Tales of the IE Sprinter

Long Beach Grand Prix

2010-06-03T14:32:00.000-07:00

***All pics of race removed. I used them without the photographer's permission and received an email to not do so.***

Ok...A little late. Got a couple emails
from people who had just found this
pathetic ragged peice of a blog; and actually asked me to continue it. My pleasure actually, since it was originally a way to inform me dear mum and sis of the race happenings hear in Socal. Thanks to a guy named Tony I have anew found enthusiasm to do so. I should be picking up the racing soon so there will be more to write about.

At the start of the race I began warming up around the city. The race was right in the middle of downtown Long Beach, near the aquarium and theatre. I hopped on the steed and gently rolled over the train tracks, breathing in the cool, salty ocean breeze. The air had a small hint of the oil rigs which reminded me of the many hours I spent on the Long Beach shoreline as a child; body surfing and watching sting rays swim while snorkeling. Yet here I was, about elbow it out with a bunch of other nimrods in a 6 corner crit race. **Sigh.**

See the first pic? I'm watching a Cat2 go up the road right from the gun. This being a Fire/Military/Police race, there were varied degrees of talent in the field. A Swami's team rider who happened to be from which service I still don't know, shot up the course and had a 15 second gap within two laps. I proceeded to chase. I then noticed I chasing alone. I repeatedly waived my Firefighter, Soldier, and Officer bretheren through with abosolutely no response.

Everytime I would pull off to let someone take the wind and pull the group, the pack would all sit up behind me. I then noticed that much of the pack was already hurting, which was not good since I had been pulling at MAYBE 25 per. It was about then that a second Cat2 rider attacked and bridged up to the leader. I had ignorantly been pulling into the wind and didn't have the real estate to respond. Now there were two very fast riders ahead and a pack full of fodder that I was still pulling along. I soon tired of this, and peeled off the front. I figured if I was going to do all the work, I was not going to cradle 45 other adults around the course.

I dropped one more cog and said goodbye to the field, now setting my sights on the two mutants up the road spanking themselves.

This sounded like a great idea until I realized what I was trying to do. A Cat3 chasing two very strong Cat2's who were working together flawlessly. The futility of this began to sink in as I slowly realized I was going into oxygen debt. I know my body enough to know my HR was prolly about 185 or so. This meant the fuel tank was slowly going down. I could hang on at this effort for the remainder of the crit, but any faster and it would have been a severe detonation.

About this time tall, lanky creature bridged up to me from the group. It happened to be a nice fellow from Irvine PD, and also happened to be the winner of this very event the previous year.

The gentleman was unable to help too much as he had burned most of his matches while making the bridge to myself, bless his heart.We worked together. Well, somewhat. I pulled into the headwinds everytime, and he the tailwinds. Which means he didn't do all that much work. Thats ok, though, he did his best.

One lap to go and we no longer can see the two leaders. The only positive thing about the situation now is we cannot see the field behind is either. So at least I am gauranteed a fourth place even if all goes wrong. I waive my partner through and he tells me "I'm done, go ahead you're going to win."

Now, translate this any way you want, but to most reasonable people this sounds like he just gave me the third place. His tone was anything but sneaky-like, so I figured him for as good samaritan and thought he was gifting me the podi, seeing as my face was in the wind for him about 90% of the time. As we come around the last turn my compatriot begins sprinting past me. WTF?!?! This guy sucks wheel the entire last lap and thinks he's going to zip on by without a hitch. Daddy don't think so, and I promptly spanked him for trying to do so, taking 3rd.

Normally I would be happy to be on the podium, a third spot in any bike race is good fortune. However, today was different. Had I simply made the move with the two up front I could have possibly taken home the Vee. Above you can see Eddy Van Guyse who played the villian cyclist in "American Flyers." Super nice guy. All I was trying to do was collect my gobs of cash for coming in 3rd, $80 to be exact. Next thing I know I was being interviewed. Scooping a big piece of humble pie in, you can visibly note the "aww shucks" look my face. "Really sir, it was nothing." Inside I was thinking of course how much my legs hurt after drilling across the pavement at 26 mph for 30 min. There's always next year.

IES

Mt Baldy Ski Lift Ride-Epic, or just hard?

2009-11-16T07:31:00.000-08:00

Fueled mostly in part by Josh Webster, and not wanting to be dropped in road races next year, the Sprinter heads for the hills. Most riders in the IE tend to head towards Baldy Village via Glendora Ridge Road, which offers a much more gentlemanly grade towards said village. The steeper and more painful option is to traverse directly up the face of Baldy Road; which in fact is the story for today. The more the Sprinter climbs Baldy Road and the ski lift switchbacks, the more he becomes skeptical of the claims of others. Many self-proclaimed “hardcore cyclists” spin tales of climbing to the ski lifts as the Sprinter watches them struggle up grades one-third the difficulty of the mentioned switchbacks. Forcing to the Sprinter to call bullshit where needed, seeing as though hundreds of cyclists claim to ride to the lifts yet on a beautiful Sunday the Sprinter sees but four total humans on bicycles. Seeing as though there is only one way there and back, the chances of missing all of these hardcore studs is unlikely. Back to Josh Webster. This one:

Josh Webster; current 35+ state road race champion, leader of a small group of children of the corn, a grammar Nazi, and a damn fine citizen, (for a developing Homo Erectus of course.) Josh is someone the Sprinter respects and admires from many standpoints. From his dedication on the bike as well as his character out of the saddle. It is mostly Josh which motivates the Sprinter to climb this mountain today. First, because the Sprinter was unable to rendezvous for a ride with Josh, and second, the Sprinter wants Josh to know he suffered like a dog without the calculated hurt that he would surely have put on the fat sprinter. When I mention to an average person that I am too fat to race with Cat 1's and 2's I get the customary look of disgust. Mostly because they are much fatter than I am. Josh however, pulls no punches. Last weekend whilst climbing with Josh the Sprinter begins to plan his racing future.

The Sprinter does NOT want more than he actually wants. For example, the Sprinter WANTS to upgrade to Cat 2 so he may ride in the service of Josh and other SC Velo Tribal Elders/pro studs. The Sprinter does NOT want a free ride. He does not want free wheels, races, kits, or Gu's. The Sprinter will not upgrade to Cat 2 and five minutes later ask Josh how many free bikes he gets. The Sprinter does not want to demand goods and services from club sponsors and/or bike shop owners. The Sprinter does not want to email club presidents and ask for team spots.

The sprinter rides on: Here is the route:

Admittedly, it doesn’t look very hard on a map. The road lacks switchbacks during the beginning making it appear to be flat or easy. It’s a 22.3 miles to the lifts from home. Again, not very impressive by the numbers if you are talking distance; but let’s take a look at the ride a little closer. Straight up Euclid through Ontario and Upland it’s a mild 2-3% until you reach San Antonio Heights. A quick stop at the fire station for water and the climbing starts.

At the top of what is called Shin Loop, is where majority of the people stop their ride and go home. There is a 3000 foot elevation sign which oddly enough is off by several hundred feet. The Garmin registers a scant 2600 feet at this point.

Now the fun begins. A right hand turn onto Baldy road and it’s 11% for small bit and then back down to 7%. Now, Baldy Road has been compared to Alp D’Huez due to its average gradient. But how accurate is average gradient? As a hefty sprinter it seems absolutely retarded. Both Baldy and Alp D’Huez register at around 8% average. Now if you are a cyclist and want to try a new ride and someone tells you the ride averages 8%, you would be thinking 8%; not 6% in some areas and 17% in others. But that’s what Baldy is. It’s easy in some parts and then steeper than shit in the others. The second part of the climb isn't too bad, some up and down areas and the two tunnels, which are about 8-9%. The last mile from the second tunnel to the Baldy Ranch sign are in my opinion one of the hardest parts of the whole ride. It's a good 11-12% the while way, which unless you are a little 140lb mountain goat, makes for a long mile.

No time for church, the sprinter has prayer of his own to do; prayer to the pain cave.

After the sign there is a small 8% uptick to the village which comes down to 5% as you come into town. The post office is the usual watering hole where one can grab a snack and some liquid.

Tired of Gu's and Bars? Then do what Jeremiah Wiscovitch does; go to Costco and get yourself a 79lb box of Uncrustables. Wisco claims he can finish the entire Redlands Stage Race on one Uncrustable, so it's gotta work. By no means gourmet; but on a ride like this it tastes like heaven in plastic wrap. Chef's note: No need to thaw the sammiches simply throw them in your jersey pocket they will be nice and chilly by the time you eat them.

