My Team (Or, Why I Joined Adventures for the Cure)

2009 was a great year on the bike. After (literally) years of prevarication about my riding, my January shoulder surgery helped me focus on discreet goals. Something deep within me was re-awakened.

I rode the Five Boroughs Tour, the Long Island Harbors Century, Pelotonia, and my first cyclocross races (Schooley Mill 'Cross and Reston).

Seeking

During the second half of the year I was looking for a team. I wanted to race more with each passing week. My long-dormant competitiveness was awakening, and I believed I needed some guidance and structure to support me.

I knew I wanted three things from a team:

1. Experienced riders (and racers) from whom I could learn.
2. Opportunities for group training.
3. Philanthropy.

I spoke with a score of riders from all over the Washington, DC region. I learned about the Squadra Coppi squad in Virginia, Route One Velo, Team BBC, Club Kelley Benefit Strategies, and others. All have merits. Ultimately, there really was no choice: it had to be AFC.

Why AFC?

AFC met all my criteria, with the added bonus that everyone associated with the team (who I had met) was, well, nice.

1. Experienced riders (and racers) from whom I could learn.

The two team founders are veterans of Race Across America. In 2008 they completed it on fixies. In 2009 they won the two-man team competition. (RAAM is a wild and crazy ambition for me. More on that some other time.)

One of the founders, Adam the Machine,was just promoted to Category 1 for cyclocross—that new and wonderful discovery.

Sure, he's dreamy...but on the bike he can kick your arse
without so much as a grunt. No. Really. He can.

From what I have been told, AFC is not a hardcore road-racing team. It is mostly cyclocross and mountain-focused. This is an opportunity. Not only do I get exposure to new and exciting things, but I can hp grow road racing within AFC.

2. Opportunities for group training.

One of my big lessons from 2009 is that riding alone has its merits; riding with others is a pleasure; and riding in a group can be a blast.

I loved going to my Tuesday night group rides. It was the one evening each week that I had to do what I wanted, so I took advantage.

O, to have mountains like that near our group rides...

AFC is based near Ellicott City. While not my backyard, it is within my riding radius, so it is local enough. And central to AFC is the Google Group and its mail lists. Being able to send a simple email to reach out to scores of riders, scheduling rides last-minute, is a huge bonus.

There is also a fabulous opportunity to take part in group coaching. Nifty!

3. Philanthropy

I am a cancer survivor, yadda yadda.

I know most people are uninterested in this fact. Nevertheless, it is a driver for me.

Me. My Bike. My Cause. Any questions?

Put me in the category of those who want to do something good for my cause, and who see their (my) activity as a method of bringing focus to it.

I am no noeticist, but I do believe that collective awareness begets action. the result of this belief is that I happily add my voice to the chorus of cancer-haters. I delight in efforts and activities that help raise both money and awareness of anti-cancer causes.

AFC is not focused on cancer, but they do require all members to perform charity work. This laudable requirement is a huge attractor for me. Selfishly, I hope to leverage AFC for my unselfish goals (Does that make me a bad person?). I also hope to learn from them. Fund raising is not a native skill, it's a learned process, and I have a lot to learn.

Decision Made

It's done. I made my decision at Schooley Mill.

I am in the honeymoon stage. I raced my first race while resplendent in AFC colors. I've joined the group/team coaching, and I attended the red-and-white party (taking the advantage of meeting some of the folks). The mail lists are active, but not cumbersome. And it is clear that Adam the Machine and Patrick the Competent care.

Awwww...

And that's really the point, no?

You choose your alliances. Sometimes it's Machiavellian. Sometimes it's charitable, but it is always a choice.

I choose AFC.

P.S. Oh, and the polka dots help!

Schooley Mill 'Cross (The Making of a Cyclocross Addict - Part 2)

Opportunity Knocks

I was looking at cyclocross events to see if there were any I could visit as a spectator. I wanted to get a feel for the sport. I was shocked to see that there would be a race in a much-loved, local location—Schooley Mill Park.

Yep, that's the entrance!

The MABRA cyclocross series visited Schooley Mill Park in 2009 for the first time. Schooley Mill is a place full of happy memories. I have taken my girls there for countless walks in the woods in all seasons and in all kinds of weather. We've stalked deer, spied on beaver, and befriended horses and their riders on the well-maintained paths through the woods. We've followed animal tracks, crossed logs, fallen into the creeks and lagoons, and returned with smiles and treasures. On a few occasions I rode there on my mountain bike and romped on the paths, with one or two out-of-control, daredevil descents on the hills.

