It’s Not About The Barriers: Risk, Reward and the Cyclocross Course

The worst and the best cyclocross courses, I’ve raced them both. While you remember Cyclocross courses for certain features, the difference between a good and bad course rarely comes down to sand pits, log barriers, off cambers or cool hand built flyovers. The great courses offer risk and reward. (pictured above Masters racers take the risk of a fast entry into a 3 wide sand pit at OVCX Gun Club Race, 2008 Milford Ohio)

Cyclocross is much more than a fastest person wins bike race. It’s a mental game pitting skills versus speed. Some of the best courses I’ve raced tempt riders to make hard decisions throughout the course. The choice can be as simple as run it or ride it or as daunting as grabbing a handful of brake or blasting wide-freaking-open. At the OVCX Kingswood course this past weekend, a double barrier was followed by two 180 degree hairpins. Right off the bat, you’re thinking that sucks. It’s a total - everyone goes through slow and single file - choke point, but it wasn’t. The beautiful part of it was that you had to make the first hairpin a delicate fraction of a second after remounting from the barriers. The corner was taped wide. Some riders chose to run the first 180 the first lap and ride the turn on successive laps. Some opted for the longer but less susceptible to carnage outside line. Others tried their skills only to fumble getting clipped in through the turn. Multiple choice, but only one fast answer per lap. Brilliant.

One of my favorite risk/reward course set-ups was the natural double log barriers at the OVCX John Bryan race in 2008. The logs were a bunny-hop-able 10-12 inches thick, separated by a 10-12 yards of grass long enough to land and relaunch for the 2^nd log. However, the logs were on a fast straightaway, leaving riders to question whether it was faster to dismount at high speed and run, or slow to hop them. With conditions changing and fatigue setting in over the course of the race, it left a helmet scratching decision every lap. It rewarded strong riders with the skills to risk bunny hopping them every lap. It still rewarded those that could dismount at speed without touching the brakes. It punished those who committed beyond their talents. Now, mentally make those logs 16-18 inches round and roll them within 4-5 yards of each other. Unless you’re the one freak-of-nature in the race that can bunny hop anything, everyone is going to hit the brakes and run the logs. The risk and reward is gone. It wasn't about the logs, but how they were placed in relation to the course and each other.

Don’t get confused; risk/reward in Cyclocross has nothing do to with opening up a course or making it less challenging. It is about choices. Take the Green Monster flyover at the USGP course in Louisville in 2008. It was a behemoth wooden bridge structure with about 10 stairs on one side, a table top, and a ramp down the other. The stairs were tall and shallow. The table top wasn’t more than 2-3 feet longer than a bike. The steep ramp shot you out into a wide fast turn. The structure was wide enough for riders to tackle two abreast. It rewarded those with extremely quick dismount/remount skills combined with technical skills and punished those who hesitated for a split second of indecision or a case of nerves. More than once I saw it cause a gap between a rider with buttoned up skills and someone who had to look down to clip their foot in their pedal. Sure the Green Monster was challenging and an intimidating sight, but it was it's placement on the course that really made it spectacular. Had there been a tight turn at the bottom, riders would've played it a little more safe and never have attacked it as hard as they did.

Risk/reward, in regards to cyclocross courses not only applies to the obstacles, but the little nuances of the course. One of my favorites, while just a mosquito of a detail, is having a section of the course be a little pavement on one side and grass on the other. I’ve encountered this feature number of times and have learned to look for it in my pre-rides. Imagine a grassy stretch leading into a long sweeping corner. However, the corner slightly crosses a paved drive or golf cart path. Experienced riders will know that riding on pavement is faster than grass, so they’d take advantage to stand up and bang out a few hard pedal strokes on the pave. Others simply didn’t see the crumb of advantage right in front of their eyes. The risk: we all know what can happen going from wet grass to smooth pavement. Whoops!

My last example is about adding the element of speed to a course, particularly into and out of obstacles. When you put a tight turn in front of or after an obstacle, it forces all riders to stack and slow. Now replace those choking turns with a more direct or fluid route in and/or out of the obstacle. Riders that can really attack the obstacle at fearless speed are rewarded. Intimidated riders have to slow. The better all around cyclocrossers are rewarded, not the lucky ones who eek through the stacked up carnage.