Now that the Sprinter is full of PB & J goodness, time to head to the lifts. There is a short climb of 7-8% out of the village, then the switchbacks finally hit. From above:

And Below:

Halfway up the switchies and the Sprinter is now thinking this was a dumb idea. This area is fairly steep, and the turns are about 15%. It's Sunday, God's ordered day of rest, as per. If this is so then why are there so many men who ride like suffering fools EVERY Sunday? Are they unGodly, or just gluttons for punishment? The Sprinter does not fear the wrath of the God at this moment. In fact, at this particular moment of labored breathing and acid filled legs, the Sprinter's fears are minimal. He does not fear violent switchbacks, sharp descents, and rocky cliffs. He does not fear motorcycles, forestry trucks, or over-medicated housewives in large SUV's. He does not fear bears, goats, coyotes, or timber wolves. He does not fear Mountain Lions knowing that the SC Velo hunters are lying in wait in the bush clad in Ghillie suits with lion-seeking missile launchers. He does not fear killer bees, falling rocks, or angry men in Mini-Coopers. In fact, there are only two things the Sprinter fears at this moment: Circus midgets and Josh Webster. At 5000 feet we're getting somewhere now:

Last switchback, and the Sprinter is on the final stretch. A small respite and a quick downhill before the hardest part. The nice 60 degree weather down in Chino is now 26 degrees and gusty. The Sprinter has forgotten his gloves on mountain rides enough and will not be fooled by that bitch elevation any more.

The Sprinter can suffer if needed. But he has no problem admitting near defeat. Grinding up this 15% section into a headwind was brutal. The 25 cog felt like a 19, and the pedals were not frisky in the least. But there is no way the Sprinter comes this far and stops. Up to the ski lift sign and the climbing is done.

The numbers:

Final Elevation: 6200 feet

Total climbing: 5300 feet

Miles: 44.6

Will the Webster respect me more for riding to the lifts? I don't think so. But the fact I left half a lung and parts of my Aorta on Baldy Road might count for something.

GMR to Baldy Village Ride 10/10/2009

2009-10-12T09:47:00.000-07:00

The Girl and I hit GMR to Baldy Village from Chino. 55 miles, 4 hours 23 min on the bike, 4600 feet of climbing, and a damn fine day.

Portland Oregon; Back in the Promise Land

2009-09-26T08:55:00.000-07:00

Portland, Oregon. Gem of the northwest. Beautiful countryside aplenty. Reusable shopping bags, 55mph freeway limits, tall blond mommies, Obama/Putin 2012 signs, legal pot farms, friendly hellos, hippies, and a damn fine set of bridges; as per.

Upon retiring (at the earliest hour possible) the self will promptly be gathering up his family and U-haling them to the promise land; forgoing the stop in beautiful Bakersfield, Sac-town, or Redding. For to live in Oregon is to enjoy life’s most savory atmosphere. Why sure, the property tax is a mild 87.6% and it rains 364 days a year, but there are other perks. No state tax, $2 car registration, fine cheeses and breads, college lab grown reefer; not to mention skiing, fishing, cycling, and a nifty tram which takes you from the fixie surrounded Borders Books on the river to the university at the top.

Instead of chancing the bike case rental from his local shop, plus the $900 airline fee for transporting a bicycle, son of the OC/IE yours truly decided to rent a bike from the local shop in Lake Oswego. Nice lads down there in Beverly Oswego, they are; renting the self a Cannondale for $30 a day, which was well worth the cost over a three day period when compared to the formerly listed option of self-transport. Mostly, it was worth it simply because the self could not sit inside all day in this beautiful garden of Eden and not hit the pavement.

The rented sled:
2006 Caad 8

Let’s take a look around the components shall we.

Aluminum Frame, Size 54. No 56 was available. Thanks to the boys at the Velonews forum who talked me out of getting a 54 next year as the bike was entirely too small.

The shop had a Fizik Arione test model which I swapped for the no name brand seat on the bike.

Which came complete with 1981 Bianchi seatpost.

FSA Carbon compact cranks, Shimano Ultegra throughout.

Bitchin anodized cages.

And of course, the requisite Fred stem, at a cool 35 degree upswing.

Now the Sprinter is pumped. Who needs carbon fiber, GPS computers, and 7900? Who needs heart rate monitors, $1100 wheels, and hologram cranks? As Max Kash Agro always said, “gritty not pritty.”© The self does not want a speedometer, this way he will have an excuse for the Clackamas County Deputy when he breaks the speed limit on the flats. Time to get back to base, time to enjoy the ride, time to HAMMER. No thinking, no wishing, no wanting, no hoping. There is no HOPE; only a government run free market economy and cash for clunkers. No need for a death panel anyway, the Sprinter will die young and die pritty. That’s the mantra. No Gnosticism, Sadducees, reincarnation, or spontaneous combustion. This is the final act. Enjoy it, it will be over soon. There will be no clapping, no encore, no after party with cocktails and weenies. The Sprinter is a speck on the timeline, but today the timeline gets blown up. 10 seconds to clip in. 10 seconds to launch. 10 seconds to blast off, up and over the forests of Oregon. We are going to make an Instant Rocket in class today kids. Just add Wattage. No need for milk, eggs, flour, or sugar; on account the Self is sweet enough already.

Rant over; enjoy the pics of the beautiful place I was so lucky to ride in.

Hoffman Road, SW Wilsonville:

Huge momma Mantis on the road:

Picked her up and put her in the bushes so she wouldn’t get run over:

Pete’s Mountain Road, 19%:

Top of the valley, Mt Hood not clearly visible due to some fires in the area:

Pumpkin Patch at the bottom of Turner:

Forest area of Turner Rd, 10% grade:

Ride over, legs pumped, soul cleansed.

Steep Hills, Red Flags, and Asshole Arsonists

2009-09-04T17:10:00.000-07:00

Thursday morning, Inland Empire; the 909 is surrounded by life taking, property consuming brush fires greedily lapping up everything in sight. Percentage of containment, low 20's; cause of fires; no doubt a filthy, disgusting, scabies-infested piece of parasite trash. (Read: HUMAN.)

The self is overwhelmed with the world. The communist leader preparing to address the "children," deficit in full swing, personal finance future unknown. Time to get away, to make it all simple again. Time to bow to the holy trinity of heart, lung and muscle against gravity. The trio which lets us know we are mortal if not human. The self calls the boss, taking the day off. Why? Well, partly because the self doesn't want to drive 30 miles somewhere he dosen't want to be, but mostly because it's hammer time. A glance at the Garmin cockpit confirms this feeling.

The local liberal controlled/paid weatherman proclaims a "RED FLAG" warning. Stay inside! Lock your doors! Don't breathe! People of Southern California duly warned and lovingly protected.

Red Flags!?! I eat red flags for breakfast! Don't think so? Look!

Red Flags=Red Tape. Bust through! If the self was a lemming he would be kicking back watching his bretheren walk off the cliff. If you're not leading you're following. Don't want to think about what's going on in the world, just want to blast off, just want to hammer, just want to feel the acid fill the legs; lactic/lactate, and perhaps even lactaid. It's on, off to Chino Hills I go looking for the steepies. I casually roll westbound down Chino Av up by the theatres and to Chino Hills pkwy. Feeling good...The self goes to the steepist climb in Chino hills, an undisclosed road where masters studs such as Chris Demarchi perform countless intervals to let off steam and prepare to hammer the family men racers.

The road, 13% grade for 1/2 mile. It's a LONG 1/2 mile. Takes 4 minutes on this day. The self's blood organ quickley jumps to 180 bpm. It stays there. At the top the self feels vindicated, even soothed. Until of course, I see this at the top of the hill:

Well....I guess it does..Since, THIS is what it should look like:

A HUGE thank you to humans. Although this rant may seem conservative, the self is VERY liberal when it comes to planet earth, animals, and our environment. A random thought:

I fervently wish I did not live in this era. Make me a caveman if you have to. I am through with the fast life. It's old. I could live on a ranch growing my own food and slaughtering my own cows. If it meant no smog, trash, and most of all; people. Sure I love my internet; sure I love my blackberry, sure I love my 15lb bike; but I would give it up in an instant.

So in the end, the ride clears the head, but muddles it at the same time.

Cheers

Paramount GP

2009-06-02T12:21:00.000-07:00

The sprinter contemplates an honest question: Am I here on this earth soley to pound these peckerheads?

First race back in two months...Pressure if off for upgrading this season. All focus will be on next season to make Cat 2, and will be done...Oh yes my little kupcakes, it WILL be done. Field is decent size, 80 or so riders my guess. Usual hack n' crack crowd. Didn't see much of the race, as the sprinter was off the front in every break that went. This was on purpose, before you ask. I didn't feel like sitting in the field and waiting for the sprint. Just felt like hammering. No sitting, no drafting, no waiting for the dinner bell. I break from the gun, and three small, cherub-like creatures latch on.

First break is off, and my companions blow faster than a 12 year old reading the lingerie section of the Sear's catalogue. The Sprinter glances at the small flock of rabbits and wonders why they even came with him. Two seconds of glory? Your mommy or girlfriend was watching? I could just hear it now later at the Starbucks. "Didjaseeme? I was off the front hammering, then I just cramped up, it was really wierd."

I continue on solo and a group of seven or so bridges up:

Now The Sprinter is thinking we have a little more firepower, and we'll get rolling.

No.

