Roughly Round the Olympic Peninsula

Circumnavigating the Olympic Peninsula isn't that exciting. Doing it aboard motorcycles ups the fun a bit. My friend Dave proposed a route that added even more fun by using as many dirt roads and other out of the way roads as possible. I jumped at the chance to join him. We landed on a plan for a four day three night adventure. 

Day one was short. We started on a warm Wednesday afternoon and had a goal of just 70 miles. We started in Tacoma, crossed the Narrows, and headed North through Manchester and then Port Orchard. I was familiar with many of these roads as they are great cycling roads. After getting through Bremerton we again entered familiar territory as I grew up near Silverdale and Poulsbo. We arrived at our campsite without drama after just over two hours of riding. I did, however, learn that my new helmet was not fitting all that well and more frequent stops might be necessary.

Dave is a well seasoned bikepacker and backpacker. Me, not so much. But the early indications looked positive. After one night I encountered no serious issues with my camping gear or tent assembly skills. 

Day two was planned to be the longest. The weather was still looking good. After breaking camp we were rolling by 8 a.m. Breakfast at a restaurant in Quilicene was adequate and we topped off our fuel tanks before leaving town. Within five miles we were starting our first long dirt sector. Our motorcycles had no problem with the climb up to Bon Jon Pass. The dirt was pretty smooth and offered no real technical challenge. As we descended towards Sequim I was again taking a stroll down memory lane. In my youth I rode my dirt bike on some of these very same roads.
 

Our plan included a trip up Hurricane Ridge. But it was not to be. Thursday happened to be a federal holiday and the Park was offering one of its 'no fee' days. There was a two hour wait to enter the park. That didn't appeal to Dave or me. So I offered an alternative. "Let's have lunch at Chipolte, instead!" So Port Angeles wasn't a total bust. 

After lunch the weather remained dry but felt cooler. I added a layer as the next sector was going to be mostly 50 mph pavement as we headed towards Neah Bay.

We skipped Highway 101 and opted for the slower and more twisty alternative through Joyce. This road was fun despite the extra weight of the gear piled onto our motorcycles. We arrived at Neah Bay about 4 p.m. We didn't have a reservation at the campground but there was still plenty of space. We found a little corner of the campground that was slightly raised and separated by a few low bushes. Our motorcycles were happy to sneak past the bushes and it felt like we were in the best camp site. The sun was out, it was warm, and the wind was low. Perfect.

We set our tents quickly and then took an excursion out to the Cape Flattery trail. It was my first time to Cape Flattery. The sign claims the trail takes 25 minutes. I made the bold claim that two guys who have the fitness to race bicycles competitively could beat that average by at least three minutes.

No timer was set but we reached the first viewpoint quick enough. The view was mesmerizing with cliffs, waves, trees, and the blue ocean all bathed in afternoon sunlight. And each viewpoint was more awe inspiring than the previous. We took our time, snapped some photos, and slowly moved our way along the trail. 

 

 

 

 

This is a photo of Dave. When I asked him to pose he asked "Will I be in silhouette with the strong backlight?". I responded, "Sorry Dave, this photo isn't about you..."

As we approached the final viewing platform we noticed a small viewing area to the side of the trail. A couple stood alone in this area. Just as we arrived the man took a knee and proposed to the woman. She started to tear up. There were only three of us that witnessed the actual proposal but within a minute or two the story got around to all the visitors in the area and everyone let them have their space. So cool.

Once back at camp we cooked dinner and then took a walk on the ocean beach. The weather remained warm and the winds light. This day simply couldn't last long enough. 

 

Our schedule for day three started easy. We slept in, took our time making breakfast and packing up, and didn't get underway till almost ten. We planned a trip through the Makah museum which didn't open until ten. The story told in the museum wasn't on my radar. In short, about 500 years ago a mudslide buried a village in Ozette. The mud preserved most of the village. The artifacts were recovered over the course of about 3 year in the mid 1970s. The displays were fantastic with actual artifacts next to modern reproductions and descriptions of the construction and use of the artifacts. I highly recommend this museum.