Even though cyclocross is gaining immense popularity, the courses are still crafted by grass roots clubs and teams, not ex-pros or people that try to eek out a living on race promotion. It’s still September and a whole season is in front of us. When most design a course, they think: we need a sandpit, some off camber, a stretch of single track, some logs, some tight corners, a set of stairs, a little pavement, a nasty run-up and our logo on the barriers. Those are just elements, paint in the can. Tie those elements in a way that rewards riders who can take the risk and do it faster than the competition, now that makes a good course.

How To Drop An Attackus-Nonstickus With AAD

In some cycling circles this bone head move is know as a Break-a-lame.  Some go so far as to call these riders Wad Blowers, or the more PC “natural sprinter.” Nothing ruins a group ride faster than a dolt who shoots off the front of a strong paceline causing everyone to surge and chase, only to have said dolt sit up when others reach the dolt’s wheel.  This particular syndrome is known to the cycling community as AAD, Attack And Die.  Symptoms include half-wheeling, increased time spent riding alone, chest thumping, frequent looking over one’s shoulder, moving left after their “attack” is done and they are in the “die” mode, riding with their knees out while attacking with hands on the hoods, the inability to hold a respectable fast speed for more than 14.3 seconds without needing a 5 minute recovery and a Clif Bar, and an over-zealous appreciation of high speed coasting. 

Those with AAD also didn’t get enough attention from their mommies.  If they weren’t going off the front and sitting up on your group ride they’d be shouting “get in the hole” at televised golf tournaments.  I consultultated (a George Bush term) with The Global Center For Naming Everything With Latin Lingo and they have approved a whole new animal kingdom sounding term for this dufus, Attackus-Nonstickus.  Women aren’t immune from AAD.  On occasion I have witnessed the female of the Attackus-Nonstickus species go all AAD on a group.  It’s very rare and just as unimpressive.  The Attackus-Nonstickus doesn’t realize that there’s no glory in an attack unless you can stick it to the end of the ride, the sprint sign or the coffee shop.  To attack and not stick it is like a football player fumbling the ball on the goal line…a shameful wasted effort.

If you encounter an Attackus-Nonstickus, first of all never give a hard chase.  The Attackus-Nonstickus, much like a 7^th grader pulling the fire alarm at school, thrives on attention.  By standing up and ramping up the speed to quickly close the gap you just fuel the fire, the cycling equivalent of dialing 9-1-1.  You also risk dropping riders you enjoy riding with.  By maintaining a steady tempo and gradually reeling in the Attackus-Nonstickus you don’t give them undue attention.  The best catch of an Attackus-Nonstickus is not to simply reach their wheel, but to just keep rolling by them like they aren’t even there.  It’s easy because they usually end up on the left after their non-sticking attack.  Even better, during the chase, arrange the order of the paceline so the weakest rider of the group is the one who ends up making the catch and the pass.  That leaves an Attackus-Nonstickus thinking “what the?” in their head as ninety-pound Nancy rolls on by.  If this technique fails to quash the spirits of the Attackus-Nonstickus, your next option is to systematically drop them from the ride.  While it does sound mean spirited, it opens up a whole new world of fun to those “in” on the drop. 

To accomplish this, let the Attackus-Nonstickus off the front at least 3 times.  Each of those three times reel them in as stated above.  However, on the 4^th attack, preferably at the farthest point form where you started or in a bad part of town reel them in steadily.  Before you make the catch, let your co-riders know you’re going to drill it.  Say something sly like “get ready to go.”  When you make the catch sit on the wheel of the Attackus-Nonstickus just long enough for them to feel as if they have tired you out.  Count to three bananas.  Let out a big sigh to solidify your bluff.  Now!  Swing out wide-right to the shoulder and drill it!  Go hard enough to get a gap but not so hard as to lose the riders behind you.  Now dial it up to donkey wheezing speed.  Even if the Attackus-Nonstickus managed to see the move, they won’t be able to grab the last spot in the paceline before they know what hit ‘em.  Now YOU got to stick it.  Hold it hard for one minute followed by a steady pace higher than the original pace of the ride.  Don’t look back for the next five minutes.  Since the Attackus-Nonstickus will be tired from their four hard efforts, has no idea that attacks can go up the right side of the road, and can’t hold a fast speed for more than 14.3 seconds, you will never see them again…at least until next week’s group ride.  