Leave it to a Cat 3 to move to the side when it's his turn in the wind like we're in the final kilo of a Tour De France stage. So, once again, The Sprinter goes to the front to keep the pace up.

The group catches and now the Sprinter sits top ten for little while. The Sprinter soon gets bored. Off the front we go again: Notice the fervent fan on the right pointing; proving the attack must have been so violent and powerful in it's excecution that he became excited and overwhelmed with the Sprinter's furious pedal strokes.

A teenage boy wonder spinning his junior gear with all his might came with the sprinter down the finishing straight. The Sprinter waives him forward, he oblidges. Out of all the breaks the young kid haz the nutz to pull through; kudos to you, young Jedi. Note the size difference, I wonder if I am getting ANY draft at all:

Here's where it goes wrong. As the attack passes the start/finish line a $25 prime is announced for the next lap. So now the poor college kinds are hunting us down with all there might. The Sprinter goes for the prime, and smacks the right knee on the stem bolts. How on earth this happended, seeing as though it's never happened in the last two years is beyond the Sprinter's scope of knowledge. But it did happen, and it hurt. I keep pedaling but realize it still hurts. Not wanting to risk injury for season since it's already winding down, I do something I have NEVER done in a crit; I pull out. I don't feel like a quitter, because the long term is more important than the short right now, but still, it felt strange. The shame of it was I was having fun racing for the first time in a while, and wasn't feeling too bad.

Such is life.

The Oregon Trail

2009-04-21T14:06:00.000-07:00

Up in Oregon for family business. Not positive business, a family loss in fact. My little brother was found dead off the coast of Fiji where's he's been living. Don't really feel like blogging, and writing that last sentence was difficult; but eventually I have to confront it. At the moment just trying to make light of the situation and the time up here; which has now been extended until mid-May. I drove here from SoCal because I wanted the time on the road to think. I decided to take my bike, which was a great choice. Getting out in the Oregon countryside has cleared my head a bit, and I am able to put 3 hours a day in the saddle.

This is my therapy. Some drink, some take drugs, and some see professionals; I have just been waking up, grabbing my Cannondale and looking for the steepest climbs I can find. I believe physical suffering has benefits; both mentally and physically. Of course as an athlete, you must condition yourself. But there is something spiritual about feeling the acid seep into your legs and watching your heart rate hit 180. It was cold when I first got here, and my mother told me not to ride it was too cold. I didn't say anything but I thought to myself "my little brother never gets to feel the cold again, and I am lucky to be alive to feel it myself." The next day it was 75 degrees, and I went for a nice hilly ride.

I headed out through Wilsonville west to Bell Road. I took Bell Rd up to Ladd Hill, which gave me a view of My. Hood to the east of me.

Normally I have a pretty clear head when I ride. Many times I talk to myself like a crazy person. But today I found myself riding along and zoning out. Every time I would think of my brother I would have to hold back the tears. It's still just too much for me to soak in, and it's going to be a long road ahead dealing with all of it.

I dropped into Sherwood and headed north toward Scholls. As I road I began to feel better.

I passed berry farm after berry farm:

And orchard after orchard:

If any a place was perfect for clearing the head, Oregon is it. The scenery was stunning, and it was nice to be away from cities and people. I hit the 219 and headed south toward a city called Newburg. This is what the start of the climb looked like:

The climb was a nice steady 4-7% grade, and climbed into a forested area where it hit a couple of 9% sections. The view around the climb was unreal:

Top of the climb:

There were tons of Alpaca farms:

And the nice weather brought out the snakes:

Headed back home after dropping into Newburg and back into Wilsonville. Don't have much to write at the moment, but I am sure it will come back. In the meantime, riding and spending time with the family are the priorities.

IES

Dominguez Hills Crit

2009-04-06T12:28:00.000-07:00

Dominguez Hills, which technically is not a city but an unincorporated County area; and rightfully so. The crit should more aptly be called Carson or Compton Crit, which are the closest (and most beautiful) neighboring cities. The DH crit is now a Socal classic, it’s inception making the beginning of CBR, (Chris Bicycle Racing) which is our grassroots local organization. The DH crit was also my very first race, and I remember it well.

30+ 1/2/3

Turning 30 this year meant I could mix it up with the big boys, however at the present moment I getting mixed up rather than being a contender in any way, shape, or form. When a cyclist attempts to explain what a “30+” race is to a non-cyclist, the sedentary person equates “30” with “old.” Now, if you are a slobbering fatass then this may be the case, but at 30 years old these mofo’s are just getting started. In fact, most of them are 40 or nearing 40, and normally stick around for the Pro race to hammer many of the youngsters. I have deep respect for these men who sit in the office and handle the family all week, and then slice and dice with the best of them on the weekend. Chris DeMarchi was there with his motorcycle complete with bike rack. The set-up is sweet and always gathers attention from people when he brings it. Chris is one of a few who has a “sport kilt,” which aids in changing from race bibs to boxers before/after a race. As he was explaining how the Velcro worked, the kilt slipped off and allowing for a gracious salami shot to a group of young ladies walking by. (It was later determined that none of them were offended, but sad to hear he was married.)

Now I was there for the training. Unlike a Pro Dreamer trying to downplay a race for make an excuse for a bad performance, I REALLY was there just for training. I was planning on doing the Cat 3 race right after the 30+, so for me there was no reason to burn up. The pace was fine for about 5 minutes and then heated up as attacks went off the front. The field was huge and I was mid pack the entire time, moving up here and there when I had a chance. Halfway into the race a break had gone with DeMarchi and two others, and they had soon checked out for good. They gained a couple of seconds every lap and at one point were coming close to lapping the field. It was about this time the field decided to have a yard sale on the back stretch. I heard someone yell “crash” and the pack began splitting down the center. The sound of skidding bodies and $7k carbon frames resonating against the pavement always follows, and I saw that I was coming up on the crash. I saw bodies and bikes flying and someone weaved through and made a safe path. On the following lap I saw about 5 Schroeder Iron guys on the sidewalk. Like a good team they were together, which means they all go down together on something like that.

During the crash I hit my knee against my bars as I was trying to get around everything. I didn’t feel the pain until after and decided to not race in the 3’s to make sure I didn’t aggravate it any more. There’s a crit every weekend so next week will be another shot. I may even have my new bike back from Calfee by then which would be terrific.

LAX Circuit Race

2009-03-30T08:34:00.000-07:00

The LAX Circuit Race; too far, too loud, ridikilously boring. The Sprinter; (as defined by the title) does not care for surges. He does not care for “yo-yoing,” about in a criterium with the assorted pack fodder, Freds, and other such Sprinter-Food which sign up (and provide excellent wind coverage) for the closers in the group. It should be noted; before the Sprinter is called out by the entire Socal cycling community that this season he has been; with reservation and much denial, said pack fodder. Relax I say! I’m just getting my racing legs back, (cycling excuse #326.)

It is for this reason the Sprinter does not like crits and circuit races because of the waiting. The Sprinter, as odd as it seems, would rather suffer off the back in a road race than sit in and yawn until the lap cards arrive. Alas, we can’t all have slow twitch fibers allowing for long sessions of hammering; some of us are two-pump chumps, cursed from the womb. Jesus presided; stating one by one as each Sprinter popped into the world. “Rise, little sprinters,” He said. “Go forth and hammer, but only from 300 meters out, for this is all the “get-up-and-go” I have provided for you my children.”

(Paul – 53:11)

Well, thank ya very much, being “snappy” and fast means zero if you aren’t there to enjoy and show off your God-given, fast twitch fibers.
Off the digression. Could the race be any farther? Not really. 60 to the 605 to the 105 to the…..
The Sprinter finds black gold, oil that is. Kinfolks said, “Dave, move away from here; LA, now that’s where you oughtta be,” so he loaded up his Honda Accord; and moved to Beverly….Hills, that is.

Now, the Westside is a little different than the IE; too which the Sprinter has much loyalty. The reason being is that the Sprinter grew up in the south OC, and finds the IE comparable in many ways. It should be duly noted that the Sprinter does not live in the DEEP IE, (Riverside, Beaumont, Colton, etc.) So of course the Sprinter does not know the real joy of living in a REAL authentic IE environment, which consists of SKIN stickers, big trucks, dirt bikes, Hurley shirts, and a “Bro-Ho,” complete with black/blond hair, short shorts, tons of make-up, and the Devil/Angel girl decals in the rear windshield. I’ve had worse proclaims the Sprinter, bring em’ on!

In the parking lot, all the Cat 3 studs are sizing each other up on their trainers. It’s the same crowd as last week dipstick, relax. It’s no surprise Kahala LaGrange is rolling deep, this being a Westside race and all. Doffing their USC sweaters and hopping out of their BMW’s complete with bumper sticker stating “My daddy could buy your daddy ten times.” As the Sprinter approaches the start line he is surrounded by a drove of LaGrange pritty boyz and reminded WHOSE race this belongs to; just exactly WHERE he is now. The Sprinter reminds them that Griffin Easter, little brother to beloved LaGrange sprinter Stratton; now attends school in Claremont; and should any ill-will be done toward The Sprinter, baby Easter might go AWOL, (If ya know whatta mean.) This is reflected upon. The grungy, cherub like leader waives the LaGrange mutants away from the Sprinter and the race is on.