The weather forecast for day three wasn't good. We expected intermittent rain after about noon. We didn't make it but 15 minutes out of Neah Bay before Dave declared it was time for rain gear. On day one I might have been a little concerned about my camping gear. On day three I was very concerned about my rain gear. I don't own proper motorcycling rain gear so I improvised by wearing a hiking rain jacket under my motorcycle jacket. For the legs I went with an old pair of oversize stowable hiking pants over my riding pants. 

 

An hour later we took a short break in Forks for a snack. On the way out of Forks the skies let loose. Within minutes I was soaked below the waist. My top half stayed completely dry the entire day. Fifty percent success ain't too bad, right?

In the neighborhood of Kalaloch the sun came back out and the air warmed considerably. Dave made an in-the-moment decision to follow a sign to 'Big Ceder Nature Trail'. We needed a break from riding and he liked the idea of walking a trail while the sun was out. I approved. The trail was short and we did see a number of big cedar trees. We also found a few ripe salmon berries. Mostly we enjoyed a few minutes in the sun, on our feet, and off the buzzing bikes.

 

 

 

We decided on a late lunch in Quinalt. And we needed it. The weather turned on us again and we were feeling a bit low. 

The 'Mercantile' store was a bust. Chips and crappy sandwiches in plastic boxes. That didn't work. Across the street was the Quinalt Lodge and it's fancy-schmancy restaurant. 

We stepped inside the lodge. We were dressed in wet and almost dripping motorcycle gear. We felt bedraggled. We looked bedraggled. The restaurant was closed. A woman near us could sense our dilemma and shared that the bar was taking food orders. Sweet. Dave and I ordered fish tacos. Just as we started our search for a table, a couple got up from their spots sitting on the hearth in front of the giant fireplace. I didn't hesitate and within a minute or two the brick throne was warming our bones and souls.

A few minutes later the woman who advised us on food situation joined us on the hearth. She brought her boyfriend. They asked us about our trip and we gave the thirty second summary. A minute later we discovered they were both from Atlanta which is Dave's home town. The three of them shared so many Atlanta stories. It seems they all knew lots of the same places and attractions. After a long while, out of kindness or pity, someone asked where I was from. Nice. 

Our food took forever but we were so happy when it arrived. We spent over an hour in the lodge and it was time well spent. We needed the spiritual recharge as we had miles to go before nightfall. 

Before we left the lodge we took a look at the route between us and our planned campground. It was roughly ten miles of pavement and then forty miles of gravel roads. 

When planning this trip Dave asked for my input. I was happy to let him make most of the decisions but I was clear on one detail. I didn't want to be arriving late to camp and setting up in the dark. This day was in jeopardy of just such a scenario. 

Our previous average speeds on pavement and gravel indicated we would likely make it by 7 p.m. If we failed to make this arbitrary arrival time we were prepared to camp dispersed in the National Forest.

Leaving Quinalt we fueled the bikes for the final time. The bad news. I haven't seen such a high gas price in a long time. The good news. My motorcycle was averaging almost 50 mpg.

This photo snapped just _after_ the super technical section. Sorry. On such a technical section we couldn't operate both the motos and the cameras.

The rain started to taper as we knocked off the easy ten miles of pavement. We turned left into the forest and the road turned vicious. It was steep, twisty, rocky, and wet. Easily the most technical section of the entire trip. We rode just three miles and reached the top of the ridge before taking a short break to discuss our situation. These tight roads were hurting our speed average but we hoped for smoother gravel closer to the campground. 

 

And it was so. Over the next ten miles the roads trended less technical and the final ten miles or so of gravel were smooth, straight, and featured occasional sunshine. We arrived at the campground at 7:05. Near perfect.

Day four brought the sound of raindrops on the rainfly of my tent. My previous evening's preparations were spot on. All my gear was out of the weather and I happily stayed in my warm and dry sleeping bag as long as possible. After cooking oatmeal inside Dave's 'Mega Mid' tent we packed our things for our final day. 

