Stale Fish: The Masters Wreck at Derby City

Artwork Courtesy of James Billiter

I covered my eyes.  I’m certain that’s where the realization set in that my friend and teammate may be paralyzed.  I paced.  I rested my head in my arms along the course fencing of the start/finish straight.  Little clips trickled into my ears.   “I’m a doctor.”  “He’s complaining he can’t feel…”  I didn’t catch the rest.  Emotion overcame me.  I spotted teammate Gerri on the other side of the course.  We had a good weepy hug as the EMT’s carefully went to work. 

Nate was stale fish on the ground.  They already had a collar around his neck.  I looked back, with his arms at his side, his legs shook.  Shock I presumed.  Fuck man, just fuck.  I wasn’t angry.  I feared the worst.  I didn’t want to make that phone call.  Someone handed me his glasses.  I snagged his Garmin off his bike and tucked both in my jersey pocket.  Gerri helped getting a plan together.  I hopped on my bike with inoperable brakes and coasted back to the start to collect my grid bag and thoughts.

As of this Monday morning, Nate spent the night at U of L Hospital.  An MRI showed a fractured vertebra in his upper spine.  Thankfully, he can move all his parts.  He was alert, coherent and concerned about his bike.  Despite complaining of intense shoulder pain, the news sounded somewhat positive.  Granted the possibility of surgery and rehab still looms, at the moment it appears our buddy Nate escaped the most serious of injuries.  Looking at his bike and helmet, it looks as if he sprinted into a wall at 30mph.  When I put the bike on my roof rack, the drivetrain was in the 53x17 gear. 

Derby City Cup Masters Wreck 1 by Kent Baumgardt

I saw the wreck unfold firsthand.  Despite the ruckus over the large mixed fields at the MudFund Derby City Cup, I don’t think those things had anything to do with it.  It was the simplest thing really.  A rider hooked a wheel at the front which cascaded into a chain reaction full-gas pile up. 

I personally knew 90% of the riders in the first four rows, and at least two more rows behind me.  Look at the call up list for Wave 6.  Granted not everyone on the list started, but all of those guys at the front, masters and juniors, are good riders.  Most of them I’d equate with sticklers for etiquette.  They know to hold a line and not to make unpredictable moves.  With the callups based on points, at least the first 8 rows were sorted by speed.  Additionally, throughout the last two weekends with Cincy3, every junior I raced with passed cleanly.  Between a bunch of USGP’s and Worlds, most of these guys have done this same long paved Louisville start at least 10 times.

Derby City Cup Masters Wreck 2 by Kent Baumgardt

Based on Saturday’s start, the first few hundred meters of the course were key for position in the race.  Everybody on that start grid knew we had a long paved start, a soft curve onto a long downhill straightaway.  From there, the course made a huge soft left hand U-turn before getting into the first pinch point on the course.  We all knew the position you held going into the first chicane was more or less within a few riders you’d have up the steps, through the first sand and over the flyover before you’d have another big chance to make passes.  Still I don’t think the speed at the start or the jostling for position in the first few hundred meters of the course was unusual or overly aggressive.  Yesterday, the wreck happened not much more than 120 meters or so from the grid, 3 or 4 shifts, and a mere 10-15 seconds into the race.      

Derby City Cup Masters Wreck 3 by Kent Baumgardt

I cannot say it was a bonehead move.  Someone hooked a wheel.  Only the rider who hooked the wheel in front of him knows the circumstances.  Maybe the rider in front hit a crack in the pavement or a rock.  Maybe that rider came out of a pedal or his hand slipped off his bars.  From what I remember seeing, the hook was subtle.  It was not a big sweeping move from right to left, more a matter of inches.  The wreck happened before the announcer’s trailer, way before the bend to the left and onto the grass.  I don’t know if the rider in front slowed, moved right or if there was something unseen that happened miliseconds before it caught my eye.  Regardless, two riders made contact.  The rider in back went down.  I don’t recall seeing the front rider go down. 

Front end of Nate's bike caved in

I started on the middle of the 4^th row.  My BioWheels teammate Mike was 3^rd row and to my left.  My teammate Steven was a row behind and to my left.  Nate, registering late, had a 92^nd call up.  With some no shows, I’m unsure of where he lined up on the grid.  In front of us was a who’s-who of the region’s top masters and a handful of seasoned juniors. 

At the whistle, a rider in front of me was a little slower off the grid, nothing unusual.  That held me up for a fraction of a second.  I got around on the right.  Clicking through gears, I remember seeing the two sides of the front open up.  The middle held more traffic.  Feeling the flow of the race drift to the left, I was now out of the saddle sprinting maybe just left of center. 

