So I’m gonna try to be upbeat, because this was a pretty fun event, but I didn’t get my workout in today and that makes me grumpy. Working Man’s “stage race” is a three day event, held over consecutive evenings on the New Hampshire/Massachusetts border. I think a more clever name would be “Criterium Regionál” (misplaced accent for added comic effect) since it more closely resembles the format of that storied French race than a traditional multi-day event. But I digress.

So I’ve been feeling kind of fat this whole Fitchburg weekend, and I realized why on the ride to the race this morning. Even on my easiest days of training, I get in more saddle time than I’ve had in two days of this race. Heck, just the ride to work takes up more time than the TT. I realize there are a tremendous number of fields to get through in a given day, but c’mon – yesterday’s Men’s 3 race was 9 laps; the Men’s 2 was 20. Until today, I just didn’t feel like I was getting my money’s worth.

So one for the “The Universe hates Cosmo” file today. Drive into the start with no worries (other than the massive calzone I foolishly ate all of the night before), and rode up (helmet on) to staging to sign in. Immediately I get yelled at to get off my bike at the staging tent. Keep in mind, no one else is here – the Cat 4 race is done, I don’t race for another hour, and Masters 35+ is on course. But hey, just because I loathe authority doesn’t mean I always ignore it. I get off my bike, sign in and head back to the car to warm up.

The last time I did Fitchburg was back in 2005, and man, was it a high-strung race. People cussing, shoving at the start lines, knocking each other around on course. Granted, today was a TT, but I’d have to say the overall scene was far more laid back. Lots of guys in the Cat 3 field just kinda sitting up, missing starts, no aero kits or nuthin’. I’d love to say that this was due to the more selective (if way stupider) course, but I don’t want to advance my own opinions on course design or anything.

I am hilariously frail right now. Yesterday, I bumped my elbow with me knee and it hurt for like, 10 minutes. Most of my wounds have healed/scabbed, but now huge bruises are rising on my forearms and shins. I’m hoping they’re from Monday’s dust-up with the car, but the way I feel right now, they might very well be from scurvy. Even as I type this (lying prone on a blanket alongside the Cox Criterium course), I have to be careful what parts of my body I lean on. I’m essentially disabled without a bicycle underneath me.

So obviously this is the perfect time to start racing again. Especially in a 3/4 criterium with 125 riders on a non-selective course with a fast, bumpy downhill, like the one I was upended on at Great Falls. To be fair, the Cox Criterium course is kinda fun, but it’s not exactly kid gloves for coming back from a hard crash. Plus I drove down with Darcy, who promised that if I crashed again, she’d beat the living $&!t out of me. And Lord know, I don’t need that.

The INTERNATIONAL BICYCLE CENTERS team had more than 10 registrants, so we were officially a “VIT” (very important team), meaning a special warm-up tent, with its own bathroom, trainers, free Accelerade, Endurox, Poland Spring and underripe bananas, was ours to use. But I hate the trainer so much that even this wasn’t enough incentive to get me warmed up properly. At any rate, they kept us on the line for 10 minutes, and there was a neutral quarter lap or so, making warm-up essentially irrelevant.

Ok, so despite the fact that I’m healing extremely well (basically by throwing calories at my wounds), I bet you’re all probably still wondering how I got so beat up this weekend. Well, the story begins in a tent in my teammate Stephanie’s backyard around 8 in the morning, when people were like “Hey, are you two still here? The Women’s 4 start is in just over an hour!”

So it was another rushed scramble through Southern Maine, where confused CVS employees told us that 95 and 295 were “essentially the same thing”, despite the fact that we were trying to get to Auburn. No worries, though – another full-bladdered scramble, forged signature and truncated warm-up later, Sally was on the line (with her numbers pinned on, this time) and off, on her way to a 6th place finish (upgrade points!) after conquering the Boston Scientific sandwich with a dominating sprint.

I had a much calmer time of it, and this time even a teammate (Greg), who I’d ridden with before. The form’s just coming around for him, so we talked a little tactics after signing in. The course was (IMHO) fantastic, because, like the previous day, it lent itself to a variety of tactical scenarios. 90 degree corner, short wall, flat, 90, downhill, 90, downhill, 90, short, barely uphill finish straight. Plus, I found it darn fun to ride. Sure, a few pavement spots were a little bumpy, but I live for that Roubaix-style stuff. And with an overcast sky and a night of rain, I was more concerned about the corners than a few choppy patches.

So at the end of my last race report, I noted I was coming up to Auburn (home of the J-Bone) looking for results. But come race day, I was heading up to Maine looking mostly for a bathroom. Further complicating things, my chaffeur/domestic goddess was in extreme danger of missing her start after my poor directions and road awareness sent us on a brief side trip to Gloucester. So treat your mind’s eye to the image of me careening through the hills of Central Maine, clinging (with a full colon) to the “Oh, s&!t” bar of a turbo VW wagon, piloted by the madwoman who purchased the vehicle with just such scenarios in mind. High comedy, indeed.