We needed to do about forty miles of gravel and sixty miles of pavement to get home. We started the day with heavy mist which turned to clouds and then almost sun. At 11:45 we were still within the National forest but nearing civilization. We pulled off the road, found a small clearing, and had our final meal of the trip. I cooked my last package of Ramen. Dave chose crackers and canned fish.

 

  

We endured one more rain shower before stopping in Tacoma for a final 'end of ride' photo. 

 

It was a great trip. I hadn't done a proper motorcycle trip in decades and this was a great way to rekindle that joy. I'm already thinking on a route for the next one.

Gran Fondo Leavenworth 2023

Leavenworth was my 'A' race for this Spring. My training was tailored for this event and I had a strong desire to right the wrong that I created last year at this race. My racing team "Fell Swoop" was well represented with five riders of varying abilities.

The weather was warm and I started in my summer kit. A third water bottle containing three scoops of Tailwind drink powder but no water was tucked into my back pocket. The neutral roll out seemed slower than usual this year and I planned to stick next to team mates Thomas and Josh. That plan ended when I needed to stop and dismount after my chain dropped on the first shift of the day. I spent the next four miles inching my way forward in the slowly crawling peleton.

As we approached Eagle Creek road I advised Josh on how the race promoter Jake would honk the horn on his big BMW motorcycle to release us. I was rewarded for my helpful advice. The right shoulder openned up before me and I glided up to the front row just as we were let loose. I waited for two riders to take charge and then I latched on. This excellent position allowed me to sag climb the first few rolling hills.

The pace started hotter than previous years. I was spending too much time over threshold and dropped myself before the road turned to gravel. After the race Thomas informed me why the pace started so high. Pro cyclist Cole Paton was setting pace on the front. He eventually broke free, rode solo, and finished first by 24 minutes. Letting that go was the right choice for me!

Anthony gave me a wheel to ride until the road turned to dirt and then he wished me good luck. Like Anthony, I set my own pace on the climb and it was taken without drama. On the first half of the climb I lost a few positions. On the second half I made up some positions.

 

The steep part of the descent also unfolded without drama. My forearms felt like I found every stutter bump in the road. But the rubber side stayed down. A new rattle, coming from the back end of my Hakka MX, made itself known. I chose not to stop but did give the rear thru axle a look to make sure it wasn't backing out. Once the road flattened a bit I started putting down some power. Moving up the field on the dirt would allow me to lock into a faster group on the pavement.

I took the right turn onto the paved Mad River road at full tilt. While the riders around me sat up to look around I got into the drops. I saw two strong looking riders up the road and put in some work to bridge up to them. I made the catch and the three of us quickly dropped into rotation. This group grew to about ten by the time we reached the Entiat aid station.

I'm never the strongest pedaler in a bicycle race. So I have to be crafty. And make FAST pit stops. At the Entiat aid station I needed to fill the two bottles on my bike and the third in my back pocket. As we approached I moved to the front of our group and rode straight to the water jugs. While nine other riders waited in the water line I was already soft pedalling toward Swakane Canyon.

Entiat to Swakane Canyon is ideal for working together in a paceline. I rode slowly letting riders catch me until we had three. My team mate Josh was one of the riders to join me. He took the first pull and it was long. Thanks man!

What hasn't been written about the Swakane Canyon climb? It is THE defining feature of Gran Fondo Leavenworth. It is hot and dusty and rocky at the bottom. The climbs pitch up and then down. No rhythm can be found. I let the riders around me go up the road. As with most years I walked the steepest pitch and do not regret that decision. My long hours of training this Winter and Spring started to pay near the top. I was able to maintain my modest power output despite the fatigue. Riders were finally coming back to me.

The final mile of the climb is prime time for cramping. Somehow I crested just as my cramps arrived. Each time I used my legs to absorb the bumps on the descent I could feel the cramp twinges coming on. But this I could manage. My descending speed was impacted at first but at least I was still moving. By this point the rattle on my bike was near constant. But everything was working so I raced on.