I saw the hook slightly ahead of me and just to my left.  A rider in front moved slight right to left and snagged the wheel in front of him.  I honestly can’t recall even a jersey color and would rather not speculate.  As he fell to the left, he went into someone else coming up from behind.  Those two went down and collected a 3^rd rider.  Three riders and bikes slid across the pavement in front of me.

Chris King Headset Cracked

You make split second decisions.  I was sort of boxed and heading straight for them.  At this speed, likely close to 28mph, there was no way I could change my line fast enough to avoid them and not take out guys on either side.  I threw my weight back, braked and aimed for the least obstructed part of the pile, the rear end of a bike in my path.  I didn’t make it.  I fell down on the other riders with my left side.  My bike rolled up and over.  I tried to curl up in a ball and cover my face.  The rider next to me did the same, hidden under a cage of frames.

Then the impacts came, seemingly endless, one by one.  Oof.  Ugh.  I caught a glimpse of Nate’s kit on my right.  Mmmph.  Ugh.  The weight of people on top of me compounded.  I heard a young man scream out.  Frames dug into my hip and body.  They just kept coming, hitting, landing, rolling over.  I worried about being crushed.  Boom.  Bam.  I could hear the crowd gasp.  My teammates Steven and Mike, starting more to the left, avoided the serious wreck, but got caught up in the course fencing.  Both got free and continued racing.

Crack halfway through downtube at BB

Then the bodies stopped falling on me.  With the clop of bike shoes on pavement, riders scrambled to pull tangled bikes off the top.  I shouted at someone, “Hey!  Hey!  Be careful.”  A call went out for medical.  I could see my shifter stuck in someone’s wheel.  As far as we knew, the race was still on.  From the ground, I helped to untie the bikes.  The weight was still heavy.  I just wanted to get out from under as quick as possible.  It was freaking me out.

It seemed like minutes passed, but I’m sure it was only seconds.  I was able to wriggle out from underneath.  Nate still lay on his back, I think propped half on top of a bike.  I found my bike along the fence.  The rear wheel had come out of the drops.  I fixed that, but couldn’t reattach the brake cables.  My front brake pads were stuck under the lip of the rim.  I was done.  That’s when I turned to see Nate.  The sight made me sick with worry.  I couldn’t leave him. 

While Nate does have insurance, copays and deductibles for a serious visit to the ER probably wasn’t in the fall budget.  Not to mention, his custom Indy Fab Planet X is ruined.  A fund has been set up to help him out.  I’m sure he’d appreciate your generosity.  Click here for more information.

Joe Bellante

Update as of 3pm 11/11 from Anna: "Final X-rays came back and no serious damage to any of the discs. A lot of ligament damage so he will be in a neck brace for awhile until that heals. Won't be going home yet today but hoping tomorrow. No surgery!!!!! Very happy. We want to thank all of you soooo much for all you are doing. We got the best friends in the world and so proud to be part of the amazing cycling community."

Making Your and #CXWorlds Work Together

I Would Sob 10 Seconds Later courtesy CX Magazine

I broke down after the finish line.  I remember the low winter sunshine.  Hiding my face under my arms and between the hoods of my handlebars so I wouldn’t freak out the daughters congratulating their father and fellow racer next to me, I cried for a moment, big soppy man tears.  My chest shook.  Uh huh huh.  Uh huh huh.  I could see my breath in the heat reflecting off the blacktop below me.  I smiled as I wiped my eyes.  I did it.  I raced the World Championships.

A guy 29 places ahead of me would pull on the rainbow stripes.  Crossing the line were a Belgian, a pair of Englishmen, a few Canadians and a couple guys from Coloradostan.  Sure it wasn’t the most representative international field, but the Belgian guy did take 2nd.  II was incredibly happy, 30^th in the world.  I had reached the top of my sport, or as close as this black balloon birthday aged rider could get.  I raced fast, clean and finished on the lead lap with the best 45-49 year old cyclocross racers the world could deliver, provided they had enough vacation time and discretionary income for plane tickets to Louisville last January.  You gotta pay to play.  Still more than two months away, I’m struggling to muster a second summit bid.  Maybe you are too.

Masters World Seeding Race 2012

The problem is the road to Worlds can feel like a Pisgah National Forest fire road: twisty, steep, life sucking and potholed.  The other problem is last year was pretty stellar.  There’s a stained wooden shelf high in my mind with all the memories of a great push to the World Championships carefully arranged on it: trading icy caution tape crashes with my teammate Mike at Nationals, New Years Eve intervals in my dark and cold garage, the luck of a good call-up for the seeding race, my wife and I chuckling while I dirtied the floor cleaning my bikes in the Madison hotel room, a friend lending me his pink Specialized Crux pit bike when Worlds starting flinging mud, the stern call of the UCI officials, working the Worlds pit for friends racing and of course the bib number and finishers medal.  It makes me happy to close my eyes and look at it.  While I felt different earlier in the year, I find myself struggling to find room on the shelf for more.