Upon arrival, I hobbled out to registration with her license, where the officials pulled a Sergeant Schultz (that’s two “Hogan’s Heroes” references in one day, BTW) and let me sign for her while she got changed. I then spent a few nerve-wracking moments in the porta-potty line before finally getting to relax and prepare for my race. The site was pretty nice – park in a field, some buildings, some shade, but no water(!). Apparently, there was water, but no one found out where it was until the p/1/2 field got rolling. Still, friendly officials, well managed.

The course was (IMHO) great. The start was downhill, followed by a good, short wall (probably 45-60 seconds of ascending?). Two corners atop the wall were interesting, followed by a bumpy gradual downhill to the lake. The last 3k had a good 250 feet of climb, and the last KM was a false flat until 200 meters. So no easy sprint, no mass/power contest. It would take some smarts, either in selecting a move or position, to do well here.

So after a weekend of being spoiled in New Hampshire with scenic, hilly rides, delicious food, fresh coffee, and all the other things a cyclist can be spoiled with, I figured I better even my karma out and do a criterium around a sunbaked race track. Twice. And that’s what I got. Believe me, the Cyclonauts Racers Criterium holds no secrets.

I left my base of operations for the weekend (Hanover, NH) around 11, enlarging my carbon footprint substantially on the ride to Stafford Springs, CT because I didn’t want to be late. I rolled in about 30 minutes ahead of start time to a barren wasteland of a parking lot, with no signs anywhere. I couldn’t see cars, cyclists or anything from the road, and pretty much every gate I came to was closed. Still, I refused to surrender, and eventually found my way in.

Registration was something of a mess, with high winds (maybe the infield wasn’t the best spot for reg, eh, Cyclonauts?), long distances to the car and bathrooms, and no real signage. But because it still wasn’t complicated enough for me, I left my license in the pants I wore to Sunapee, so I had to go back to my car, open my laptop, find my race resume, take the license number off of that, write it down, and finally return to the registration tent.

Around 7:30 am, I departed Hanover for Lake Sunapee, having passed up massive opportunity for drink and debauchery the night previous, with passenger Erik Newman, who most certainly did not. We were hopeful when we left that the damp, but not rainy, and cool, but not cold, conditions would continue throughout the day. As we hit the highway, the rain seemed to increase, but we were hopeful it was an illusion caused by increased speed. By the time we made it to the humble village depart in the Sunapee Ski Resort parking lot (an adventure in itself), we were hopeful of nothing. Not that I don’t enjoy riding in the forty-degree rain, but I generally don’t hope for it.

On the way into the lodge, my brain and colon had an argument about which to hit up first: the bathroom, or registration. My colon won. As a result, I registered late. I was expecting a fine (they fine you for everything) but my only penalty was a different number and no warm-up. Ran into teammate Greg at the start and we discussed strategy – mine was to hang on and maybe try stuff in the second lap. His was (having only two weeks of riding) to maybe hang on and help me. Since NEBC had, like, 10 riders, it’s clear we wouldn’t be dictating the tactics regardless.

Though the flyer proudly proclaims 1200 feet of climbing per lap, it’s really not that bad, with mostly mild rollers and one pitch of notable steepness. Back in 2004, the last time I did this race, we just rolled around the lake in a big clump and waited for the sprint, which is somewhere between uphill and flat. It’s nice because while the entire field is motivated into riding because they (like idiots) think “hey a sprint, anyone can win”, but then find their motivation sapped by the bit of rise preceding the line.

Once active, someone started pulling on the field. Nothing hard, but a good tempo. I was too far down/too much rained on to tell who was doing it, but I’d assume NEBC, since they had like 10 guys in the race (out of 43 starters). After a bit of riding, everyone settled down because it was rainy and cold. Over the first few rollers, I felt ok, keeping in the saddle and pushing just a bit to grab spaces. By the time we hit the wall climb, I, and some others, had enough of this junk, and got some space.

I don’t remember if there was an NEBC guy with us, but there must have been because I can recall pulling through once or twice. For some reason, I was really frustrated by the soaked feeling of my arms, so I took off my gloves, which impressed everyone. Eventually, though we climbed hard, we all sort decided not to try the break, but one dude from CCB just kept rolling over the top and got clear. From there we sort of puttered through the lap, with me wondering if we’d ever see the breakaway again.

I kept this thought for a while, but eventually, NEBC decide to send a bunch of guys to the front to make some pace, and we caught sight of him on the wide, straight-ish roads that make up the first part of the course. He hung out a while longer because I guess NEBC figured it was a done deal, but we finally recaptured him just as the rolling hills were beginning.

By this point I was feeling antsy. The legs were surprisingly good-feeling, not “holy crap, I gotta take off ASAP” legs, but decent. So I’d come to the front just at the top of each little rise and coast down, getting a head start on the next one, while keeping an eye on things. Eventually, an NEBC guy went, and I was like “ok, we can do this”. Honestly, I figured it was a good move because the dude appeared beefier than I was – maybe I could ditch him over a rise an solo in.