 

When the descent turned from winding to straight it was time to find a dance partner. Richard Beukema passed me and he looked like a good wheel to follow. Once on the pavement Richard started working. I took a few turns on the front but was clearly not at his level. Our group eventually grew to four. By the time we passed the Old Mill Tavern before the final right turn under the railroad tracks we had agreed not to sprint to the finish line. We took our positions based on who did the most work. Richard was in front. I assumed third wheel in the group and was scored 23rd.

After I crossed the line I waited for Josh to finish. I was pleased to be ahead of Josh but that was enabled only by the MTB race he completed the previous day. I also took a moment to find my rattle. My cassette was coming loose!

Over the next 24 hours I looked back at my day. On one hand I was pleased with my performance. I had certain tools available. My bike, my knowledge of the course, and my fitness. On race day I think I put those tools to work as well as was possible. On the other hand I wasn't that pleased with my performance. I took a pretty big swing at increasing my training this year without measurable improvement. This year's finish time ranked third of the four times I've completed this course.

Overall Gran Fondo Leavenworth was a spectacular day. Fell Swoopers rode strong and placed well. We had great weather, great organization by Jake and his team, and a course that never fails to challenge. I'd like to write more but I need to get to the garage and tighten up some drivetrain parts...

Disappointment, Redemption, Cyclocross Celebration

This blog post ends with the the grandest Cyclocross event on the Pacific Northwest calendar. But the month leading into that event was anything but grand.

A month ago I competed at Fort Steilacoom Park. My on-the-bike performance was on par for me. My performance on the extended length run up could not have been more poor. Lap two was my worst when I lost seven positions at the top of the run. My nearly DFL finish forced me to ask the question 'What went wrong?' I sat on the floor of my van and pondered my preparation.

This year's training plan for pedaling strength was solid. Yet I forgot to add any running work into my schedule. For most of the year I was able to hide my weakness when the run up was short or rideable. Fort Steilacoom Park showed my running legs for what they were. 

It wa snot my best day at the run up. I suffered. And still earned an 'F'.

In the moment, sulking on the van floor, I knew it was too late in the season to add much running fitness. I felt sad to have spent so much effort on a training plan that was flawed and did not, and would not, allow me to race at my full potential. Disappointment.

My teammate Jonas shows proper composure and pace on the run up.

Going into the next race I pivoted my approach. There was little point in sticking to a flawed training plan. I introduced variety into my training. Instead of structured threshold intervals I would participate in a Zwift indoor cycling race. Out were the 30/30 intervals. In were the even more painful run up intervals. The Fort Steilacoom Park run up broke me on race day. I returned to the park to complete my intervals on the very same soil. I did not beleive I could become a runner in two weeks. I did intend, however, to overcome the mental challenge that the run up posed.

Two weeks ago we raced near Graham. Frontier Park is not well liked in the cross community. It is often cold. The layout is uninspiring. But it's the rocks that create the negative vibes.

Despite this poor reputation most everyone I chatted with said this was the best Frontier Park course in memory. The soil had the perfect amount of moisture. The rocks were less prominent. It was warm enough to feel our fingers and toes.

My consitent attendance earned me a front row callup. I lined up next to Doug Graver. Without knowing it two racers were intent on leading into the first corner and the subsequent single track sections. My jump off the line was perfect and I pressed hard towards the first corner intent on the holeshot. Doug knew the risk of being behind traffic in the single track and challenged me at corner one.

We squeaked safely through corner one and I latched onto Doug's wheel entering corner two. We had a small gap into the tight single track and were able to choose our own lines.

I maintained this extraordinary effort for just the first 90 seconds of the race. When I dialed back down to a pace I could sustain for an hour riders began to trickle past. 

Riding my own pace. Hitting my lines. Keeping my good luck leaf at hand.

The remainder of the race was uneventful. Eventually I faded back to mid pack. I kept my head down. For most of every lap I was racing against the clock and my own fitness. For fifteen seconds of every lap I was racing against the run up.

The Frontier Park run up was short and steep. Every lap I gave everything I had. My choice was not tactical. I needed to experience run up success. I was clearing out the emotional residue from my previous run up defeat.

