Tri State 6 Hours Versailles: The Truth Is, It Never Comes

Pre-race Meeting: Courtesy Scott Herrmann

“I don’t get it Dad,” I remember a young bike racer saying while sitting with legs stretched on the grass  after a criterium.  With the clank of the cowbells and whiz and flash of the next race behind, being fatherly, he said in more or less words, “it’ll come.”  The racer nodded reassured and hopeful.  It was a soft way to speak the truth.

Courtesy Kent Baumgardt

Holding our 2^nd place at the Tri-State 6 Hours Co-Ed Duo race in Versailles, IN by a thin margin, as I struggled to get my flat UST tire off my bike, I was faced with the hard truth.  “It” doesn’t whistle down the sidewalk and politely ring your doorbell.  “It” doesn’t tap you on the shoulder and ask you to follow through the peloton.  “It” doesn’t appear at the side of the trail like a bearded wise-man with a reading of the Barnett Bicycle Manual.  “It” never really comes.

This isn’t going to be one of those immature whiner bike racer stories that take away from the preparedness, strength and skills of the competition.  Gerry and I clung to 1st for a while.  We  finished 4^th.  Those other teams earned every bit of it.  So here’s to you: Jason and Janelle, Maria and Brandon, Cooper and Christian!  You were strong, tenacious, skilled, and dialed in your transitions.  Bravo!  Chapeau!

"Tent Alley" Courtesy Nick Lucas c/o Tri State 6 Hours

For goodness sake, Brandon and Maria had diapered twins in their tent.  Cooing and saying all kinds of goo-goo ga-ga gibberish, I overheard Dad baby chatting with them between laps.  He played with and fed them.  They were right next door on tent alley.  As I wolfed down recovery mix surrounded by every bike racing luxury a team of 8 could house under our sponsor’s 20x10 tent, he wrangled diapers and smooshed peas solo in a pop-up.  It was adorable. 

Out of the hour or so we had between laps, he spent 59 minutes making sure his little girl and boy were fed, clean, mosquito free and entertained.  With minutes to spare, he grabbed a bite for himself, pulled a water bottle out of the cooler, changed his shirt, picked his bike off the ground, gave his duo-teammate the kid-status update, handed her the keys to the crib, and was off again. 

So to blame our 4^th place position on a stick that flew into my spokes and a subsequent flat would be for him to place blame on two of the cutest babies you’ve ever seen.  I’m not kidding.  Those kids are stuff ‘em in a cabbage outfit and call Anne Geddes cute.

Courtesy Kent Baumgardt

You can bet, right now Brandon is diabolically dreaming up a quicker way to spoon peas just as I am finding a thinner tire lever to quickly get under a stubborn UST.  We’ll both train harder to be able to pad our gaps better should a flat or a dirty diaper come at an inopportune moment.  I’m patting myself on the back for quickly bending the broken spoke out of the way.  He should give himself kudos, because I heard nary a cry in the 3 hours I lived next door to his kids.  He’s obviously practiced his routine better than I have.

The truth is “it” never comes.  You have to go out and get it. 

(Note: The Tri-State 6 Hours Series gives special thanks to CORA and IMBA National MTB Patrol.  The next race is July 14^th, 2013 at East Fork State Park in Ohio)  

Handlebar to Handlebar at 30mph

“Let me get the door for you Premium Rush,” my witty coworker greeted me as I wheeled my Niner mountain bike off the elevator and into my office.  I work at a radio station full of clever creatives.  I get it all the time.  I have to say, it made me chuckle.  He was the morning show host of our sister station.  After a day at work making commercials, in anticipation of a 6 hour race this weekend, I had planned to hit the dirt of Versailles State Park for a fast pre-ride yesterday.  Maybe his comment was a premonition, because I never made it to Versailles.  The day turned out to be a rush, but I rolled with it.

In bike racing things rarely go as planned.  Anywhere else it’s ugly old adversity, we call it the beauty of the sport.  Fitness, finesse, courage are balanced with luck, mechanics and nature.  We add grams to our side of the scale by learning, through experience, to put ourselves in the best possible position to succeed.  If that doesn’t work, there’s always a plan b.  We look ahead.  Calm, we find clear-headed serenity handlebar to handlebar at 30mph.  We note which wheels to trust, which to avoid.  We learn to read breakaways, counting the riders and teams up the road, anticipating who will attempt to bridge or bring them back.  We put wheels in the pit and pack a tube.  We pre-ride mountain bike courses to know ahead of time where we’ll need to lay down the power and where we can afford to coast and reach back into the jersey pocket for a GU.  Those same adaptive skills transfer into everyday life.  I’m convinced, athletes make better employees.