32 miles, shortened to 27 due to movie filming on Westside, as per. First couple of laps are surgy, the kind of stuff the Sprinter hates, cuz he knows it will all come back, so why oh why are we all hauling ass out of the saddle for nothing. The Sprinter’s teammate Andy Boscoroni, searching for 2 more upgrade points for Cat2 (which he will score with a third place) takes a flyer. The Sprinter goes to the front to choke it up, noting that the he is driving into a headwind. Smart move. The pack gets antsy and attacks go left and right, forcing the Sprinter to follow. After catching Andy, he looks over at me and says “hey, why didn’t you block for me?” I did! How could not see 182 lbs in a matching lycra uniform! You looked back like five times fer the love.

A Lap later, The Sprinter gets bored and takes an attack himself, “I will take a 17 cog into the headwind up the false flat for 500, Mr. Trebek.” The answer is: A Daily Double! The Sprinter gets a 300m gap, and looks back to see an Allegient Air Rider (who is always off the front) bridging up to join him. Sweetness? Or one of those Pee-Wee Herman sticks of gum that turns gross after a second? The Sprinter and the dark-skinned evader last about 3 miles and then, POP, goes the legs! And who reeled us back? Surely it would be LaGrange with 12 deep in the field? No, a rider with NO teammates in the race. Guess he just felt like it. Ba-da-bing.
The rest of the race was a blur. A break of six went up the road and Bert Glennon from Schroeder Iron went to the front and yanked them all back like kiddies on those stretchy ropes. The Sprinter finished in the pack, seeing as he failed to move up down the backstretch and never got close to the front again. There’s always next week of course.

Driving home I saw this license plate, which ironically detailed my travel home.

Church or Bike Racing?

2009-03-27T07:13:00.000-07:00

Well, in this day and age where only 10% of Americans read the bible every day; of course based on a pole where a majority of those 10% admitted to indulging in the Lord’s diary out of guilt; or even worse just because they wanted to “look good” for Jesus. Fer the love, in my three decades on this earth I have met two or three what would call “good Christians.” So in all brutal and non-PC honesty I think the question is well deserved. Even if not out of mere daydreaming, absent thought, or spiritual pursuit; but based on the simple fact a Godasaurus Rex attempted to devour my soul for racing a bicycle in lieu of churchgoing. I have always joked that someone would find fault in my replacing the visitation of the good Friar Tuck’s house with banging elbows against a bunch of other idiots at a bike race; on God’s day of rest and recovery. Well, someone finally did it.

But therein lies my point. There ARE no Friar Tucks. If there are, they are too hard to find. One cannot simply Google “real ministers” in order to find a suitable preacher of the word. I suppose part of my cynicism stems from my lack of Sunday masses as a child. My religious experience as a child consisted of watching Indiana Jones kill Nazis and find the Lost Ark. Or maybe it was the cultish way some of the families around me attempted to push religion on me. The tact almost always seemed to be one of guilt. “Jesus won’t love you if you don’t love him,” “You’re going to hell if you don’t go to church,” “Real men love Jesus,” etc. Look, The Sprinter is OK with religion part. I just don’t want to go to church. Ferchrist, I’m 30 this year; and I don’t know any of the songs ok? It’s uncomfortable for me. Since when do I have to go to church to love Jesus anyway? One could argue that if your race started later then you could ideally do both. But eventually, you will do one where it is impossible to do both.

A man I knew once said it best; essentially separating the religion from the institution. His name was Doug Goldstein, the former manager of Guns N’ Roses; back in the hot years, (Where do we go, where do we go now, where do we go, sweet child o’ mine.) Doug made the clear statement of “Hey, church is cool and all, but every time I go, God’s broke again. What’s he spend so much money on?”

Doug shared the same gimlet eyed approach after watching the Reverend Robert Schuler Jr. grow in wealth and prosperity in the south Orange County. We both knew him personally, and decided independently that he didn’t need anymore million dollar homes or Mercedes S500’s.

This is more often than not a verboten topic, and I don’t normally engage in public conversation on the topic. But am I the only bike racer who has thought of it? I don’t think so. I’ll put my next paycheck on the fact that many wives/girlfriends have derided their idiot bike racer for not going to church and hanging out/socializing with the “good” people.

Many of the bike racers I know border on the obsessive when it comes to their Sunday races, and I imagine most of them are NOT thinking about church while rolling on their trainer waiting for their race to start.

So will Jesus hate me for racing my bike on Sundays? Will I be denied entry into heaven for sprinting down industrial park roads and chasing the dream? Will Peter stop me and say, “well Dave, you did CBR on this day, and SDSR on this day, and state championships on this day.” I think not.

So with that; I am racing my bike this Sunday. God will not hate me; nor will baby Jesus. See you guys on the road.

Have you held a Swedish Goddess, sir? "Yes I have"

2009-03-21T08:58:00.000-07:00

Well, in a sense. Emilia Fahlin, Swedish national road race champion; lined up for the San Dimas Stage Race time trial. It being my sworn duty (sans affidavit, blood oath only) being an SC Velo race, it was my burden to be a time trial holder for the Cat 3, Cat 2, Pro men, (and what?!?) the Pro women as well?!? It was certainly a challenge, and I refused at first, but in the end I managed somehow. It being against my Omishesque way of living to hold tight female bottoms wrapped in tight fitting clopthing. Now if you were a cycling geek, which I am not, then you would be oogling over these women. In fact, I was drooling over some of the bike set ups these girls had more than what was in the Lycra. However, I couldn't help but admire the professional women athletes who I had to (with the utmost professional demeanor) lovingly hold while they waited to launch their time trial up Glendora Mountain Road. Some of these women had lower body fat then the Cat 3 men, and you could sense the power some of them had as they took off. I have to admit they were the pickiest of the bunch, "Little to the left please," "wait, I'm not ready," "when you feel me take off let go really quick, OK?" But, it's their job, so you oblige them with the requests they need to get their mind right. But seeing the road rash scars, tanned skin, and hearing the many Australian accents soon put me at ease.

Back to Emilia Fahlin. You know, this one:

The Sprinter is not usually a fan of his own likes of Blond hair/Blue eyes; as a rule I have been a brunette lover a majority of my life. But it was not hard to see why Team Columbia's Internet home page had doubled in visits since Emilia joined the team. She upheld the classic look you would picture if some said "hot Swedish girl." There were plenty of other lookers to be sure. Some of them talkative, some of them focused and quiet. Cath Cheatly and Tiff Cromwell of Colavita were HOT, and in desperate need of post TT rubdowns, but my offers were snubbed. Tina Pic gave me a very flirtatious "Hi" and for a moment I thought I blushed. Tina of course a famed and feared sprinter, with enough confidence to share for everyone. Mara Abbott was SKINNY." I mean, ripped to the bone. It was no wonder she scorched the time trial and took the yellow jersey. Moving on to the Goddess; fine display of Third Reich poster child perfection.

Now under protection of the Sprinter's graces, the blond bombshell's balance is in my capable hands. Note my VERY serious look.

Off she goes. Note the sprinter; checking out the smooth lines of her, uhhh; bike..

Later on, the Pro Men lined up. I was a little surprised at some of the set ups. It seemed many of them were absent the power meters/GPS units/fancy wheels. In fact, the Cat 3's and 2's had WAY more expensive rigs than most of the pros. Yet, the pros went MUCH faster up the mountain. Guess that says alot about ability vs. gadgets.

Here is Bahati, who is always super cool. As a sprinter he wasn't sweating any of this uphill TT stuff. You could see he was just here for fun that day. Bahati had a new Kestrel, as many of the Rock guys did. Although some still had the Scott bikes they used a few years ago.

Here is Rory Sutherland, Ouch/Maxxis. Big guy, and how he got up that 3.8 mile mountain course in less than 14 minutes is beyond me. Not the little guy with the glasses talking to him. Didn't bother looking him up, but what a prick. He had an OUCH shirt on and was apparently one of the staff. Didn't do much but stand there and tell people good luck. Asked him to take a picture of Rory and I and he said "I'm not comfortable with that." Huh?!?! Yeah, ok dude, go spank yourself.

Here is Lucas Haedo, JJ Haedo's brother. I always liked the Colavita kits, especially with the big olive oil bottle on the back.

And here is my hero for the day. A bonifide Cat 1 racer. SC Velo member Josh Webster, our local rider. Josh is cool, humble, and a strong guy. While the rest of these guys ride bikes for a living, Josh is a full time teacher and still finds time to mix it up with the pros. It's guys like him I respect the most.