I finished well enough in tenth of twenty-three. More importantly I didn't roll over at the run up and my lap times were a bit ahead of my expectations. Redemption.

My teammate Jonas had a good race and didn't even looked haggard in the process.

One week later I raced at Woodland Park. MFG Cyclocross brought this party/race/event back after a one year hiatus and it was highly billed. It was crazy how many fans and racers were in attendance. The single speed race had 120 starters. Other races included riders in costumes. There were even three tandem teams taking on the course.

This link to some photos of the day might help communicate the atmosphere: https://mfgcyclocross.bike/mfg-6-the-finale-at-woodland-park-photoset/

I enjoyed the festive scene until my race time rolled around. And then I got to business.

The Woodland Park dichotomy ensured I would experience both joy and anguish. I understood the need to burn the matches on the 'climbing up' half of the course. I relished the opportunity to rail the corners and rest on the 'descending down' half.

My expectations were not high as I lined up on the third of three rows for the men's 50+ cat 1/2 start. But I also knew the start was already half way up the hard part of the course and recovery was near. So I chose to start burning matches from the whistle.

I found myself about sixth into the first corner and held that position till the second of the camel humps at the top of the course. I was out of the saddle and feeling humiliated as the second hump humbled me for the first of many laps. After letting a handful of riders slip by I completed the lap in eleventh position and just seven seconds behind the leader.

But I could not sustain the effort and paid a large price. My second lap was one of my slowest. It was also during the second lap that Greg Kauper found my wheel.

We rode the next two laps nose to tail. As we refined our knowledge of the course we were also learning about each other.

Greg was getting out of the saddle more frequently. Every time I saw his saddle sway he pulled ahead by a second or two. My mostly seated style seamed to favor the more technical corners. Instead of trying to match his power I waited till the next set of twisties and was able to get those seconds back.

The nuances of the course were also coming into play. I was finding corners where I could roll without touching the brakes. I fell in love with the winding descent section near the food trucks where I could usually aproach with speed, whip it side to side between the tapes, and make up a second or two on my rival. Through the 'most dangerous' corner I found some grippy soil way inside and rode it motocross style with my inside foot unclipped and the rear tire stepped out. I carried crazy speed into the run up, usually coasted up and over the first log, but could not time my dismount well. Hodala corner, with the huge fan presence, was a favorite. I preferred the outside line and usually responded to the roar of the fans by carrying as much speed as possible around the outside.

After four laps and 28 minutes of racing we crossed the half way point of the race. We had been locked together for over two laps. There were no riders close ahead or behind. It looked a lot like this battle was going all the way to the finish.

After four laps we had also found our roles. Almost every lap we followed a script. Greg led over the start finish line. I stuck to his wheel looking for the tiniest protection from the wind. At the first camel hump I pulled out of his draft and started my climbing effort early only to sag back into line as we approached the top. At the second camel hump he popped out of the saddle and powered away from me. I railed the winding 'S' corners finding recovery and earning back my lost seconds. We would remain nose to tail until the short climb after the tennis courts where I would slingshot past into the single track. His dismount at the bottom of the run up was superior every lap and it was 50/50 who would would remount first. As we aproached the twisties at Hodala corner he would open a gap. I carried more momentum around the Hodala soap feature and was back on his wheel to finish the lap.

Lap Six was tough. This photo was taken just after Greg pulled ahead by five seconds.

On lap five I was at my limit at the top of the run up. Greg sensed my weakness and kept his foot on the throttle. At the end of the lap he had openned a gap of five seconds. This was the largest gap between us the race had seen.

Lap six started hard. I didn't want to hurt anymore. But I had invested too much to give in. I stayed the course. Every corner was open and I hit my lines and carried maximum speed. At the top of the run up, as we neared the end of the lap, I measured a smaller gap. I carried my momentum around Hodala and found myself right back to Greg's wheel. It took an entire lap but I had closed the gap.

Starting lap seven we heard '2 to go'. We stayed on script. Until we didn't.

Half way through last lap eight I was thinking towards the finish and I liked my situation. At the top of the run up we were still close. Greg had been stronger leaving the run up and I let him lead me into the Hodala twisties. 