So between projects, with my mountain bike blurred out of focus in the shadow of my computer monitor, I checked the Hoosier Mountain Bike Assn. website waiting for a “green light” on the trails at Versailles State Park.  After a brief, but heavy rain the evening before, the trail status was a cautionary “yellow,” but with a warm less humid day to dry, I hoped it would change over 24 hours.  Plan B, was to make the 7pm mountain bike time-trail at England-Idlewild Park only 20 minutes from work.  Back and forth I went, mixdown Adobe Audition session to stereo 128Kbps 44100Hz mp3, check trail status.  “It’s pretty light commercial-wise here today,” I let slip to a coworker. 

Knocking on wood is bullshit paranoia.  What’s real and true is that if you ever let your lips slip out loud about how you haven’t had a flat tire in months; you will get a flat tire within the day.  Can a bike brotha get a “truth” high-five?  Smack!  A similar law applies at work.  Never mention how easy it is, a challenge demon lurks under the mixing board waiting to pounce at your words.

At 4:30pm the demon, or our chief engineer, crashed the computer.  Not my computer, THE COMPUTER.  The computer that holds every song, every commercial, and every jingle on every single one of four radio stations, took a big electronic demonic dump.  With no music or commercials, the DJ’s scrambled for words live on the air.  They filled with traffic, weather, and entertainment news, anything while someone grabbed some CDs. 

From the frantic rumble of voices in the hallway outside the main studio, my boss cracked the door to my studio directly across the hall.  “We’re going to miss some commercials,” she said.  As calm as if I were handlebar to handlebar at 30mph, I told her I had already notified the department that does the scheduling and was in the process of seeing if my system was operational.  Over the next 2 ½ hours we reverted to back up and re-did all the commercials since the last back-up on Monday. 

Right around the time the computer was restored, my wife texted that she was leaving for her ride, alone.  Bummed, I checked the HMBA website again.  Still yellow.  I looked at the clock, nearly 7pm.  It’d be fruitless to drive an hour only to be turned around by muddy trails.  Completely outfitted for a mountain bike ride, but too late to make the time trial, I rushed home by 7:20pm.  I left the Niner in the car, switched into my road shoes, jumped on my road bike and pedaled up to the local crit at Cincinnati's Ault Park.  A friend pinned the number on my back at 7:52pm, and by 8:01pm I was at peace at my first road race of the season, handlebar to handlebar at 30mph.

#Fall: It's Not All About Cyclocross

It's About Looking Up!

It's About Grabbing A Little More Brake.

It's About Sharing The Experience With Someone Close.

It's About The Snack Break.

It's About Stepping off the Trail for a better peek at Versailles SP Fall Colors.

The Redemption of Riding Solo

Top Flats of Shadow Run

I like to think they were Cicadas.  No dis against crickets, but the head-filling sound of Cicadas fit the zen feel of a solo ride better.  I had no wheel to chase, nor any spinning hubs behind me.  After the battery died on my Ipod an hour into my solo ride at Versailles State Park in Indiana, I was bummed at the loss of my mountain biking soundtrack.  Then I realized, the woods have a soundtrack all their own.  It was me, the wind, the kayaker down below on the creek that feeds the lake and the Cricket-adas.

Riding well below donkey wheezing pace, I had time to listen closer and tune-in the harmonies of the bugs.  I could afford to peer over the edge of the Cliffside trail and check out the dead fallen trees bridging the ravine.  I filled up my phone’s memory bank with photos.  I thought to stop and snap a photo of the trail in the “v” of two trees, but the flow was too good.  At the next intersection, I smiled wiping a cobweb from my face.  I was the first rider of the day on the Grandview loop.

Deadfall on Cliffside

I love riding with friends and teammates, but here comes the but.  I enjoy the solo ride too.  I like to ride my pace of the day, stop when I want to stop, hammer when I feel punchy.  If you need a natural break, you pull over at the next big tree and don’t have to dig deep to claw back on the train.  With a song in my head, “Save Me San Francisco” by Train, I whistled and rode the flow of the Shadow Run loop.

Interesting Tree at the Time

I planned on two hours, but got back to my car 20 minutes early.  I wasn't ready for civilization yet.  I laced up my running shoes, tucked the car key under the leg of my bike shorts and headed back out to round off the time with a trail run.  The ground felt soft and springy under my steps.  Now traveling even slower, with my breath being the only self generated noise, I could hear the kids playing in the pool, the occasional car on the road far below my ridgeline trail and still, the chorus of cicadas.  While the small climbs were tougher on foot, that “v” in between the trees was just as fun to run through.

Back at my truck, I ran into a friend headed out for a solo ride of his own.  As he made a last tweak on his bike, I raved about my ride and run to Bill.  It was Sunday.  I think we were both at church.  A solo ride is always refreshing and redeeming for the soul.