And who was there? Henk Vogels! Part of the new managment team of FlyV Australia. Henk was kind enough to pose with the sprinter. Thanks mate! Well, what a day. I kind of wished I was racing as I held the Cat 3's, watching them take off. I'm on the mend so hopefully I will be racing again soon.

SDSR TT today

2009-03-20T07:48:00.000-07:00

Not really wishing all that much I was there, seeing as it's UPHILL. But I have my SC Velo volunteering duties to do so I will be a TT "holder" for the Cat 3, Cat 2, and Pro field. Which, will be very cool to watch the pro's as they get ready to take off. You can tell someof them are really sweating it, especially the GC contenders who's bread is earned with the stuff. It's super foggy out so I'm heading for a quick ride before I head up to Glendora. It will be interesting to see the times today, the climbers will be having their day today for sure.

Crash at Murrieta+Cracked Frame=NOT HAPPY

2009-03-17T19:03:00.000-07:00

Can you really console someone after their brand new custom SC Velo/Incycle team bike get’s completely ruined? Would you even approach such a volatile and emotionally emptied bike racer? Especially given the terms on which the bike was ruined; nimrods attempting to negotiate a turn at a higher speed then the skills granted by God in place.

It was just a matter of time before turn #2 claimed flesh and carbon from the Cat 3 pack, the cycling Gods were above and salivating at the riders in front of me taking corners like a drunk hillbilly driving a lawnmower.
So with 3 laps to go, it finally happened. The self about 2/3 of the way up the pack, heard the sounds like nails on a chalkboard. Like an earthquake ravaging an IE suburb, it’s something you hear before you feel. The click clacking of spokes, the screech of brakes; lycra clad, waif like humans launching into heaps of sheared carbon and artery slicing chainrings.

Well, sweet baby jesus if I didn’t do my damndest to get out of the way. I moved off the road into the dirt swinging outside. I thought for sure I was going to get around it, but the people in front of me had other ideas. They all moved over too, and before I knew it I was airborne.

You know, it’s a sad thing when you are flipping upside down and actually have a few seconds to think, “f..k, this is going to hurt.” Wham! First impact on the top of the helmet and back of the shoulders as I slide upside down, the sunlight blinding me. Just skidding along and still thinking, “Jesus, I cannot believe I crashed.”
I come to a halt and slowly pick myself up. The stinging on my skin where I skidded along is developing. My handlebars are bent all the way down and curled underneath my top tube. I cannot move the steering tube. Oh well. Paramedics show up and take care of the walking wounded. About now I’m thinking “no big deal, I will be back tomorrow.”

Then I see it. The CRACK.

My heart sinks to the doldrums. I mean LOW. You got to be kidding. I got this bike a month ago; it has FOUR races in it, and is now utterly useless. Now my spirit sinks. Later on Mother will offer:

“At least you’re ok, the bike can be replaced.”

“Hey, the important thing is you’re not hurt bad, don’t worry about the bike.”

REALLY!?! I don’t see anyone offering to front me the money to fix it! FERCHRIST’s sake I have medical insurance I could get a freakin' lobotomy tomorrow and it will be a $5 copay. Like I give a shit about me. Losing the bike is worse, but I still love you mom.

Crystal Lake Climb

2009-03-07T22:07:00.000-08:00

Azusa California, Hwy 39, Elevation 753 feet

Temp is about 62 degrees; clouds look like they are burning off. I elect to go gloveless and take a wind jacket and arm warmers. You will read very soon here that I later pay dearly for this decision. Up Hwy 39 I go towards East Fork/Crystal Lake. I have never gone past Crystal Lake, and today I had time to burn and wanted to reach the Angeles Crest Highway (Hwy 2.) This would be a total of 28 miles. I know; this doesn’t sound like much, but it would be at an average gradient of about 8%, hitting a max of 15%. Mathematically, moving 183 lbs up this mountain took 2400 calories, and 2 hours 23 minutes at a heart rate of 170 bpm. The ride starts with some rolling 5-7% grades over the Morris and San Gabriel reservoirs, about 9 miles until the East Fork Rd/Crystal Lake split. The ride starts here, once past the first camp and OHV area the 8-10% climbs start.

Elevation 2000 Feet, 12 miles

The Snowy peaks can be seen in the distance, but the clouds that were supposed to burn off are actually getting heavier. This is now the part which is past the closed gate, which means I can ride up the middle of the road and know there are no cars on the road. There is a slight downhill and now the tough part begins. I am by no means a climber, and the 12% grades which I hit for the next couple of miles hurt me. I have to stay out of the saddle to stay at 170 bpm, which is exactly one beat under my Anaerobic Threshold. Why is that important? Simply because any higher of a heart rate and my body stops flushing the lactic acid out of my legs and the gas tank empties. If I want to last the whole climb it’s all about pacing myself.

Elevation 3000 Feet, 15 miles

Just after Coldwater Campground the grade eases for a couple of switchbacks and the climb starts again. The road is getting more and more desolate. The road continues to wind over the river which is flowing strongly from the melting snow. The switchbacks are coming thick and heavy, as you ride you can see the climb above you, and below you.

Elevation 4000 Feet, 19 miles
I stop to put my arm warmers on. It’s starting to get cold, but I am still comfortable. I stop at the Josh Webster water fountain, named of course after the person who motivates me to do this ride. Josh actually does REPEATS up and down this mountain which, unless you are elite athlete it is impossible to explain the effort he puts out.

The hefty sprinter hits the watering hole. Webster claims the Native American burial ground above feeds spirits into his bottle adding 20 watts per kilo. Currently unfounded claim, however, what harm could Chumash Indian ashes be? (20 minutes later I begin hallucinating and believe the Red-Tailed Hawks are my guides up the mountain.)

Elevation 5000 Feet, 21 miles

As evidenced by the photo, I am at 5000 feet, and freezing. My hands are becoming more and more numb as I go. There is NO sun, despite desperate pleads to Mother Nature for just a few precious warming rays. I pass the Crystal Lake exit and keep going. I figure I will just go as far as I can stand the cold, and turn back. I am above the snow line and inside the clouds around the peaks. At about 5500 feet I almost turn back. I have pulled my arm warmers over my bare hands like a kid with his sweatshirt. The grade is only about 4% here and I am cruising pretty fast. Surprisingly, it starts to get warmer and I break out of the clouds into the sun! Ahh, how nice! My spirit has lifted and I think I may make it to the crest.

Elevation 6000 Feet, 25 miles

The snow is getting very heavy now, I start passing through walls of cleared snow.

Now, the walls are getting really high. I slip over a couple of areas of black ice, and my front wheel almost makes me go down.

I figure I’ve got to be close so I keep going until…….

Well, that’s it. Now I can see why the snow tunnels were so big, this guy has been clearing this stuff all day. I can barely feel my hands and after suffering I get stopped a cruel 3/4 of a mile from the crest. **Sigh**
Ending elevation, 6311 Feet. I will save the rest of the story for you, but I can say it was the most miserable time I ever spent on a bike. I couldn’t stop shaking, and just kept watching my altimeter praying for 2000 feet to come as soon as possible. Finally I got down to the reservoirs and warmed up. I love my bike but sometimes I wonder what the hell I was thinking. I get back to my car and blast the heater on the way home. 52 miles, 3 hours, 37 minuites. The mountains are beautiful but they can conquer you if you are not prepared. I will be back again to battle with the crest again.

Lunchtime therapy/hammerfest

2009-03-04T18:20:00.000-08:00

If you work in an office environment, it’s only a matter of time before you flippin’ lose your mind. Humans were not meant to sit in cubicles and stare at computer screens all day, fueled by espressos via IV drip. Ferchrist, I am getting claustrophobic just thinking about it. Bosses, moron coworkers, and socialist bureaucracy which has a single motivation to stop the productivity of bright, energetic individuals. It’s fundamentally a step backward from communism. I would rather have a Russian tractor with no reverse gear than bosses whose sole purpose is to make your job more difficult. But; my digression has led me astray, back to the issue at hand.

The view toward of LA from Turnbull

Lunchtime. No, you are WRONG sir! It’s HAMMERTIME. As in “drop the hammer,” or in cycling words, watch your heart rate stay at 90% of its max for 1 ½ hours and feel the lactic acid seep into your legs. Note**: For non-cyclists it is important to understand why we say “hammer.” You see, many of our rides are “low intensity” meaning low heart rate, which allows us to go longer and stay fresh. There is only so much time you can stay at a high heart rate, and then you are toast. Thus, the difference of RIDING vs. HAMMERTIME. This is my “therapy.” This is my “couch time.” My lunch time therapy/hammerfest is my Turnbull Canyon/Whittier Heights loop by work.

Break out of the box! Out of the office building I go. I can smell the freedom as the fresh air engulfs my senses. It’s a clear, winter day in Southern California, which means a chilly 60 degrees at 11am. The fact that it is winter is laughable in all respects. Off I go, warming up in my small ring as I head north from Norwalk on Bloomfield. I head east as I go towards Whittier and turn north on Painter Ave, going through downtown Whittier by Whittier College. I climb slowly up by the large trees and old city business structures. It becomes less and less busy as I climb into the heights, and hang a right on Beverly Blvd. The road becomes Turnbull Canyon Road, the chief climb of the day.