Finishing the run up with no clear leader.

The twisties were a series of four corners included the soap feature. The grass was grippy. I let Greg have a small gap going into the twisties. Like previous laps I wanted full view of the corners and freedom to pick my line. Just as I had practiced all race I exited the third twist with just a skosh more speed. I carried that speed the long way around the soap feature and passed Greg on the outside. With just two corners to go the battle was mine to lose.

At the second to last corner I became all ass and elbows in an attempt to fill the racing line and make a pass as challenging as possible.

At the final corner I took an inside line that allowed me to get on the power first. If Greg wanted past I forced him to go the long way around. The final paved sprint to the line was uphill and I started a bike length ahead. But Greg didn't roll over. He had the legs to power past me and win the battle. After 56 minutes of racing Greg secured eleventh by two tenths of a second.

From my saddle Woodland Park was a spectacular race. The course was fun and fast and fantastic. My battle with Greg was the most competitive in memory. Having a large turnout of fans was the icing on the cake. Celebration.

I need to give a shout out to my Fell Swoop friends. Kudos to Z-Dog for pushing us all to get off the couch and race or spectate. I also appreciate the time Jonas took to write the great course description. And a big thanks to all the other Swoopers that were course side heckling and yelling and encouraging us to keep spinning the pedals.

Much appreciation also needs to go out to my wife Deanne for supporting me in person at Woodland Park. She cheered me up the run up. She carried my wheels to the pits. She handed me a burrito after the race. She supported me all season. Thank you.

Finishing Hot at Sprinker Recreation Center

The weather for last weekend's Cross Revolution event at Sprinker was like all the others this year. Hot. Dry. Smokey.

The course was a bit different than previous years. The first corner was a 180 degree hairpin on the pavement.  The back section of the course had more sand than previous years. And the layout leveraged the 'bump' by routing us up and over four different ways.

The heat motivated me to carry a full water bottle in my back pocket. Fading due to heat was a strong possibility. I was keen to stick to a pacing strategy that I could carry to the finish.

I received a front row call up for the cat 1/2 45+ men's start. Teammate Jonas was on my left. Doug Graver was on my right. The danger posed by the paved first corner was on everyone's mind.

Doug snapped off the line and was a half bike length ahead when we moved towards each other. By bars met his hip and I bobbled for a second. A second later I recovered my composure and managed to get myself through the first corner in fourth with Doug on my outside hip. I motioned him past on the second straight and slotted happily into fifth. Disaster was averted. Every rider stayed upright through the first corner.

I did not intend to work to hold my top five position. Halfway through the first lap I was letting the leaders slip away and watching the first rider in the chase group work up to my wheel.

On the second lap I let those chasers come by as they needed. I didn't fight them for position. I did notice some of them were not linking the corners together as smoothly as possible.

The dry weather changed the flavor of the Sprinker Recreation Center course. Many sections featured loose surfaces. In some places it was sand. In others we found wood chips. One corner was filled with round river rock. To Chris Adolf's dismay there were multiple sections littered with pine cones. Leaning the bike over through the loose bits brought unnecessary risk so I started searching for alternate lines that avoided the loosest sections.

On the third lap I found my groove. On the front straight I sat up and drank. In the back section I was finding the safest lines. I was putting out consistent power and setting consistent lap times.

On the fourth lap I reached my low point. While dismounted for the sand run up I tripped over my own foot. My bike fell to the ground and I joined it. Picking myself up cost only a few seconds and one position. The greater burden was put on my spirit. The run up jacked my heart rate and I felt no joy as I remounted and finished the lap.

As I finished lap five I received three little rewards. I ditched the water bottle from my pocket. I spectator soaked my jersey as I passed with a stream of cool water. I caught sight of two competitors up the road.

With one full lap to go I got to work planning for the catch and hopefully, the double pass.

I forced myself to stay calm. I needed to bring them back slowly. I increased my efforts into the pedals only marginally.

