one guys says something. But nothing. Okay, sweet, I’ll stay here. I just made my first major pass without having turned a pedal in anger (second Phil & Paul reference, where was the first?).

30 seconds to start. Go! I feel sluggish, Tires squishing underneath me as I charge up the asphalted start-finishing stretch. At Friday’s Cunningham Cross practice, Eric Ragot ordered that I ride with only 35lbs of pressure in my tires. “But Eric, I’ve got clinchers that say a minimum of 50lbs, I’ve never ridden below 45,” I whine. “Hey, are you going to listen to the team’s only cat 1 cross racer, or what?”

Phewt, phewt. 35lbs. Felt great yesterday, so good enough for today. I’m not moving up quickly enough. The field is stretching out, I move to the left. William DC’s friend from Princeton takes the hole shot, I’m about 6 or 7 riders behind. The first of 6, feet- and ass-drenching, puddles is upon us quickly. I know a lot of guys are going to be “tip-toeing” their way through the murky unknown waters. Can’t be stuck behind them. I splash in with abandon, not knowing what exactly my wheels are going to do. Keep the cranks churning.

We hit the twisty turnies. “No brakes” I remember our Friday drills around the unsuspecting trees of Cunningham park. Every time I brake, means another sprint for me, or easy pass for someone else. Trying to take the best line through the turns is complicated by deep mud, puddles, roots and sometimes all three. Sometimes I try to take the textbook line, sometimes I go wide on what seems like a faster rolling line. Sometimes I make the right choice, sometimes not.

I’m losing contact with a small group in front of me. A short explosive climb, 180 right turn down a muddy hillside, 90 degree left and run up the amphitheater of pain. The group in front has taken their last step, I’m just starting my first. I explode with a burst of energy and take the stairs as fast as I can. I’m in the red, it wasn’t pretty, but I actually catch back onto the group by the time I remount. Of course I’m completely red-lined and they pedal away from me again.

With two laps to go, I’m trading passes with just one other rider. Where are we?!? No Sarah to shout at me from the sidelines today. No matter. Ride harder. I manage to pass a few riders, who are going slow enough that I wonder if they are lapped riders.? (But they can’t be, we’ve only done a few laps.)

Despite the constant squeal of breaks from the chaser behind me, I can’t really shake him for good. Eric’s voice echoes in my head like Obi Wan speaking to Luke from beyond the grave. “You have to be willing to low-side it…you have to be willing to crash.” More power, I don’t care about roots and puddles and slip’n slides anymore. I’m on the gas, wheels fish-tailing this way and that. My chaser breaks and sprints, breaks and sprints. On a long straight-away, I can feel him coming up on my inside setting up for a fast left-hander. I want to shut him down from making the pass, but I don’t want to chop his front wheel out either. He’s got position and I prepare to get passed when he thinks twice and says, “you take it.” I do, but with 1 lap to go he moves in front of me during another less technical stretch and gets a 20-meter gap. Damn. Some “roadie” I am.

Coming into the last half of a lap, I lose all inhibition. Coming over the barriers, he’s still leading, I hit the descending pavement, I hear him breaking as he transitions back to a short muddy descent. I keep my fingers off the levers as gravity launches me from pavement to mud and back to pavement again. Past the pits, the grass and mud is deep and slow. Slowest section of the course. Full gas, stealing back a few more meters. My competitor hits the short climb ahead of me. He goes to the right. ¾ of the way up the climb he bogs down and falls off his bike. I pass him taking the steeper, slower starting, but faster finishing line on the high left just as he’s getting back up on his bike. Down the muddy hill, up the stairs, my legs stretch long and far and I take them one at time, with nary a stutter-step to be seen.

Redlined again. Keep going hard. I can't remember how much of the lap is left. I can't let him come back to me. A few turns later another short muddy descent where I know he’ll brake and I won’t. Now I remember where I'm at. Right turn onto pavement. Up the finishing stretch and I’ve still got my gap. He hasn’t given up though as he charges hard in back of me. I crank harder and finish well clear of him in 5th place.

It’s not the win I’m desperately seeking, but given the course, conditions and my general skill set and fitness level, it’s hard to be anything but pleased with that result.

Great rides and reports you guys.

Crossresults tells me that Larry (aka Laurance Etgen) finished 4 places and 44 seconds behind me and that he is one of my top Victims. Nice.

GO LARRY!!!

Nice racing everyone. I feel like I'm racing in some kind of cat 4 alternate reality. Maybe one of these days we'll all line up at the same race!

jesus

that looks horrible

Yay for WDC and everyone else. That video make you guys look like you were moving underwater.

And keep on rocking, LARRY! Love that guy.

It was muddy.

Marc, I believe our paths will converge in Northampton next weekend.

here's a teaser:

i'm doing a "captain morgan"

race report coming soon

http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6038/6300794026_baa16bbf0c_b.jpg

the skeleton on the left is my pal Anthony Cross, who won the 4's at Beacon the day before

the man in the dog's shark costume on the right is mi amigo David Hocker, a physicist and a gentleman (who mangled his front derailleur on the first lap)

HPCX Cyclocross Race, Jamesburg, NJ, October 30th, 2001.