I am used to climbing GMR and Baldy Rd for miles, and this is only a two mile climb. The tough part is it hits grades of 11% and screws your rhythm up. You’re cruising at a 5% grade and as you turn a corner it becomes 9%. If you haven’t ridden these grades at speed, the difference between 5% and 9% is ridiculous. If you are a larger sprinter like me then it sucks even more. This makes it perfect for intervals of half miles, making it a true hammer fest.
The descent is technical and fun, as I pass the elementary school at the bottom I turn through the neighborhood and head over Hacienda Rd. This is another 8-10% climb which is about a mile and great for an interval at the top. Down Hacienda and a quick right on West Rd. Now a series of sharp upward turns which, if you feel good this can be done in your big ring (biggest front gear ring.) I soar over the 2-3% grades and descents in the big ring hammering over the hills in the drops. It’s a great feeling when you’re having a good day and flying over the hills.
Through the last part of Whittier heights and back home to the office. My therapy is complete; and now I can put on my shirt and tie and not lose my mind for the remainder of the day. I down a protein shake when I get back, and then pound a meal of shredded chicken, rice, and mango salsa an hour later. Just another day in the office.

Ontario Crit #1 Cat 3

2009-03-01T15:58:00.000-08:00

Sunday, 02/22/2009, Ontario GP #1, Cat 3 hack fest.

“I’ve got suuunnnnshine; on a cloudy daaaayyyy.!” Which is the Ontario Crit #1 - stick n’ flick.

Location: City of Ontario, Fontucky County, California.

A mere 7 miles from home, making the sprinting slugfest geographically desirable; minus cow patty stench.

7 corners, 15 sprinters, 55 assorted breakaway artists, sled dogs, and other such pack fodder. Good parking, and smooth warm up aside from not pulling the skinsuit down far enough during the porta-potty visit, resulting in annoying yet warming pee spray into chamois. The thought of Bear Grylls drinking his urine on Man vs. Wild comes to mind. Maybe a new episode idea, using bodily fluid to warm up before an IP Crit? Primetime material or a Pro “no go?”

Bosco's shades force everyone to
where dark glasses on the cloudy
day, while Dom ponders Miller's

new "grunge look."

Lined up at the start. Beefcake sprinters, Crit monkeys, and burly track stars salivating at the plethora of skinny legged roadies surrounding them; slightly akin to placing a handful of starved mountain lions into a pit of tiny fawn. The tweedy birds fly away from the 180 pound monsters during the road races; now the waif like whippets had clipped wings. Revenge is sweet, Shroeder Iron tattooed beast forced to wear muzzle for fear of cannabilistic agression. Teammates are here, the usual SC Velo hole in the wall gang.

Andrew Bosco (I’m still adjusting from the Spanish jet lag)
Nate Swift (Hasn’t ridden bike in three weeks, for the 27th week in a row)
Kevin Miller (“Wolfman” transformation nearly complete)
Pat Torres (Perpetually skinny sprinting machine, heavily gloved)
Ryan Cleveland (80% legs, seatpost at minimum insert, curly locks becoming afro)
Dom Galenti XXXV (Vows to go easy on dad during training rides)
Sam Simmons (import from SB, donning world champion socks for intimidation)
The Self (183 pounds in a skinsuit; crit star or wannabe Batman character?)

SC Velo juniors still seeking bitter revenge from relegation at Mothballs for safely celebrating the cycling lesson they gave the other juniors. Itz all good! The gun goes, and SC Velo is in the break from the start. A handful of breaks goes up the road, but the pack is a huge Teflon pan and nothing is sticking.

"Does this skinsuit make me look fat?"
Note Clevie in the back, looking right at the camera, a born star!

**Note: about halfway through the race Miller yells “Right Side!” as the attack goes up the LEFT side….The resulting self correction was “uhhh, I mean LEFT!” Classic.

Three laps to go and now every nimrod in the top twenty is tossing around F-Bombs left and right. “Hold your line!” “Hey, watch it!” “Hey now, come ooon DUDE!” etc, etc…..Going into the last turn I am forced into west side gutter by a small, hobbit-like creature refusing to sprint. Some of our other brothers fared better and cracked the top ten, which of course was decided by tarot cards due to “something wrong with the camera.” Which is a rough translation of “We forgot to turn the camera on; again.”

Cat 3 money board:
1. Kit Karzen-All Opportunities Wasted (Nat’l track champ showing the Cat3’s whatz up)
2. “Hey Ron” Takeda-Plutonium (Getting younger every day)
3. Ely Woody Woodpecker-Giant (hails from unknown Victorville desert)
4. Andy “Spanish Fly” Bosco-SC Velo (Orange sunglasses added 14 watts to threshold)
5. Unknown face
6. Ryan “Goldilocks” Cleveland-SC Velo (Snappy sprinter can slide n’ glide, jump n’ dump)

New Steed

2009-02-02T08:57:00.000-08:00

Well, the team bike is here. I was lucky enough that my size (56) was one of the first to come in. A quick review:
First off, I love the color scheme. It was chosen by the owner of our main sponsor (Incycle Bike shops) Dominic Galenti. Since my last bike was black it was definitely a huge change, but I think it looks awesome. These are the specs:

Frame: Cannondale Super Six
Cranks: Cannondale hollowgram SI
Drivetrain: Full Shimano DA 7900
Wheels: Mavic Ksyrium Elite (my favorite wheel ever)
Bars/seatpost: FSA K-force carbon
Stem: FSA OS-115 alloy
Seat: Fizik Arione CX
Pedals: DA 7810
Computer: Garmin Edge 305

First ride, and the first thing that came to mind was "different." I really thought my System Six would have felt the same but it doesn't. It's very hard to describe actually. At first I thought it was sluggish and heavy, but that doesn't make sense because it's super stiff and lighter than my other ride. What I thought was "less snappy" was actually just a smoother ride. It's definitely not flexy, sprinting up a hill during a training ride and the back wheel slid back and forth a couple of times. So whatever you put into the pedals goes straight to the road that's for sure.

DA 7900:
Very different from 7800. A little less travel, but more of a positive shift, similar to sram/campy...You really know you shifted from the feel of the shifter, but you don't even notice it on the bike. The drivetrain moves through the cogs and chainrings smooth as butter. Two things I will have to get used to is the size of the hoods and the lack of cables in the front. I feel like I am going to fall through the bars, it just looks so empty there now. The hoods are much smaller and feel like older campy hoods with ergonomics. All in all, I am very pleased. BTW, just a tidbit I called Shimano and the 7800 DA cogsets are compatible with the 7900 groupset, so at least I don't have to buy an extra set for my racing wheels.

Now the question is, how many wins will the bike bring me this year? We shall see.....

Some pics:

2009-01-25T12:30:00.000-08:00

After being cooped up from the rain, I was itching to get a ride in. Since I missed a day I wanted to get some good climbing miles in, and decided to go to the GMR-Baldy Village loop. The forecast said it was going to be “cloudy,” which ended up being “rainy.” Just my luck of course, I stay inside and then get pissed on the next day, that’s what I get. As I ride through La Verne/Claremont area, the rain starts. I start thinking maybe I will just go up Shin loop and call it a day. I am sooo not dressed for rain, with a base layer, and just arm and knee warmers.

Then I start thinking, “what would the real studs do? What would Mark Noble, Karl Bordine, Greg Leibert, Mark Fennel, and Chris DeMarchi do?” Mark Fennel would pound, unmercifully, teaching those mountains a lesson. DeMarchi would hammer skinny peckerheads into submission. Imagine if I was on a ride with these 30+ super studs and told them I’m going home because of a little rain? What happens this year when I’m lined up on the start line with a bunch of mutant strongmen with names like Reutiman, Ainsworth, Ford, Zaleski, and Easter? They are going to eat my lunch if I don’t drop the hammer, but hard.
So I kept going. Up through Glendora to the start of the SDSR Time Trial area, which is where I start my time to the village. This is now 20 miles into the ride, about an hour of ride time. The mist had settled into the mountains and I started the climb. I try and stay in Zone 2 the whole climb so I can throw out short intervals toward the peaks. The switchbacks were super foggy and I couldn’t see very far up the road. Now I was glad I was here. Just me, the mist, and the sound of the tires on the road. The first climb is about 7.6 miles, and eases at the top which is where I do the last mile as fast as I can around 175-180 bpm.
Going down the descents is where I lost mucho time. Normally I descend as fast I can but because of the fog and rain I was feathering the brakes. Not to mention the rain had caused several rock slides, and I swerved several times to avoid huge rock piles. About this time I was not having fun anymore as my feet and hands were numb. Normally I try and picture myself in a race dropping everyone, but it was hard to focus. After the short climb over east fork and the last descent, I finally began the last climb. I always watch the trees pictured here…They looked cool in the mist and I know this marks the final climb, which is the steepest of the ride. This is about mile 16 or so, and the grade gets up to about 7-8% I believe, but I suck at guessing grades so don't take my word for it. Not steep by Baldy standards but enough after the ride. The last 4 miles although the steepest went by quickly. Normally I love this ride buy I was flippin’ freezing and all I could think about was a hot bath and a cup of coffee. I finally hit the Ranch sign and drop into Baldy Village, which is now mile 40. I descend down Baldy with my teeth rattling and just hoping to get down to lower altitude. I guess this is what separates the serious bike racer from the club rider. I was hating life almost the whole time but the need to lose weight and get in shape outweighed comfort and/or safety on the backside of a mountain. I suppose we really are a sick breed. Total miles: 57, total climbing: 4700 ft, ride time: 3hrs 34 min.
BTW, lots of people raced today, I wonder how it went. I am not in a hurry this year, maybe another month or so, we’ll see.