Go out on a high note.  It’s a quote I use when practicing cyclocross or touching my monkey.  I’m kidding!  Whether its barriers or starts, get the work in, but make sure your last effort is good so you go home feeling confident.  That’s sort of how I am now.  For the first time ever, I notched series points for an 18^th and 20^th at USGP this past weekend on the Worlds Course in Louisville.  Nine of the top 25 ranked riders in the US were in the field, five of the top 10, including 2^ndand 3^rd place.  Four of the top 20 guys from Worlds last year were in the field, including 4^th and 9^th place.  The competition doesn’t get much stronger than that.  I’m feeling pretty good about my season.  I could hang it up right now, be satisfied and turn my attention to other Masters pursuits, like getting the yard ready for winter.

One Footer at Masters CXWorlds 2012

Having never climbed but having read a library full of mountaineering books on the toilet, I look for a correlation.  If you already summited at Everest, I don’t think you have the same drive the second time around.  I think pure adventure takes a backseat.  You’re more calculated and realistic about the pursuit.  Not achieving is no longer a failure.  It’s easier to let go.  After you’re acclimated, the camp 2 tent can feel pretty cozy.  You see others on their way down and consider how nice it might be to join ‘em for the hike back to basecamp, taking a few photos and sharing conversation along the way.  However, maybe I didn’t quite get to the summit the first time.  Maybe I haven’t seen the full 360 view.  Maybe 30^th isn’t my top.  That’s what has me strapping on the crampons this year.  That and I can see the mountain from my living room.

CX Masters Seeding Rce Start Line

It’s more of a second in a lifetime opportunity.  Still, if I pass, I’ll likely never race a World Championship again unless I travel internationally.  This year again, Worlds is 24 songs on the iPod away in Louisville, an hour and a half from Cincinnati.  It’s low hanging cowbells, but between here and there is a daunting 8 weeks of hard work on the bike, holidays, expenses and arrangements: the last four OVCX Series races, a new license, Thanksgiving with friends, a new crank arm for the pit bike, Christmas in Wisconsin, New Years in Ohio, more garage intervals, another couple car washes, more derailleur cables, hotels to book, more bike cleaning, gas to pump, the Chicago Cup, Nationals, more intervals and a Worlds warm-up at KingsCX in Cincinnati.  Entering a credit card number on the registration page is more of a commitment than you think.

Friend & Colleague Amy Tobin

A conversation I had with culinary expert Amy Tobin gave me food for thought.  She’s probably one or two degrees from Guy Fieri, Gordon Ramsey and Rachael Ray.  She’s done some Food Channel and TLC.  Her cookbook is at Barnes and Noble.  She develops recipes and endorses products for food companies like Dole Salads and Jif Peanut Butter.  She runs a cooking school and has a radio show.  That’s how I know her.  She records her show segments with me at the radio station I work at.  Immediately you wouldn’t grasp the similarities, but between guests we’ll talk shop on common ground.  I’ll show her something I wrote for CX Magazine.  She’ll confide that she may have a new book brewing. 

Last week between guests she mentioned she’s not doing the little things this coming year.  She’s going to focus on the big.  I raised an eyebrow.  That’s pretty philosophical and a mite pretentious.  She explained it’s her way of keeping focus and shedding her life of the time and energy sucking endeavors with meager payoffs.  At the time, I sort of brushed it off.  My life isn’t that busy.  For goodness sakes, I don’t even have kids mucking up my work, writing and bike pursuits.  In the light of Worlds however, maybe it’s time to focus on the big things.  More importantly, maybe it’s time to let go of the little things along the way.  After all, having been there once, I know what they are.

My wife’s been on a business trip for the past week.  Frankly, I miss her.  The house is missing a spark and our cats seem preoccupied with kitty agenda rather than focusing on their job description of keeping me company.  More than racing again at Worlds, I look forward to this Saturday’s long ride with her, close friends and teammates.  We’ve got tickets for a night out and a party to attend.  I’ve already made up my mind, I’m casting off one little thing and forgoing Sunday’s OVCX race in Lexington.  This weekend, my Worlds are at home.