(please forgive the mention of names you don't know - i wrote this for my club, but rest assured . . . they are all perverts)

It would be kind of flip and disingenuous for me to say "good times, yesterday!" cause some of it was brutal and upsetting. However, all in all, GOOD TIMES, YESTERDAY, CHAPS!

It was a beautiful, sunny day – a welcome change form the aseasonal snow storm that belly-flopped the East coast the day before (all in all, much preferable to the shit you guys dealt with at Beacon cross on Saturday) but riding through the thick crusty snow on the way to the bathroom immediately alerted me to the fact that every pedal stroked and linear foot would be earned.

I had a good warmup on the road with my friend/host Anthony Cross (Princeton U., Winner of Beacon cat 4, dressed as a Skeleton) and David Hocker (Princeton U., wearing a Shark costume made for a little dog over his helmet) then lined up for the start. At the registration, I was given a number in the low 80's and ushered towards the back of the group, but not in the last row. The starting sprint was straight uphill on asphalt for 100 meters before it jammed into the course. The obligatory crash and dismount slowed our pack of pilgrims down to walking. I shouldered my bike, wiggled to the outside and then shuffled along as fast as I could in those first 100 meters of the course. People were extremely responsive to a polite "Excuse Me Sir! On Your Right Please! Hot Soup coming through!" and I made up at least 30 spots right there.

Once we got back on the bikes, the Benny Hill music started in earnest. In those early laps, when there was no clear track cut into the snow yet, people were just slugging and crunching and slipping and falling their way through on any old line they could imagine. The back half of the course was largely wooded and the snow had fallen thinner there, so it was easier to do some moving up. I don’t know exactly when, but at one point, as I was thrashing around like a dying nurse shark through some shitty mud, I heard Rich’s voice calling out, loud and strong, “smooth William! Pedal smoothly!” Buoyed by the encouragement/expert advice, I stopped the butter-churn pedal strokes and started concentrating more on even power distribution, and sure enough, the snowmud became a bit more manageable.

I had a couple of major ass-over-teakettle events in laps 2-4, but I was able to chase back on and overtake the opportunistic rogues that passed me while I was sprawled in the muck, groaning/cursing/flailing, and by the end of the 4th lap, I was in 3rd position. A lap before, as we passed the finish, the counter had read “2 to go”, but at that point, I was getting seriously worn out, and remembering the snafu at Hillbilly Hustle (when they failed to tick down the lap counter with 1 to go) I basically assume-wished that what they really MEANT was “1 to go, fellas, good job!” I jammed on the pedals going up the hill to the finish line, confident that it was actually the finish, and sprinted at the 7” tall assemblage of limbs that was occupying 2nd place. I pipped him at the line, but the judges were like “NOOO! KEEP GOOOOING! CAN YOU NOT REEEAAAAD?!?” and we both let out simultaneous “COME ONs!” (as per GOB from Arrested Development).

That “sprint” and the realization that I had another 9 minutes of racing left, really kicked the crap out of me, and for 10 ragged breaths, I truly considered dropping out and driving to WaWa for some Benadryl and a can of Skoal. Instead, I lowered my pace to a geriatric waddle, pushed the bike for another 100 yards as 2nd place rode away, and then got back on just in time for the “recovery downhill” - although I probably burned just as many calories clenching my sphincter during that slip’n’slide as I would have if I’d pedaled. I passed the Bill Bradley-lookalike about a third of the way through that last lap, and led for another third until I made a public nuisance of myself on the same off-camber left-hander that I’d already yard-saled on twice. Homeboy passed me, as did 4th place, and it took me an eternity to get rolling again. At this point, there was so much Play-Do in my cleats and pedals that I was basically riding platforms and Keds. I caught the upstart who was now in 3rd place, but I never again came into striking distance of 2nd.

In the last 800 meters, I raced on anxiety, suddenly realizing that only eternal vigilance would keep me on the podium. I hammered on the last sparsely-snowed woods section, got in the drops for the final downhill sled run of the day, and pedaled furiously up the asphalt hill through the finish. Rich, Jim, Neil and Josh were soon behind me in the Circle of Love and Accomplishment that we were starting just past the line. For about 30 seconds I felt ok, then the “episode” that Rich described set in – a Greatest Hits of gasping, blinking, staggering, adrenaline-induced weeping and finally . . . dropping my bike and sitting in a puddle. Thank you, dudes, for being so nice and caring while I was so out of it.

I knew I was recovering when I started feeling the pain in my sodden, frozen toes. After a spirited changing session in the wonderful, warm sun of the parking lot, I was back in full fettle. I pulled my beer out of the snow bank, watched the Masters flop around in the septic pit of a course, then borrowed Jim’s Kissena jacket for our podium photo. The rest of the day was awesome. David Hocker made me a manhattan while I hosed down our bikes back in Princeton, and the NJ Transit conductor let me stay on the train when I lost my ticket. Evening ended eating Roast Duck at the chinese restaurant and trying to SHUSH my dad, who was telling polish jokes in a very loud voice. After seeing the pictures/video of the race, I now understand dinner to be the least embarrassing part of the day.

Excellent tales and adventures William! Congrats on the podium finish Captain Morgan.