So, how cool was it that there was going to be a race there?

I mulled. I daydreamed. I wanted to ride—even though I had no idea what that meant. Eventually, I registered.

Getting Ready

Everything I read and everyone I spoke to told me the same thing: 'cross is hard. To prepare, I increased the intensity and frequency of my spin classes (more intervals). I also went out to a field and practiced dismounts and remounts.

NOT me. Note the form and the, er, risky position

Funny, it was just like riding a bike!

It was easier than I expected. I simply channeled my childhood. As a kid I lived on my bike, and I leaped off it countless times. I knew how to run and remount from endless games of chase and tag. Somehow, the running-jumping-mounting-pedaling thing came back to me.

NOT my old bike, but you get the idea

Even off-camber turns—initially terrifying—came back to me. All those afternoons as a kid riding the trails around Carpenter's Pond are hard-wired in my memory. My 29er ain't my old yellow banana seat bike, but the same rules apply.

The Day Cometh...

Crisp, cool, autumnal air greeted me when I left my driveway for the 20-minute ride to Schooley Mill. My backpack was filled with water, tubes, clothes, tools, and a shop pump. I had more than I needed.

Riding to the race was the perfect warm-up to the warm-up. I got there early and registered. While in the anteroom outside registration, I stood with my number (640), four pins, and nary a clue about what to do with them. A wise, kind woman (in a BBC kit) bailed me out, helping me to don the number (right side, facing backwards, so the race officials could identify my corpse when they scraped me off the tarmac).

I stashed my bag in some tall sea grass near the tot lot (nifty hiding place for belongings and wayward children) and rode a lap, marveling at the activity surrounding the final race preparations. I had visited the previous evening to get a look at the course; everything looked a little different in the morning light.

Course map for Schooley Mill 'Cross!

Nervous, I kept having to pee. I'm sure the caffeine had nothing to do with it.

As a result, I nearly missed the start. I was in the loo when I looked at my watch. It read 08:56. Race start was to be at 09:00. Christ!

I completed my transaction, mounted my steed, and rushed to the line, where several score angry-looking men in tight shorts were lined up for the start. I nearly toppled an entire group as I maneuvered into my start row (4th row!).

Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am, stuck in the middle with you.

I saw Beautiful and Charming Bride (BCB) and my two girls, the Lovely Angels (LAs), at the start. Goofily, I grinned and waved. Nodded to the racer next to me, and we were off!

The Race

Prior to the race, veteran cyclocross racers told me the following about 'cross:

1. You redline the entire race.
2. Bike-handling skills are at a premium.
   
3. Speeds are slower, so when you fall (note: "when") it does not hurt as much.

So, despite my night-before-the-event-visualization-fantasy—in which I made the podium in my first EVER cyclocross race, riding a 29er mountain bike, with family cheering me on to legendary victory—I really had two realistic goals.

1. Finish.
2. Don't fall.

Modest. Realistic. Manageable.

No one in front...no one behind...still in the middle...

I can happily report that I achieved both my goals.

I finished despite several cyclocross-veteran comments that I would be fortunate to not get lapped in my first race, in large part to the behemoth bike I was mounting.

I did not fall, thus proving that even blind squirrels occasionally find a nut (er, well, you know what I mean).

I was 34th of 65 starters (three did not finish).

I was middle of the pack. I did not get lapped.

I am a bicycle racer!

What I Experienced

A breathless rush: that's what it is.

I died a thousand small deaths each lap.

Rabbits

As I passed the officials, concluding each lap, one mindtrack screamed "call the race!" and another mindtrack howled "kill the rabbit!"

I like chasing rabbits. Motivating. Driving. Primal. When that other guy is out there in front of you, reeling him in is an absolute delight.

Family

I passed BCB and the LAs twice each lap (as I passed the tot lot). I have no idea when they arrived. Each time, I could clearly hear Youngest Lovely Angel (YLA) shouting "Go Daddy Go!" BCB and Eldest Lovely Angel (ELA) were more reserved in their support, but I heard them.

I got chills whenever I heard them. It absolutely motivated me to pedal stronger (at least when I was near them!), to make them proud. It's cliche; it sounds trite. That said, it's real.