Waiting for this rain to stop

2009-01-23T10:51:00.000-08:00

Normally, I love the rain. But when the training is going good and the season is nearing it feels horrible to miss training days. Just ride in the rain you might say? Well, here's what many people know about me already, but I am super weird about putting my bike into weather. I don’t mind riding in the cold and wet, in fact racing in the rain is fun. But I am a freak with keeping my bike clean, even though the new one is due any day now. During the season it’s even worse. I train on it all week but I NEVER went to one single race without my bike sparkling clean. It’s a little obsessive, but oh well. Could you imagine? What if a piece of dirt was in my chain and dropped my max wattage down 5 watts, and I lose the race to some dirty-bike riding, scabies infested dirtbag?!? Imagine the gnashing of teeth and pulling of pubics!
Ok, so I had some pics here I took on a couple of rides up to Baldy and GMR before Christmas. The mountains were covered in snow and it was flippin’ freezing. It wasn’t so bad going through La Verne getting to the climb, but once the altitude rose my hands were completely numb. Riding in Oregon in the snow was more pleasant than this one. Later I found out it was 12 degrees up there. Stupid. Well, good thing is I began hitting ice patches and had to head back down. I mean, I’m an adventurous guy but descending over black ice is something I will leave for the 12k dreamers. The last time I went to Baldy a Steller ’s Jay was eating seeds next to the fountain. People think these are Blue Jays but Steller’s is actually the proper name, due to their distinct black Mohawk. Think of them like a blue colored Cardinal.
Of note: This is my sister’s kitty. He is apparently reading the news while she does homework. He is a moody little fooker though.

Mount Baldy

2009-01-22T12:54:00.000-08:00

Before when I was heavier, I HATED this climb. Now, it's my favorite. As a sprinter I won't be blasting up the climb anytime soon, but there is a certain sort of feeling one get's on an ascent. As I climb I feel like I am accomplishing something, like I am going somwhere...Instead of simply spinning around. Everytime I ask people if they want to climb to Baldy village no one answers the email or makes an excuse not to. The only person that will be game everytime is Chris DeMarchi. But he's Chris DeMarchi. While on that note it was Chris who showed me the beauty of climbing Baldy road. Suffering behind Chris (which inevitably happens on every ride with him) I have grown to love that road. Baldy is unique because of it's steepness, and if you go all the way to the switchbacks and the ski lifts, it's harder than Alp d'huez. I used to ride with music every ride, now I leave the ipod at home if I climb anywhere. I ride from down in the valley from my home to the foot of the climb, which takes about one hour. It's actually a steady climb all the way through Ontario, so it's mainly the small ring the whole ride up. One you get into the climb it is peaceful and quiet. I remember one day it was misty and a little foggy as I ascended, and all I could hear was my breath and my tires on the road. It's almost a spiritual experience. The climb starts to get rough at the second tunnel, but I can still stay in zone 3 comfortably now. By the time I hit hogsback ridge, at the gradient climbs I am more towards the red zone. I remember I couldn't even make it past the second tunnel and I would have to get off and go back down. It's a great feeling when you know you've gotten stronger and lighter. Of course, being 185 lbs it's still a chore. There is a slight reprieve after the sign and a small descent before the last climb into the village. I climbed up on Wednesday this week and no one was there. I usually stop at the post office to water up and head back down unless I am going to the icehouse or ski lifts. The best part about the ride is that once you are done it's downhill all the way home. It's takes me about 1 1/2 hours to get from home to the village, and about 27 minutes to get home. Pretty funny actually, since I am going up the steep part at like 7-8 mph and down at 55 mph. Anyway, this has now become my favorite climb next to GMR-Baldy. GMR-Baldy is also a great ride, and a good test of your fitness since you can ride the whole climb without stops. Lot's of poeple ride to the climb but I take the hour to ride from home, it's a good way to warm up and get extra miles in.

White Christmas

2009-01-05T09:59:00.000-08:00

Well, for only the second time in ten years I got up to Oregon to have Christmas with my mom and sister. First off, I lucked out so much that I flew up on the 18th, as people were stranded trying to get into Portland starting the next day. Why? Record snow fall for the area. Somehow I was there for the worst snow in the Willamette Valley in 40 years. It was beautiful though, which Oregon always is. As my mom and I were driving home from the airport it began snowing, and didn’t stop for two days. After the first day there was some rain, which froze over and created a layer of ice on everything. The pics included show the ice layer. You had to be careful walking through it because your leg would slide as the ice broke and your ankles could easily get sliced open. In morning of the ice layer we were pulling sheets of ice of our cars, check the pics out. On the third day of snow I got the bright idea of heading out for a ride. Bad idea. I almost took a header into a 50 foot drop over a creek. I was averaging about 7 mph on flat ground, but it was fun. What’s not so fun? Taking a whiz in the snow on a bike ride and falling into a ditch full of blackberry bushes. Not something I saw coming, and not something I want to do again. Some of the days I rode, mostly I went running which wasn’t too bad on hardpack snow. One of the rides turned very cold and I got hailed and snowed on, riding into a 25mph headwind up Parrett Mountain, which had several 12% plus grades.

I shoveled the driveway a couple of times, and was pleased to have my Perrier chilled as I did so. Coffee drinkers here in CA do not compare to those up north, as this trash can illustrates.

What a difference, the calm after the snow storm.....

Cold weather does that to us I suppose. I spent most every day riding or running, then playing Wii and cooking for my mom and sister. It was nice to treat my mom and make sure she relaxed. She kept asking to help with something but I really wanted her to just sit down and watch TV, she needs the break. We went to a U-cut tree farm and cut down our Christmas tree, which costed $30 for a 6-footer.

Towards the end of the trip it thawed out and the temperature which was mostly in the 20’s rose into the 40’s. Here is the difference in one day, amazing. On one of the snowy nights some raccoons came into the yard looking for food, here’s a blurry pic of one. All in all, it was a great trip. It was nice to get away from LA and be in a more relaxed and friendly culture.

Back Dated Murrieta Race Report

2009-01-05T09:31:00.000-08:00

This was from last year in March...But some of family wanted a re-cap.

Day One: Killer Korner Krit
Fer sweet Jesus the first corner of the crit was just waiting to claim a pile of carbon, flesh, and lycra. Almost every category found fault in it (including the pro’s as both a Rock Racing and a Kelly Benefits guy had to bunny hop the curb once.) Luckily, the curb was the kind that rolled up instead of a sharp drop.
Around the first 15 minutes I stayed top five and kept out of the wind. People kept trying to break off but they were reeled back quickly. I made the mistake of trying to bridge up to a break, and by the time I got there they were both burnt. What a waste of energy, but I was there to have fun so I was more relaxed. The field kept swarming during the straightaway into the last turn, and I fought to keep in the middle of the pack every time as people advance around the outside. 5 laps to go and the pace picked up. I was third wheel for laps 5 and 4, but dropped to tenth or so during lap 3. With two to go people were burning up and some fresher legs came to the front. I jumped on Joe Ainsworth’s wheel we headed into the last lap. On the same straightaway coming towards the last turn the line split up and everyone started fanning out. Guys were starting to sprint already and I found myself right in the wind. I saw a guy surge on my left, and two guys surge on my right with about four guys behind them. I saw Ainsworth again and was now ten riders back. I jumped out of the saddle and took about five pedal strokes and sat down for the turn. I knew I had about 10+ riders in front of me as we turned so I hammered the pedals as I rounded, and jumped out the saddle again. I would up my gear and was already in the red zone. I dropped a cog and dug deep. I passed one rider, then two, three, four. I kept digging even though I was about to pass out and passed the fourth guy by half a bike length to take third. I was upset that I had gotten caught out but happy I was still in contention for the overall.
Day Two: Circuit Race/Road Race, Whatever! It’s got hills which means my 195 lbs was going to work overtime.
Great scenery, hills were small, and the roads were TINY. For the bigger fields I felt sorry for them I don’t know how they moved up in the pack. The race started off quickly and at one point we actually were getting close to the Cat 4 field which started five minutes ahead. The pace slowed a little from laps 4-8 and then picked up with 2 laps to go. This one guy in an orange shirt tried going off the front 3 separate times, but never got more than 10 seconds ahead. Another rider from Don’s bicycle shop (Marchiano I think) tried going off and got 30 seconds at one point. Nothing stuck and it looked like a bunch sprint was coming up. I taped the top 8 rider’s numbers on my top tube and watched them. The winner of the Crit was up front the whole time and looking VERY comfortable. Which was not good for me, since I had to beat him by two people to take the overall. Not to mention the second place crit guy (Ainsworth) was also up front and looking good. It was anyone’s race, and the last lap was fast. We headed up the false flat and some riders began dropping off. I fought to get into about 10th and we coasted down the hill an up the first roller. The group bunched just before the last climb and the race leader was yelling at the guys in front to make a hole.
It was pretty funny. They weren’t going fast enough though and more people started telling them to get out of the way. The road opened up at the bottom of the climb and the race leader jumped out of the saddle and charged. I went with him and we lead the group up the climb and began the descent As we descended two guys jumped off the front. I knew from previous surges that there was NO way to move up when the pack stretched through the turns. I knew I would have to be up front to make the sprint, so I jumped on the wheel. . The last four corners were close together and VERY tight, with potholes, manholes, and debris. I was third wheel into the first two turns and the front guys slowed on a straight area allowing three more guys to come up on my outside. I immediately jumped again and was fourth wheel as we turned again. My heart was hammering, and the adrenalin was spiking. I looked behind me as we approached the last turn and saw the pack coming fast about 20 feet behind. As I hit the last turn over a cobbled area I heard people starting to yell, and I swung wide into the outside of the road. I had one guy ahead of me as I jumped out of the saddle and wound it up. I passed him and was in the front with 100 meters to go I was spent but I dropped one more gear to make sure no one came around.

