Paramount GP

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

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

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

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?

OR

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"

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

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.