Work

I wore my heart rate monitor. My average BPM was 178. My maximum BPM was 186.

Thus proves the statement: "you redline the entire race."

Obstacles

Obstacles were manageable. They were not easy, but I didn't feel like they abused me...with one exception: the uphill carry over the two cyclocross-board obstacles.

• Lap 1, not so bad. Carried 29er over and easily remounted.
• Lap 2, not so bad. Carried 29er over and easily remounted.
• Lap 3, not so good. Stopped dead before lifting 29er, and remounted with effort (not so much spring in the step).
• Lap 4, bad. Stopped dead. Heaved 29er onto first barrier to roll it over. Labored up hill. Re-heaved 29er over second barrier (barely clearing it). Stopped dead. Got back on bike (it's not a "remount" if you are walking, true?).

That bike got heavy.

Pipped

Chasing the rabbit is a good thing. Being the rabbit...not so nice.

Just before the line (uphill approach) a comet passed me at mach II. Effing hell. As Ian Brown would say: "Amateurs! Amateurs!"

So this is how it feels to be lonely, this is how it feels to be small...

That will never happen again.

What I Learned

'Cross Is Hard!

Let me repeat what I wrote before: "I wore my heart rate monitor. My average BPM was 178. My maximum BPM was 186."

'nuff said.

Gearing

I stayed in the middle ring (front) and shifted surprisingly little. Of course, coming up the boggy hill, I needed to downshift, but I never got into the rear granny ring. I also never got into the rear power ring. It was always somewhere in the middle.

Eating & Drinking

A Gu 20 minutes before the start, and then one at the start fueled me perfectly with no GI distress. Even if I was thirsty, there was no way to drink during the race. I don't even remember thinking about it until after the finish.

Finish Strong

I was chasing my own rabbit when I was caught. I was riding hard enough to catch my target, and I had no idea I was being stalked. In the wild, I would have been dinner. Situational awareness will not let me down again.

Why I Will Do It Again

40+ minutes of vitality in the cold, wet, muddy, sunny, windy, speed-driven hunt.

40+ minutes of risk and reward, hunting and seeking, chasing and dodging, leading and scrambling.

40+ minutes of living fully.

...it's FUN!

'Cross is fun.

Socks! (Or, the Journey to Sartorial Self-Determiniation)

I like clothes.

My Rapha-fetish notwithstanding, it's not about volume. It's about quality and "a look". I am far from a clothes horse—in fact, my closet is largely void of anything I can wear (...courtesy of weight loss and my unwillingness to go out and buy clothes that fit. As Trevor, my irrepressible and irreverent colleague—hereinafter to be referred to as “ir-Trevor”—says: "If you do (get new clothes) you're only going to gain it all back, anyway.").

But I like to look good in a classic way. Alternatively, I like to look interesting.

Ergo, cyclocross is perfect for me. It’s traditions—irreverence, occasional costuming, and frivolous atmosphere (that thin veil obscuring its profoundly powerful competitiveness and strikingly sweet masochism)—lead to a kind of sartorial self-determination.

Pink!

Schooley Mill 'Cross was organized by the Baltimore Bicycle Club Racing Team. Their colors are pink and black. Interesting.

BBC logo as rendered in pink

It takes a bold man--here in the US--to wear pink convincingly. We're not Italians, celebrating the Giro by coloring our world with the un-red. And we're not Eurocentric Brits, slavishly following the fashions of Thomas Pink of Jermyn Street, London.

Even so, I must admit that BBC looked good, all these fellows in their pink-and-black kits.

But then there was one. This was a man after mine own heart, a gentleman of profoundly outstanding vision and taste. There was a man in argyle.

Not for him, the mere pink-and-black stylings of his jersey and shorts. Not for him, the mere classicism of his pink-and-black cap. Nay!

For him, nothing less than knee-high pink-and-black argyle socks would do.

I love this guy!

Knee Socks!

Since I-can't-remember-when, I have been a fan of knee socks. It is a running joke in my family that knee socks are a gift (for me) for any occasion.

Less-well-known is that I deeply admire interesting socks (argyle, polka-dot, stripes, smiley faces).

NOT Sean Connery

Unfortunately, people seem to be less-inclined to gift me interesting socks. Damned gender-biasing! Were I a girl, I would need to dig myself out from the avalanche of fancy knee socks that would materialize every holiday. Alas, here I sit, brokenhearted...