Should Your Worlds Road Go Through Wisconsin 

There’s more than one road to Masters CXWorlds.  Choose the one fits your life.  Having done it once before, I advise to take inventory of what is really necessary to the pursuit and what little things make the journey more difficult than it needs to be.  For me, with a Christmas trip back to see family in Wisconsin on the horizon, I think a second trip America’s Dairyland to race Nationals is unnecessary.  Despite Madison being an awesome town and the incredible CX scene up there, for me the stress and expense of a 2^nd long trip outweigh the benefits of racing.  While I think it’s important to keep racing up to Worlds, the Chicago Cup is a more logical choice to keep the legs fresh and skills sharp in the weeks leading to worlds.  However, I think two days at the Chicago Cup can be cut back to a single day trip, especially with the Cincinnati Worlds warm-up date the weekend prior to Worlds.  You see where I’m going.  Take a look at your schedule, your life, your commitments and make your worlds work together.

It’s NOT Dirty: Lapped While Lapping Another

The King of Justifying the Mediocre...Courtesy Karen WH

Like old latex sealant fermented and stewing in a year old tubular, getting lapped stinks.  There is, however, a shiny new bike bright side.  Ding!  For those sha-lacka-lacka-lacking their non-elite races and wondering about how’d they’d possibly be able to stomach struggling to stay on the lead lap in the next higher category, read on.  I am the king of justifying the mediocre!  Let me show you how to rationalize and make the most of the -1 next to your name.  

The Zero Principal:

For example, getting lapped by the leader but simultaneously lapping someone else cancels each other out.  -1 + 1 = zero.  Shazam!  You’re even, mathematically, on the lead lap (of your competition).  Think of it like being graded on a bell curve, drop the first and last rider and you passed!  Getting lapped while lapping someone else also sounds sort of dirty.

This year’s OVCX Elite field is way harder than it’s ever been.  As the PR guy for OVCX, I partly blame myself for this.  My freelance job for OVCX is to entice more people to dip their knobbies in the goodness of cross.  Consequently, my writing and riding talents counter each other.  The harder I race, the better I do.  The better I write, the worse I do. 

St. Mary’s Child Care Cross (OVCX #2) was a great example.  Looking at the results, friggin’ Chris Uberti raced cross yesterday.  Friggin’ Chris Uberti finished 19^th.  Pretty sure Friggin’ Chris Uberti is getting free pants because word on the street is he signed with Team Mountain Khakis last week.  Friggin’ Chris Uberti reads this blog.  Friggin’ coincidence?  I THINK NOT! 

What have I done and where are MY free pants? 

I finished 45th yesterday, sadly my “grey beard” racing age.  I also was lapped by the leader Josh Johnson.  Yet somehow I was able to text my wife after the race with the good news: 

“45^th out of like 70ish not too shabby, better than last week’s 53rd…only 1 guy (neo-pro) lapped me.  LOL.  Rode well.  Felt Good.  So good day in all.  Be home 8pish.  XOXO.”

The bright side of my race is that I finished 7 places higher than last week and I actually lapped someone else.  Sadly it was my own teammate, but whatever.  I’ll take it Brian.  You’re the ying to my yang. 

Aside from The Zero Principal there are other ways to rationalize getting lapped.

Mechanicals Count.  Courtesy Karen WH

The DNS Natty Natty Boo Boo Bonus:

Beating those that did not start (DNS) is a bonus.  According to USA Cycling I finished 45^th out of 60 starters.  In my book, counting the ten or so no shows it was more like 45^th out of 70.  I’m counting them because I had the nards to lie to my wife and say I'd be home at 8pm when it was more like 9pm, suck up my case of the cough & sniffles, ignore my laundry, postpone my obligations and got my butt to the startline.  If someone is a no-show, you automatically beat them.  Sadly, one of my teammates didn’t show.  There was some confusion as to our carpool plans and BioWheels Steven Gers ended up staying home.  While I missed his wry wit on the drive to Indy, in my head I was one rider ahead before I even left Cincinnati.  Ba bam!

The Joey’s Okay DNFinition:

Anyone who drops out of a race (DNF) due to a mechanical, illness or injury still counts as being behind you.  Cringe.  Offer a sympathetic “you okay dude,” then carve another notch in your carbon bars.  Joey’s okay…and you beat him.  You didn’t case the barriers, you didn’t take a stake to the knuckles, your bike was set up and working beautifully.  You’re soo awesome. 

A Touch of Grey Beards courtesy Karen WH

The Grey Beard Rule:

Sure you got lapped, but if the dudes that lapped you were in a different category, it doesn’t really count.  For example, if you’re racing Masters in a combined field with Elite racers, you’re not lapped until a Grey Beard passes you.  Technically I got lapped the first week of OVCX when Masters leader Fred Rose passed me.  Yesterday with only Neo-Pro Josh Johnson getting past me, I did not.  Same goes for categories.  If you’re a cat 3 and get lapped by Cat 1 and 2 riders, you’re still golden in my book. 

