My First Coaching Gig!

This week I start coaching cyclocross with members of my team.

And one of the LAs is in the class!

We'll be teaching the basics, once a week for eight weeks.

And like any addicted blogger, I created a NEW blog for the class.

Check it out!

The first real post explains what cyclocross is, and what it isn't.

This is gonna be great!

2010 Cyclocross Season Schedule

With help, I have compiled a list of cyclocross races in the Mid-Atlantic region, with particular care paid to Maryland. There are two regional, season-long competitions:

• MAC = MidAtlanticCross Cyclocross Series
• MABRA = Mid-Atlantic Bicycle Racing Association Cyclocross Series

There are few other races, too. If I missed anything, please let me know!

Sat	9/11	Nittany Cross	MAC #1	Trexlertown, PA
Sat	9/18	Charm City	MAC #2	Baltimore, MD
Sun	9/19	Charm City	MAC #3	Baltimore, MD
Sun	9/26	Ed Sanders Memorial	MABRA #1	Adamstown, MD
Sun	9/26	Whirlybird Cyclocross	MAC #4	Bryn Athyn, PA
Sat	10/2	Breast Cancer Awareness Cyclocross Challenge	MABRA #2	Cascade, MD
Sat	10/3	Winchester Apple Harvest Cross	MABRA #3	Winchester, VA
Sat	10/10	Hyattsville CX	MABRA #4	Hyattsville, MD
Sat	10/16	Granogue Cross (Day 1)	MAC #5	Granogue, DE
Sun	10/17	Granogue Cross (Day 2)	MAC #6	Granogue, DE
Sun	10/24	DCCX	MABRA #5	Washington, DC
Sat	10/30	All Hallows Cross	MABRA #6	Hughesville, MD
Sat	10/30	Beacon Cyclocross	MAC#7	Bridgeton, NJ
Sun	10/31	ABRT CX	N/A	Severna Park, MD
Sat	11/6	Fair Hill	MAC #9	Fair Hill, DE
Sun	11/7	Tacchino Ciclocross	MABRA #7	Upper Marlboro, MD
Sun	11/14	UrbanCross at Ix	MABRA #8	Charlotsville, VA
Sat	11/20	HoCo2xCx: Schooley Mill Cross	MABRA #9	Highland, MD
Sat	11/20	Super Cross Cup Day 1	MAC #10	Southampton, NY
Sun	11/21	HoCo2xCx: Rockburn Cross	MABRA #10	Elkridge, MD
Sun	11/21	Super Cross Cup Day 2	MAC #11	Southampton, NY
Sun	11/28	Turkey Chase MABRAcross Championships	MABRA #11	TBD
Sun	12/8 - 12/12	US Nationals	National Championships	Bend, OR

Header	Content

Ski-Cross, Snowboard-Cross...Cyclocross!

Cyclocross magazine did a 2009 April Fool's post on the subject of Cyclocross in the Winter Olympics.

Genius. Pure genius.

So, in the wake of the 2010 Vancouver Olympics (a.k.a snowless, shameless, and supercilious) it makes sense to revisit the subject.

I heartily endorse the idea. As reported by cyclingnews.com, the Dugast Diavolo is ready to roll in the ice and snow, so the gear is ready. Their have been plenty of races held in the snow, so the riders are ready.

Let's get it done! One fan started a petition for its inclusion. If biathlon and curling can capture an audience, I wager that 'cross can garner one as well!

Capital 'Cross Classic (Reston)

Schooley Mill hooked me.

Reston reeled me in.

Flush with the excitement of my first cyclocross race, I hoped to find another race before the end of the year. The Fates were with me. There was a race coming up December 6th in Reston.

I waited to get through Thanksgiving to see if the desire and motivation would endure through the feasting.

It did.

I waited to make sure the calendar did not get filled, what with the hyper-busy holiday season.

It didn't.

So, I committed. The trifecta:

• I registered for the race.
• I registered with US Cycling.
• I joined AFC.

The Man in Black Rides Again!

I contacted the lads at AFC and told them I was on board. To make it real I picked up a long-sleeved skinsuit. Black. Red polka dots. Cool.

I was official.

Socks!

The only thing was...I didn't have the polka dot socks. I looked on line in vain for black and red polka dot knee-high socks. Nothing.

I did, however, have a plan "B". I would wear a pair of my black knee-highs.

Crisis solved.

C-c-c-c-cold-d-d-d-d

December 5th was our first snow. The radio weather announced that the temperature at Dulles was 23 degrees (that's Fahrenheit to you, wise-arse).

Here be dragons...ice dragons.

What was once water, was now ice.

Yet, I was committed.

Commit Me

I was up and out by 0630, to make sure that I was on-site early. My newbie mind requires me to see and experience everything, so I can learn from the adventure. And this was going to be an adventure.