How To: Take An Austin Powers Style Natural Correcto

The light at Camargo & Miami in Madiera turned red.  I zipped across anyway.  I had to take a natural.  Sorry, but the laws of nature supersede traffic law.  Right officer?  I knew this ride wasn’t going to let up for the next hour and the morning coffee was percolating.  Between here and the halfway sprint, I could foresee no other points where a pause in the action and a good pee place would intersect.  Figuring I had somewhere between 30 and 45 seconds of red light before the group would get back to business, I thought I’d be able to duck behind BioWheels bike shop, take care of business and either jump right back with the group as it passed or, if this were to be a grande natural, at the very least I’d catch ‘em on the descent.  I chased the group in full-on flat-backed heart grabbing donkey wheezing mode for the next 10 miles dangling between 50 and 300 meters.  I finally caught on in Loveland, only to get popped seconds later as the group punched a big climb at 23mph. Then I spent the next 5-7 miles chasing with a teammate who also got dropped on the climb all because I had to take a pee.  Have you seen my critical mistake?

I didn’t tell anyone I was going to take a natural.  What a doof I am.  Essentially I limited my potential bridge back on posse to the handful of people who saw me head up to the shop.  I had four teammates in the bunch, a few good friends, one of the Two John’s, and a bunch of others that know me well enough to give me the courtesy of holding up a bit for me to catch on.  Here’s what my antic’s looked like to the five people who saw me.  F*&%!  Joe just ran the red light.  He’s headed up to the bike shop.  Look like he’s probably ditching his knee warmers or something.  Oop, light’s green, let’s go.  At this point there are no thoughts of Joe, because the group of 25 or so is bombing down a hill at 30+mph, navigating a notoriously slippery set of angled railroad tracks followed by a 90 degree corner at the bottom.

Here’s what it was like from my perspective.  Oop, can’t pee here, looks like that’s wood for the shop renovation.  How ‘bout here?  Nope that’s Mitch’s car.  Can the neighbors see?  Who cares?  Get the front of your bibs down.  Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh.   Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh.  Did the light turn yet?   Ahhhhh. Ahhhhhhh. Ah.  Ah.  Ah.  Fhew!  Tuck in under jersey.  Pick up bike.  Clip in.  Where’d they go?  Oh F%^*!  They’re halfway down the hill.  Tuck and hammer.  Oh Sh&* the tracks.  Jam on brakes.  Cross.  Back up to speed.  Crap they’re around the corner.  Hammer.  Just 50 more meters.  Ugh, little bastard hill.  Dammit 100 meters. 

Like the directions on a shampoo bottle, so it went for the next 10-15 miles.  Close gap, stuck at light, hammer, repeat.  I finally caught the group in the next town, unfortunately 10 seconds before the major climb of the ride.  Still trying to choke back my heart & lungs, I was waxed and off the back in 20 seconds flat.  Here I went again, but this time I had the company of another dropped rider.  We tried in vain to catch on for the next 5-7 miles, but eventually the group got out of sight, we figured we missed a turn, and gave up the gootch. 

So to save you from making the same mistake, here’s how to take a Natural Correcto:

Step 1: Tell group you’re going to go, making this point right in front of the leader or veteran riders.  Maybe say something like, “Hey I’m gonna zip up here and take a pee.” 

Step 2: Ask a teammate to hold up to help you bridge back on. Maybe say something like, “Can you Andy, Brian and Matt hold up a bit to help me bridge back on, thanks man.”

Step 3: Take natural as quick as possible as waiting friends or teammates dangle off the back of the group.

Step 4: Time trial to your waiting teammates or friends and work together to bridge the rest of the way

Step 5: Return the favor later by keeping a teammate out of the wind or offering up half a Clif bar.