The Look Like A Leader Rule:

So you got lapped fair and square, say the top 7 guys in the field gave you the “leader back” shout.  Remember to the unsuspecting spectator, you look like you finished 8^th.  Look the part.  Zip up your jersey, put your hands in the drops and roar across the finish line and own it with confidence champ!  Next week you may only get lapped by one guy and look like you finished 2^nd!  

Mission Control at #USACrits Hyde Park Blast

CAVEMAN AT CAPE CANAVERAL

I’m under a tent, under the Hyde Park Blast podium scaffolding in front of a bank of switches and red LCD clocks.  As an audio producer at a local radio station, I’m accustomed to banks of effects knobs and volume sliders.  Despite my alleged experience and University of Wisconsin degree in Buttonpushingology, I still feel like a caveman at Cape Canaveral mission control. 

The guy in charge of the lap timing at the Hyde Park Blast USA Crit Series Race stepped out for a soda, and asked me to man the controls.  His judgment has obviously been compromised by being inside this prison hot box all day.  Like every year at the Hyde Park Blast, It’s 90 degrees outside and 120 in the timing tent.  I remind myself, “Hit the red button when the leader comes through to reset the timer.  Hit the other red button as the pack rolls through.”  Race fans think the clock is run electronically with a bike sensor embedded in the start finish line.  Despite available technology, races are run by people at the root, in my case, a hot monkey in a tent with a 5 foot roof. 

The Timer Peers Between Podium Scaffolding Banners

Cowbells and cheers erupt.  I can see the rider from Patent It approach the start/finish line through the 3 inch slit in the tenting.  It’s like watching a pro bike race through a submarine periscope.  I hit the button, the lap clock starts.  Now 15 seconds later the pack storms down Erie Avenue into Hyde Park Square.  I hit the other button.  The split clock pauses at 00:15.04 while the lap clock continues.  “He’s got 15 seconds,” I hear someone shout.  Mission complete, and about one minute and 40 seconds till my next lap.

3 MATCHES SHORT OF A FULL BOX

Solo Breakaway Burning A Big Match

Just behind the timing tent is the pit.  I’m holding a rear wheel in my right hand.  The rules seem a bit loose, especially to the guy in the Hawaiian shirt nearby as he watches a rider stop in the pit and get a butt-push out.  It doesn’t seem fair.  He taps on my shoulder and asks, “Why do they get to stop?  Why do they get to skip a lap?”  I explain. 

At the official’s discretion, riders suffering a mechanical problem are allowed a chance to get back into the race.  At the Hyde Park Blast, with a lot of riders a U-turn choke point, again at an official’s discretion, riders who got tailed off the pace early in the race due to a poor starting position are sometimes granted a second chance.  I get a nod and an eyebrow.  Stopping in the pit isn’t an advantage.  Riders refer to every hard effort as burning a match.  When you move up in the bunch, sprint or try to get away from the peloton, you burn a match.  Once the box is empty, the fire goes out.  You’re done. 

A rider with a flat rolls in.  The official nods.  As the rider lifts the rear of his bike, my mechanic friend undoes the quick release and removes the flat wheel.  I whip the fresh one into the bikes drop-outs, finesse the cassette into the chain and close the quick release skewer.  With a hand on the rider’s lower back, my buddy escorts him to the pit exit lane.  The pack rounds the corner.  The official nods and the rider gets a turbo boost push back into the race.  I turn to Hawaiian Shirt Guy and pick up the conversation. 

Remember that match burning, I ask.  The stress of getting a flat at 28mph is burning a match.  Coming into the pit and hoping you get a good wheel change is burning a match.  Getting your bike back up to 28 miles an hour is burning a match.  That guy is 3 short of a full box now.   10 laps later the same rider makes the slice of the throat gesture to the official and exits the course, all burnt up.

#Sub9DeathMarch BioTrain™ Derailment

Special Thanks to Hydrapak

You can’t cheat death, unless you ride with a friend who knows the Heimlich maneuver or carry a backpack defibrillator.  Judging from the size of some hydration packs Saturday, maybe some were prepared for anything.  Consequently, as team Grand Poobah of the BioWheels/Reece-Campbell Racing Death Squad, I’m beginning to rethink the BioTrain™ approach to the Sub-9 Deathmarch race in Hoosier Nat’l Forest.  Last year the BioTrain™ stoked fear in the leaders as we passed like an 8 man bobsled.  This year the BioTrain™ was as imposing as the matinee performance of “Thomas the Train” at US Bank Arena.  Three flats, a broken spoke, two wipe-outs, and a missed turn dashed our 2012 Deathmarch dreams.  For full 2012 Sub-9 Death March results click here.