The drive was uneventful, but memorable. The ice-laden trees were awesomely beautiful when painted by the sun's rosy rise.

As I approached Lake Fairfax Park I realized that I hadn't seen any cars for some time. Tracks? Yes. Vehicles? No.

I followed snow tracks on the access road and found the parking lot. Black ice, hillocks, and talus greeted me. Someone shuffled across the lot and flolloped indelicately onto his arse. It was bad.

Welcome to the pleasuredome...?

I crept forward and found much space between two other cars. I parked, got out of the car, and made my way to registration.

I ran into Dr. Bill, another AFC rider and the gentleman responsible for the most excellent photos of the day that grace this post. We exchanged shiver-talk, registered, got our numbers (I was 512), and ever-so-carefully made our way back to the lot.

A few riders were picking their way through the course already, and race organizers were making all efforts to civilize the untamed ice. It was everywhere.

I unloaded my bike and—to my wonderment—was praised by all and sundry for my decision to bring my 29er. People thought I was a genius. Considering the conditions, riding a more stable bike made sense. No one, however, knew that I did not have a 'cross bike. I did confess it to Dr. Bill, but only because of the doctor/patient confidentiality thing.

We're Racing?

We mounted our trusty steeds and headed to the start area to begin our practice lap. We barely made it to the grass.

My future...

Walking more than riding, we picked our way through the course. We carved fresh tracks in the crusty inches of snow. Then I hit the ice.

No, I mean, I HIT the ice. Ome second I was rolling forward; the next I was looking up at the sky with a brutal pain in my hip. I have no idea how I got there; all I know is that it hurt.

I ate it four times on the practice lap. I was a baby on the bike.

Note the sourpuss expression. Me ride bike good some day!

We finished the lap and went to our cars to gear up/down. I was taking off layers and lowering my tire pressure. As I stripped off, the guy in the car next to me remarked: "Skinsuit and socks? Are you insane?"

"You wear what ya got." I replied.

You may translate that as: "Yes, my good sir, I am insane. It should also be noted that I am sporting the polka dot for the first time, and I wish to look good. To hell with comfort, this is about representing my new team with honour, dignity, and erect nipples!"

THIS is pavement after an hour of shoveling, chipping, and salting.
Oh, did I mention that this is the start line?

Yes, We're Racing

89 started. 79 Finished. 27 were lapped. I finished in 49th place.

I finished.

I survived.

I did not get lapped.

No one pipped me at the line.

It was brutal, cold, miserable, nasty, and painful. I would do it again tomorrow.

I fell more times than I care to count—thrice spectacularly.

The first of these was on an off-camber turn just before the transition-to-pavement-from-hell. The guy in front of me braked and nearly stopped. This forced me to brake and crash into him in a way that made me bounce off and hit the deck. My cleats did not release from one of my pedals, and I lay on the ground like a beached whale as three riders passed my bloated carcass.

Shovels would have been nice...

Two observers were right there, just outside the tape. I could have touched them. At least they did not laugh.

The second spectacular fall occurred along the evil icy causeway across the damnable dam that held back the inky-black, frozen lake. Like my practice-lap hip-crusher, I was on the deck before I could say "Crap!". (If I was lucky, I got out the "Cr"...but that might have been my teeth chattering.)

This was spectacular because of the immutable laws of gravity, which state (and I am quoting Newton): "Falling objects shall continue to fall until an equal or greater opposing force stops its sorry arse." In my case, I fell, slid, and rolled down the embankment. I completed two complete rolls while still clipped into the pedals. In Olympic terms, it was a double-Lutz with a head twist.

Looking back across the evil, ice-infested causeway from hell...
the site of my ignominy.

From a full 50 yards away, I could hear the laughter. It was a sight to behold. I just wish I was the beholder, and not the beheld.

The third was a Herminator-esque, fly-through-the-air-and-land-sliding-across-the-road-while-completely-succumbing-to-the-forces-around-me fall on the final turn of lap three. I had just gotten up to speed, using a snowy part of the path as my traction control, when I shifted my weight just so...

Some day we will all look back on this and laugh.

...and down I went. I nearly took out two spectators in the process.

So, let me reiterate:

I finished.

I survived.

I did not get lapped.

No one pipped me at the line.

It was brutal, cold, miserable, nasty, and painful. I would do it again tomorrow.

What I learned

• My gloves were not warm enough (no feeling by end of lap 1).
• Wear skin creme (no feeling on face or ears after lap 2).
• Wear earplugs (Ear canals HURT when cold! Who knew?)
  
  
• Ice hurts.

Ouch.

• I'm a survivor.
• I'm addicted to 'cross

The last point is the point.

I love this sport, and I am so grateful that I have been able to participate in it.

So, when's the next race?

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.

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