Argyle and Polka Dots

The Schooley Mill race—I had decided—would be the event/day that I would make my decision about which team I would join. I was 90% certain that I would join AFC, but BBC was still in the running—and Mr. Pink Argyle was having a huge influence on me.

Then I ran into Patrick of AFC...

Patrick the Competent,
sporting the dots!

He was sporting his polka dot kit and...

EPIPHANY!

I had a vision.

Polka dot kit. Polka dot knee socks.

Decision made.

AFC it would be.

Sartorial self-determination, er, determined.

Now, how will I realize my vision?

The Making of a Cyclocross Addict (Part 1)

This is a cautionary tale...

It happened slowly, imperceptibly.

Yet, it happened. I'm addicted to 'cross. (See! I'm even calling it by its nickname!)

Now is the winter of our discontent/Made glorious summer...

While recovering from shoulder surgery I spent a lot of pain-filled time sitting in a comfy chair watching TV. Through serendipitous scheduling and the miracle of the DVR, I watched a replay of the 2008 cyclocross world championship.

It looked interesting, but it was crap TV. The leader was out in front for so long, it was boring. There wasn't any strategy, and all the riders were so good, that the obstacles seemed routine. I preferred watching the Tour of California.

The summer road season progressed. Other riders would mention 'cross. They would speak reverently about the coming season. Some guys were on 'cross bikes with road tires.

"Meh," I thought. Not for me.

The year flowed on, and I was hearing more. I kept reading about 'cross during my morning surf. Blakedo, my spin class instructor, talked it up. Then I was blindsided by the Adventures for the Cure crew.

Attack of the Polka Dots!

The Tuesday group ride had become a highlight of my week. I loved that my 40+ year old legs were competitive with the 20-somethings on the parcourse (Sure, they had competed in Ironman events, marathons, and centuries each weekend prior to the ride, but that's no excuse!).

Then some dude in a polka-dot skinsuit showed up. He was strong. I had a hellish time staying on his wheel on the Harriet Tubman climb. He dropped me, and I looked like a punch-drunk fighter, dazed and bewildered. He made it look easy, the arrogant (unmentionable)! God, I hated him.

Over the next few weeks, I got to know Jay PolkaDot and his white Klein a little He had a good sense of humor, and the roadie arrogance I'd perceived was really my imagination. He was a good guy, and his strength forced me to step up and get better.

Then the other shoe dropped. He brought two of his teammates, and all hell broke loose.

Unassuming, friendly, and riding beat-up bikes, his "teammates" proceeded to kick our arses up and down the hills and around all the curves of Howard County. And they were on fixies.

Effing fixies.

My fragile ego was crushed. My roadie arrogance crumpled; my confidence plummeted.

The two "new" members of the polka dot crew, it turns out, were the winning two-man team in the 2009 Race Across America.

Oh, and one of them is a Type I diabetic who rides with an insulin pump.

Effing hell.

So, what has that got to do with 'Cross?

The polkadot crew are serious 'cross riders. (In fact, Mr. Insulin Pump just got promoted to Cat 1.). Between arse-kickings, they talked-up cross.

Cyclocross Everywhere

Being the curious sort, I added cyclocross to my morning surf. I was exposed to the sub-sub-sub genre of "POV Cyclocross videos with indie rock soundtracks", courtesy of In the Crosshairs.

They were kinda cool.

I dug deeper and watched video of training sessions, where the subtle skills such as "dismounting you bike at speed without falling on your face" and "remounting your bike without performing an auto-orchiectomy" were taught to eager, rosy-cheeked, pneumatic-thighed participants.

They were entertaining.

Then, lo and behold, I learned that there was going to be a race near me; and not just near me, but at a park near and dear to my heart!

The Schooley Mill 'Cross was scheduled for November 21st, the weekend before Thanksgiving. I read about it in August, and I knew--deep in my heart of hearts--that I was doomed.

...On to part 2

Vacation yadda yadda

I have been remiss. Vacation (it's all I ever wanted) and a hard re-entry into reality have kept me away. There will be much to catch up on in the coming days, including:

• Century Report (Long Island Harbors Tour)
• Titanium road tests
• Carbon road test
• Pelotonia
• Training

But away for now...more soon!