Last year the BioTrain™ proved somewhat successful on both fronts.  Our 8 man gravel-singletrack-pavement eating paceline placed in the top 12 or so and gelled our team around a common goal.  This year we had fun, but only the duo of James Biliter and Nate Mirus who were driving the train at the time of the 2^nd derailment, had any success.  Being strung out and regrouping after my flat on lower Combs road, a mile later the BioTrain™ came off the rails at the gate.  Dan flatted, our 2^nd of the day less than four miles from the start.  Being driven by ADD, testosterone and adrenalin, Nate and Jimmy never heard the 2^nd call of a flat.  The train of eight was now 2 and 6.  Despite soft pedaling on the front and hair raising riding from the rear it would never be recoupled.

A few loose rules guide the BioTrain™.  1) The train stays together until the last cemetery, Fleetwood, about eight-tenths of a mile from camp where the all-out death sprint between BioWheels/Reece-Campbell racing teams commences.  2) If one gets a flat or mechanical, we all stop.  The thinking is, the bunch will ride faster than a duo and it’s more fun to ride in a bunch.  3) The BioTrain™ is not perfect.  Rule #2 is subject to cases of the very contagious ailments of Multipleflattus, Gappingthegroupus and various hearing impairments.

Who's Got New Pearl Izumi Shoes?  This guy!

On the fun front however, the BioTrain™ is a Billboard Top 100 hit with a bullet.  Had we rode the race in pairs, the guys would’ve missed my teammate Dan Pike’s mesmerizing 40rpm cadence in a gear that would make Jens Voigt and Fabian Cancellera curl up in fetal positions rocking in the corner sucking each other's thumbs in fear.  Dan may appear to be 5’ 1” and 160lbs, but it’s all quads and hammies, baby got back.

Like a NASCAR Replay, right now all the guys are remembering the BioTrainWreck™.   Driving the train on the Nebo Trail between Elkinsville and Berry Road, still in attempt to close the gap to our two teammates a few minutes up the trail, Brian Colliers clipped a buried log right in front of me, sending him over the bars.  He didn’t stop tumbling through the briars till everyone and the caboose passed him.

Slim Jim Hand-Ups In Effect

If it weren’t for Jason Mott’s suggestion that we ask for a tin snips the next time we see the Sub-9 Scooby Doo van, I may have suffered a bit more than a severely out of true wheel and an inoperable rear brake for the last 30 miles of the race.  I broke a spoke after Robinson and had open wheel surgery just 2.5 miles later at the fire tower.  As he snipped the dangling rattling spoke, my vegan self discovered the next best thing to GU energy gels, Slim Jim’s.  Survival mode.

Had Dan and I been solo, I would’ve missed Steven Gers bedrock cracking wreck in my rearview.  On trail 14, enroute to Calahan Cemetery, like a 145 pound sandbag dropped from hot-air balloon, he hit a buried log and augured himself into the ground with a singular whomp, followed by a silence so profound you could hear the frogs croaking five miles away at Coronette Cemetery.

If you think you're fast changing a flat, imagine three guys changing a flat.  Like the “athletes” in a NASCAR pit crew, with brain surgeon precision, they danced around my bike.  While I, the flatter, dug out my spare tube, the wheel guy pulled out the old tube while the air-guy dug out a cartridge.  I handed the new tube to the air guy, who aired it up a bit and passed it to the wheel-guy.  As I stuffed the spent tube into a pocket, the wheel-guy held the tire while the air-guy finished it off.  It came together and we were riding again in three minutes.  Sometimes three heads are better than two.

If it wasn’t for Kris “Karwash’s” flat on Polk Patch which was perfectly timed with our entire bunch bombing downhill and overshooting Trail 14, we wouldn’t have had the 10 minutes for a few of us to turn around, take a natural break and..."Oh, look there it is!"...stumble upon the trail.

You know what?  On second thought, after looking at the pictures of two grown men who look like kids playing in the woods, maybe we did win.

#DeathMarch Planning Questions

Last Year Was A Blast-Story Here

For those that think they have a good route planned out for the Sub 9 Death March and are seemingly prepared, here are a few questions you should absolutely have an answer to before you clip in.

At the holeshot, are you turning left or right?

What about your teammate?

Are you sure that road marked on your map is an actual physical honest to goodness road?

Is that bridge physically crossable or a relic of an aged NASA Satellite photo?

What’s the elevation change between Camp and Hanner Cemetary?

How many valleys will you cross on your way to Lutes?

Are toe spikes a good idea or too much weight?

How are you going to wear toe spikes and shoe covers at the same time silly?

Have you every tried to read a map while riding a gravel road at 25 mph?


Shirley, you can't be serious?


Are you comfortable riding your bike under water?


Is there a compartment for a snorkel in your Hydrapak?

True or False:  Some of the gravel roads would be more stable under your wheels if they were paved 6 inches deep with marbles set in butter.

And, which roads are those?

Are you going up or down them?