It was just one of those times I knew I had it, and I stopped pedaling for the money shot, (which was dumb because I could have easily gotten DQ’d.). I crossed the line sans matches, oxygen, and parts of my lungs and left ventricle. The race leader placed third tying up our overall score and boosting me to 1st overall with the last day win. Someone got a quick video of it from their camera, hard to see but I come on the left side. Fun race.

Ride up Hwy 39 yesterday

2008-12-11T07:38:00.000-08:00

Took off work a little early and decided to park in Azusa and climb up 39....Had never been on the rode to Crystal Lake, and decided to try and see what I could. Supposed to be a recovery ride since I climbed Baldy the day before but my curiosity got the best of me....

The ride was nice, the gate was closed, and I don't remember the last time I actually rode on a closed road. It was nice to ride in the middle of the road and not worry about anything. Up past the gate I saw a Cat 1 friend of mine, who swiftly dopped the overweight sprinter while in Zone 1....Pathetic.

Anyway, will definitely be going back here more often...

La Mirada Cat 4 - Broken bones, two for a $1

2008-09-08T12:06:00.000-07:00

06/21/08: Morning of the La Mirada hack fest. Dave Jacobson hops out of bed. The legs feel springy, loose. Not to mention very smooth and silky. A quick check in the mirror to admire the “roadie tan,” which more or less resembles a tasty muscle ice cream bar: half vanilla, half caramel.

A pre-race weigh in shows 189 pounds, a full 19 lbs over my hollow cheeked 2009 target weight. Too heavy, but hoping the engine will bring the horsepower need to get my chippendale’s butt over L’Alp de La Mirada. Whole wheat pancakes with blueberry topping and scrambled eggs, the cycling equivalent of 91 octane. Five bottles of water and I was ready to go.

Race checklist:
-Brain Bucket: check
-Fancy Italian shoes: check
-Precious Accelerade go go powder: check
-SC Velo duds: check
-Incycle socks: check

My trusty mechanic/self help advisor Rick tunes the steed up before leaving at Chino Incycle. He notices she is polished and wax-lubed. He reminds me that my System Six is like the horse Black Beauty. We are one, my bike and I. A scintillating blend of machinery and horsepower. An extension of Incycle’s will, a powerful weapon of the SC Velo kingdom, and more importantly a tool in which peckerheads and pretenders were pounded through superior wattage and fury.

1 pm. La Mirada. 102 degrees Fahrenheit. Taylor, Rene and I discuss tactics.

Me: So Taylor, what’s the strategy, how we gonna do this?

Taylor: (To Rene) “Get a load of fat boy over here, actually thinks he’s going to make it over the hill even once.”

Rene: “Yeah. This a circuit race. You know, it has hills.”

Taylor: “The strategy for you is to finish. If we can use your spent carcass later in the race we’ll let you know.”

(Doug Enters)

Doug: “Did I hear the word strategy? The strategy is the same for every race. Weed out the weak, drop the fatties, pound idiots. No pulling the field, no cokes during the race, no finishing in the bunch.”

Did I mention it was hot? Sitting at the start line I watched as my sweat dripped onto my top tube. The organizer was yelling at Taylor for crinkling his number or something but I was already in the zone. The whistle went off and we hit the hill for the first time. Doug is on the front, and took the field up at about 89 mph, I kid you not. I recovered on the downhill and again on the 2nd lap, Doug hammered it. Ok, it hurt the first time and now I’m thinking of excuses of why I got dropped at La Mirada.

Anyone got water, I'm dying here ferchrist!

On the third go-around I look over at Doug, who is fresh as a daisy, his heart rate around 38 as we crest the hill. Fortunately the pace eased off and I realized we were going up at about 16-17 mph. I started dropping into my 39/17 and spinning every time while many others mashed a 53/23. It saved my legs in the end.

I felt myself start to dehydrate halfway in. I knew I was not the only one suffering because as I looked around I could see the weary faces. 30 minutes in, asphalt gods took their flesh offerings. We were going downhill on the backside and about 20 riders back from the front someone went down. I still believe it’s one of the worst sounds in the world. The click clacking of spokes, the silvery splintering of wheels coming apart, a bright crumple of metal and carbon fiber, near naked skinny boys being thrown into masses of metal and pavement.

I was on the outside and moved left outside the cone barrier. A car came by and the mirror hit my left tricep, throwing me back into the cones. I swerved and missed the bodies and bikes. As I passed the crash was still happening and a tubular blew, which of course sounded like a bomb went off. The crash put forth about 28 riders, and I sprinted to latch back on. Behind me I could see guys trying to get back on but they never made it. I sat into the group and saw that there were still some very strong guys, the race was not over. I saw Rene had made it around the crash, but I did not see Taylor or Doug. I wanted to stop and see if they were alright on the next lap, it looked really bad. As we came around it was three laps to go (which is where they began the lap cards.)

The tweedies take the IE Sprinter out of his comfort zone.

Rene shot off the front and accelerated up the hill. I thought jeez I’m struggling how is this mutant going off the front? He looked very strong. We passed the crash and I saw both Doug and Taylor standing up looking at their bikes. I was relieved to see they were ok. The course did not suit me but I was pissed that they crashed so I got serious and moved up the bunch. Two laps to go and Rene is still off the front. Chester Gilmore from Platinum and Mike Gratz from CA Pools drilled it up the hill. Both are awesome climbers and we were moving up at about 22 mph. I was waaay in the red zone but I made it. The funny part about this was that I passed Rene who got reeled in with one to go and he asked me for water. I DON’T EVEN REMEMBER PASSING HIM OR HEARING MY NAME. I was that far into the pain cave.

One to go and we are flying up the hill again. Towards the top my breathing is very labored and I’m feeling the “drop.” A gap starts between me and the group. I thought, no way, not after all this suffering and my guys crashing. I dropped a cog, got out of the saddle and latched back on. The skinny boys who I have outsprinted in the past kept looking back at me. I knew they were trying to drop me and I felt a desultory satisfaction that they were unable to.

I threw it in the big chainring and recovered down the hill. The attacks came thick in the last stretch and two people got a 100m gap. I knew it was too early so I waited. We came around the last turn. The 28 riders had thinned to 15 from the pace. I moved up to the top five and as we began the hill I swung wide and charged up. I moved outside around one guy and began my sprint. I saw out of the corner of my eye two guys moving up slightly ahead of me. As the gradient steepened I felt my cadence drop and thought I was going to fall back. I thought I would get 5th or so but then I saw the other two guys fading back. Now was the time! I put my head down, mashed the pedals and came over the hill. I could feel my gap getting bigger and I sat up putting my hands high. At the bottom of the hill I almost passed out from the effort. I had a hard time breathing and walked my bike back up to the finish. Rene and Taylor were there and it was all smiles and hugs. I just leaned over my bike while Rene poured four bottles of water over me. I drank a couple of cold cokes and then began to feel ok.

I am glad everyone was ok, which is much more important than winning a bike race.. I wish Doug and Taylor had been at the finish, they would have done well. Hope you guys are healing up.

The final mix-up, 50m to go!

I'll take an outside line for $500, Mr. Trebek.

Sweet Jesus, I won! Can I throw up please?