Not the case. It became immediately apparent that this guy would climb the legs off me. We went with about 12 miles to go, and held out until about 4 or 5, and I think I pulled through on an uphill exactly once. This isn’t to say we didn’t work well, sharing work without complaint when possible, but I was getting hurt over each climb. Which I guess is good, since I never get to climb w/hurt in my current environs. Coming over the hard pitch put me into some serious hurt, but I found a rhythm and it was a good experience.

Finally, over the last climb of note, they pulled the truck out from between us and the group. I looked back, and the field was there, and up the road, my companion had a few seconds. So I let up a bit, seeing as my legs were pretty toasted. The catch took a while, and I was kinda starting to regret not fighting to the last by the time the field swarmed over me. I retook position pretty well, but as we crested the climb, waiting for another non-NEBC rider to come through and chase, someone managed to bridge across, and the two piled up time on the downhill.

Complicating the chase was a steady stream of dropped riders. They didn’t get in the way, but made it impossible to see up the road, and to determine who, exactly, had jumped across. I pulled on some downhill stuff, but with the legs gone, I couldn’t really put in an effort. Hard to say if I would have been able to keep up if I hadn’t given in just that little bit, but I sure am regretting not making a go for it.

By the time we started sighting up for the sprint, they were clear to win. I grabbed second wheel coming through the traffic circle, remembering that in my last time out here, I’d left myself way too far back. Second wheel is too close though, and there was no leadout to speak of (ahem, NEBC, I’m looking at you, here), so I was down in 53/23, doing like 40 rpm, waiting for someone to go. Not that I would have won or even placed well in the sprint, but I would have enjoyed grabbing a wheel for a “true” ST, rather than limping in however many seconds down.

So, in the end, 19th place and the personal satisfaction of sticking a break, at least for a little bit. Erik was already back in the car, having bailed from the 4 race after going off the front for a lap. I drove home feeling OK but sad to lack the high-end grit when it mattered. I’m still trying to get skinny, which might have been the cause of some of the leg weakness in the climbs, but I think the problem is just not enough genuinely hard riding. Maybe some shorter, harder intervals are in order. Maybe I’ll get some next week in Connecticut.

Normally, I sit around before races and shut up. Don’t say much, and just check out the field (unless there’s someone I know, then I chat them up). But not so much before the Williams Crit this past Sunday. I had just pedaled over from my parents’ house (about a mile away), and was chilling by the start line, when I overheard some double-registered dude talking about how was gonna skip the Cat 3 race because all the money was in the pros.

I’d let that slide, but then he started whining about upgrade points, and so I was like “And that’s the only reason you race? Money and upgrade points?” And he was like “Well, I drove three and a half hours to get here, might as well have something to show for it”, to which I replied “I find your lack of spirit disturbing.” Then he went all Ricki Lake on me, being like “you don’t even know me, I train year round in nothern Vermont” yadda yadda yadda.

I stopped my part in the discussion shortly thereafter, because I guess he was getting pissed, and somehow, I figured the officials would turn it into a way to fine me. I guess there’s no real point to this preface, per se, I guess it’s just sort of a disturbing to line up against people who see racing as a means to an end like that. After all, there are much more direct routes to upgrade points and prize money than training year round…

Anyway, true to his word, he skipped the 3 race, which was, like all the races at Williams, pretty lightly populated. It’s a shame, too, since the course is real fun (kinda) – up the hill, down the hill through some sick twists, back up the hill kinda easy, then a 90 degree turn and uphill hard, before repeating. A lot of people say it’s like a cyclocross race, and you have to race it like one. Since most of my ‘cross races involve three laps of sprinting and then holding on for dear life, I really can’t understand that.

Pace felt decent to me, so it probably was slow. No one wanted to lead the descent, which I found incomprehensible, especially with at least two nippy little juniors in the field (juniors are annoyingly good at bike handing, ush.) So as little kinda attacks went, the field thinned down from 24 to 13. Basically, the pattern was suffer up the hill, recover position down it. I think I attacked one time when it was really slow, and immediately regretted it because I am just not in any kind of shape for that.

At about 8 laps to go, I started to get that thing I was having toward the end of Jiminy, where you get sloppy about maintaining position. So I softpedalling a bit on the front, and came through the next downhill 3rd or 4th wheel. Of course, things got slow again after that (Murphy’s Law, since I’d just corrected my pack position) and it was all bunched out and wide. I got boxed in somewhere I should have known not to be, and someone attacked on the otherside of the road, putting me instantly at the back, right before the 90-degree turn and the real uphill.

Each lap, I’d been moshing through the hill in the big ring. I was dropped at Jiminy using a similar gear, and I’m thinking maybe, now that I have expensive parts, I should have more faith in the front derailluer. Anyway, I lost a bunch of space on that climb, and just couldn’t pull it back together. So I finished alone, off the back, as the last person not to be lapped, same as the last time I did this race, in 2003.