If last year’s winning team from DRT spent 4 ½ Hours on their bikes and this year the promoters added a cemetery which is pretty dang far to the east which will no doubt extend saddle time, where and when do you plan on refilling your water?

Should you drink water from a cemetery well?

What time does the sun set?

Is your cell phone’s camera memory close to being full?

Do you know what happens to a paper map in your jersey pocket 5 hours into a ride?

Do you know what happens to the same map after riding through countless creeks?

Are the Garmin and Google maps of Hoosier National Forest as up to date as their map of 

New York City, or are they as old as the farm roads that once criss-crossed the area?

Have you seen the Sprint cell phone coverage map of the area?

So, you're certain your phone's mapping app will be functional?


By the way, have you ever climbed a cell phone tower?

You may not be afraid of heights, but are you may afraid of climbing a Fire Tower which feels like it has the same pieces and stability of a 6 year old’s erector set project?

True or False: Trailheads in Hoosier National Forest are marked with a nice big well painted signs and arrows like the tourist trail to Mt. Rushmore?

If you let the weeds in your driveway grow for 60 years, could you still call it a driveway?

Have you planned your route to Callahan cemetery on the map?

So, when you looked at the Google map you saw Callahan’s tombstones and an adjacent trail together?

You really don’t know where Callahan is, do you?

Multiple Choice: In the pouring rain, what is faster in and out of Callahan?  A horse trail  B) A fresh gravel road  C) A Hard Packed Gravel Road  D) Pavement E) We should really have a Plan B.

Cinti #FightforAirClimb, Any Monkey Can Win

Except if I was late to work, I never ran up a single flight of stairs.  The longest “run” I’ve done since Christmas is 90 seconds.  I’m not rubbing it in or bragging about finishing tied for 3^rd at the American Lung Association's Fight for Air Climb at Cincinnati's Carew Tower.  Aside from giggling at my dumb luck, I am pointing out that “run” and “stairs” are not the operative words.  Climbing the Carew Tower is not about running stairs.  It’s pretty much climbing like a monkey, a very fit and determined monkey. 

Me 2nd from Right with the Rewind 94.9 Rump Shakers

Climbing is the operative word.  In fact, I’m pretty certain I heard a hair raising cackle echo in the stairwell on my way up that gave me chicken skin.  “Ooh ooh ah ah ah ahhh!” No doubt I am half man, half monkey.  Ask my wife.  If I could’ve clawed the handrails and walls with my feet, I would have.  Now I’m not saying it was easy.  To the contrary, it was donkey wheezing, sniveling, spastic arms flailing being chased the boogie man hard.  Bounding is a good term.  Tree-squirreling would be another.  It was not pretty, but fast and effective.

Evil Monkey in Full-Effect

Aside from finding a similarly tight stairwell with handrails within reach on both sides, the 2^nd best training would be boarding a cruise ship as it pulls away from port.  You’re not running a gangway so much as getting from the dock to the ship before the rope-railed gangway goes crashing into the ocean.  The 3^rd best training would be running from an axe murderer in your basement.  You would not run.  You would not step on the stairs.  With your heart rate pegged at max you would go from basement to 1^st floor by whatever means possible, a foot on a wall, a hand on a pipe.  If you must run stairs, the closest analogy is running the pedestrian stairs over an overpass...as it crumbles onto the freeway below.  That is the Fight for Air Climb.

Secret Weapons

As it turns out for me, cyclocross bike racing was a near perfect training.  You don’t run up the stairs.  Hands reaching and grasping, you pull your way up, your feet cross-eye aimed at two steps higher.  Look at the position of a cyclist.  Handlebars become handrails.  Pedals are two-stairs high.  In cyclocross and mountain bike racing, we’re used to getting the “holeshot”, first into the first corner with quick fast twitch speed, trying to essentially eliminate your competition by the first turn.  Most races are all about the first lap, the first 7 to 7.5 minutes of the race.  My time at Climb The Carew was 6:27.  I trained for the Cyclocross Masters World Championships in January with months of 30 and 15 second sprint intervals.  Obviously, some of that fitness is still with me.  The cycling training success fits the advice Marty Sanders, 2012 Vertical Mile Winner, gave me before the start.  He said, “Take two stairs at a time, use the hand rails, don’t run and give ‘er hell when you hit the hallway with 15 stories to go.”  Marty is also an accomplished cyclist and half monkey as well.

I’m not kidding.  I don’t think I could race a 5k without being laid up with sore hammies for two days.  To confess, I have been running, if you want to call it that.  I “run” on a treadmill.  My fastest and longest run is 90 seconds at 7.5mph.  High speed intervals.  In my head I run like Jason Bourne for 90 seconds, and then walk for a minute.  In reality I run like I'm escaping a house fire and walk like a zombie.  Then I do it over and over again for about 15 minutes.  That’s it.