After five laps of survey I was satisfied with my course knowledge. I rode the most risk free lines through the corners covered in sand or wood chips or those dastardly cones. On the final lap I stuck with those lines but re-introduced some risk by riding them a bit faster.

The first time up the bump I wasn't sure if I was even cutting into their lead. The second time up the bump I put in a solid effort and could see they were indeed coming to me. It looked like the gap was consistent on the flats and I was clawing back seconds on the short climbs. I leaned into this fact on the third climb up the bump and gained some more. I put the Hakka on rails through the next set of corners which ate the remainder of their lead.

With a quarter lap to go I took stock of the situation. Between us and the finish stood three distinct sections. Grassy turns where I had an advantage but passing was difficult. The final push over the bump via the sand run up. And a fast smooth trail section that delivered us nearly to the paved finish straight.

I chose to wait and watch through the grassy turns. The setup was perfect. Dee Patterson was leading our trio and riding the corners conservatively. Alec Duxbury and I followed closely. I gained control of my heart rate.

The approach to the run up included an off camber section that was to my liking. I planned a bold double pass by diving to the low side on the right and gaining the inside position into the right hander. I pipped Alec but Dee held the stronger line through the corner.

At the top of the run up Dee led my by one step. After remounting we both nailed the sand descent and entered the fast trail with my nose to his tail. I realized I was in a position vulnerable to attack from behind. Two quick shoulder checks confirmed that Alec was not in position to make that attack. I shelved all plans for defense and swiveled my thoughts to offense.

I stayed in Dee's draft and looked for clues on his next move. His body language indicated he still had power in reserve. I couldn't let him lead me onto the final straight.

The fast trail dumped us into the final two corners. A right hander that featured pine cones led into a left hander that featured the round river rocks. Each corner had just one good line. Whoever was latest on the brakes would prevail.

I eased up to open a small gap, accelerated into it, and then pulled into the inside position as we braked side by side. My aggression and inside line worked to my advantage. Pass complete.

The course was narrow and bent left where the pavement started. I dropped into my roadie position and spooled up the power. Once on the straight I checked behind expecting to see concession from Dee. Instead my vision was full of him charging my way. I popped out of the saddle and we sprinted for 150 meters. He stuck to my wheel but could not come around and I held onto ninth.

I was hot and tired before I started the final lap. Then I pushed a little extra chasing and catching. The sprint put me over the top and well into the hurt locker. I spent the next five minutes laying on the pavement trying to regain my senses.

The days of Summer Cross are nearing an end. Rain is in the forecast. Mixing dirt and water will create mud. And with that mud we can start proper cyclocross racing.

Racing the Clock at Fort Steilacoom Park

I consider Fort Steilacoom Park my local cyclocross course. When the new MFG Cyclocross team came to my town and put on a race at F.S.P I found it was an easy choice to attend.

Like previous races this year racers were faced with bone dry soil and above average temperatures. This year I've been coming up to speed with dry soil cross racing and how it affects tire choice. For the third race in a row I chose to ride Maxxis Ramblers in size 40mm. I've also been coming up to speed on hydration needs and placed a full water bottle in my back pocket.

When I lined up for the cat 1/2 50+ men's start I joined a group of less than 15 racers. The start was uneventful and we were soon streaming through the dry grass turns that punctuated the bottom section of the course. These grass section turns were flat and smooth and rewarded a smooth entry and exit.

As we passed the pits I noticed Craig Undem was unclipping his inside foot through some corners. I considered shouting a mid race heckle. An instant later my rear wheel let loose and snapped sideways. I figured that was the Karma police reminding me to be kind.

 

My teammate Jonas navigates the bottom turn in the orchard.

A half lap later at the top of the orchard both tires let go. I drifted a short ways before getting the bike in line and barely avoided hitting the ground. This slide put me on edge. It also jolted my memory. Craig and I were both on the same make and model of tire. The Maxxis Ramblers were performing like the proverbial knife in a gun fight. I had no choice but to dial back my cornering aggression for the remainder of the race.

I dialed back my cornering speeds and found myself riding solo. I focused my energy on two challenges. Straightening the corners as much as possible. And choosing a pace that balanced power output and recovery needs.