The Next Best Thing to Monkey Feet

I will confess.  I did inadvertently have a secret weapon, maybe two, okay 3.  It was chilly, so I wore a thin set of full-finger gloves on a short jog from my car the Carew Tower.  Made for cycling, they had sticky grippers on the palm and fingers, perfect for gripping handlebars and as it turns out 45 stories of railings.  I wore a pair of tall day glow green tall striped socks (pictured above).  They make me go fast to run away from the heckling.  Oh yeah, and I just got a new pair of Pearl Izumi Peak II trail running shoes.  They’re light, have a snug and soft close fit, and are the perfect color of blue.  While most running shoes might come close to those attributes, the killer grip of Pearl Izumi's sole stands out.  No matter where my feet happened to land, I didn’t slip once, obviously the next best thing to having monkey feet.

#CXMasters2012 A Softie Riding Hard

Shielding my tears from two young girls no doubt waiting for their Dad to cross the line, I broke down after the finish at the Masters Cyclocross World Championships in Louisville.  When I told my wife about wearing my emotions on my jersey sleeves at the finish she rolled her eyes.  She knows me.  I also cried on my wedding day.  My shoulders rattled with man sobs and sniffles.  A photographer snapped pictures of the newly crowned 45-49 year old Masters World Champ Don Myrah next to me but I swear he snuck a click or two in my direction.  I wiped my face, mixing tears with mud and put my head in arms atop my handlebars till it passed.  Under it all I smiled.  Like my wedding day, I was happy.  My friends and family will tell you I’m a softie.

I remember seeing the Cycling Dirt video of Adam Myerson after an east coast race.  Completely emotional, torn apart and crying, he was upset that he thought that day was his day.  Oh please spare me.  He made the lead group in the Elite race only to have one small thing derail his hopes.  He was crushed under the thoughts of all that training, practice and meticulous attention to detail seemingly being of no use.  All he wanted was that one good day on the bike.  I rolled my eyes watching the video.  It’s just bike racing.  There’s always another race.  That's what I thought until my day came.

“Do you want me to put it on you?”  Barb, one of the Worlds organizers and a Louisville race promoter, offered to drape the finisher’s medal over my helmet.  I chuckled and sniffed.  My buddy Jimmy talked about finishers medals on the trip down and how bullshit they are.  He told me he once turned one down, dismissing it by saying medals should only go to the winners.  I remained indifferent.

Smiling, Barb held it out, a white enameled medallion hung from a red, white and blue ribbon.  She recognized me as her “results runner” from the USA Crit Series at Cincinnati’s Hyde Park Blast.  Being close to many of the Papa John’s team riders from Louisville and knowing practically every rider in the Ohio Valley racing scene, she knew first hand all the hill repeats, practice dismounts, and garage trainer nights that brought me to this moment. 

The Pink Pony Pit Bike

The same feelings that Adam Myerson wrestled with on his bad day were welling up and spilling out from me.  It’s not just a bike race.  World Championship or not, it really has nothing to do with the race.  It’s all those hard-guy miles, intervals and practice carries that come back at the finish line to give you one last kick in the ass and slap across the face.  Just when the dues are paid, you get one last call from the collection agency, and like Myerson, I paid in tears. 

At the beginning of the season, all I wanted out of Nationals and Worlds was to be competitive with the best my age.  Seeing the names Fred Rose, Mike McShane and Jonathan Card on the prereg list, I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but after racing the USGP in Louisville that I could stay within 2 minutes of them.  Concrete, specific and (hopefully) attainable, I set my mark on the top 35 and the lead lap at Nationals and Worlds.  That’s not too much to ask from my Sven Nys prayer candle.

Then former Olympian, Don Myrah crushed the field on the 9am frozen ruts at Nationals in Wisconsin.  Even though we weren’t lapped, we probably would have been.  My teammate Mike and I were pulled, officially 2 laps down, 40th and 41st.  I hit the deck three times that day and more course marking stakes than I can count.  Still, I felt good with my ride.  However anticlimactic and disappointing, I still had one more chance, 500 miles, 2 loads of laundry, and 1 bike cleaning away in Louisville.   

"Onetago" Courtesy CXMagazine.com

“Onetago, onetago, one-to-go!”  The announcer shouted as I got the bell.  I buried myself on that last lap, gained three spots and lost two.  I went no handed over the line, clapping my hands, applauding for myself.  I cruised into the finishing chute on the lead lap and the 29^th rider to cross the finish line at the 45-49 year old Masters Cyclocross World Championships.  I nodded, wiped my nose on my armwarmer and Barb slipped the medal over my helmet.