The elevation profile at F.S.P. created a real recovery challenge. The course had a long stretch of soft sand. Most racers rode it which elevated our heart rates. Just two corners later we were faced with the run up. These two features compounded the suffer and my eyes crossed every lap as I remounted. After a too short off camber section we climbed up to the top of the orchard. Choosing to push too hard in the sand or run up crushed my ability to finish the climb.

At the beginning of the second lap I caught three riders to form a group of four. Warning bells sounded in my head. It was way too early to start scrapping for positions. I quietly backed off to trail the trio by one or two seconds. I needed to listen to my body and choose a pace I could sustain to the finish. After watching them from a distance for two laps they demonstrated their superior fitness and began to inch away.

Patrick also offered full face water splashes. I opted for a simple water bottle hand up.

By mid race I was suffering from the heat. My water bottle was a one-time-use solution. There was no feasible way to put the bottle back into my pocket once removed. My friend Patrick from Grit City Health came to my rescue. He saw me suffering and offered a bottle hand up. A lap later he offered another. Thanks Patrick!

On lap four I committed to maintaining my effort to the finish and aimed for perfect pacing. I dialed in the appropriate amount of suffer on each trip up the run. I worked hard enough to prevent the leader of the elite group from lapping me. I crossed the line without drama to complete seventy minutes of racing.

I squeaked into the top ten with another ninth. My lap times showed pacing improvement. If I exclude the first lap the other six are all within twenty seconds of each other. The final four laps were within five seconds of each other. At the end of the race I was executing solid pacing.

I also improved my performance against my common rivals. I lost one minute to Craig compared to losing four minutes the previous week. I lost four minutes to the winner compared to losing six minutes the previous week. I survived a full seventy minutes of racing.

Fort Steilacoom Park loves to challenge me. This race was no exception. F.S.P. also makes me a stronger racer. Next weekend we visit Sprinker Recreation Center for what will likely be another warm and dry cross event. I'm hoping that I've learned enough to improve my showing at these California style cross events.

Arlington Airport 2022

Two weeks ago, at Evergreen High School, I did not race up to my potential. After a couple weeks of thought I determined it was time to change my pacing strategy. The Cross Revolution race at Arlington would be the test to determine if my pacing could be improved. At first glance both events appeared to share many similarities. They both were held on warm dry days that invited some sweat and dust. Both courses featured dry grass, a run up, and a sand section. Despite the similarities the Arlington event turned out to be a different animal.

The dry grass at Arlington had been cut much longer and hid hard lumpy soil. The course included two single track sections that each concluded with a prominent feature. The first single track section led right into the run up which, unlike the Evergreen H.S. run up, could often be ridden. The second single track section ended with a traditional sand section. My sand riding skills returned and I was usually able to ride this section. These course features figured into my race finish.

After taking a few laps to view the course I conferred with my teammate Jonas. Overall the course was not all that technical. We discussed where to invest power and where to find some recovery. The warm temperatures motivated me to stow a water bottle in a rear jersey pocket. Heat and hydration figured into my race finish.

We had about twenty riders on the line for the men's cat 1/2 45+ start. I navigated the first corner safely and quickly settled into my own pace as the top six or eight riders sped off.

After my last race, where I pushed hard to ride with the lead group for three quarters of the first lap, I approached Arlington with a different pacing plan. I challenged myself to ignore my competitive drive in the early laps and aim for even splits.

Within a lap I found myself trading positions with Andrew Lynch. I was better at riding the run up. He was better on the flats. I worked to keep my competitive emotions in check and focused on optimal pacing. By half way I heard the announcer say we were competing for seventh place. At about this time I checked back to see a small gap on Andrew. I felt confident I could stay ahead to the finish.

My fitness and pacing seemed a good match. Every lap I hit some big watts to ride the run up. Every lap this effort maxed my heart rate. But I could get it back under control within a minute or two. The same pattern emerged through the sand section. The suffer meter was pegged immediately after those efforts and my body repeatedly bounced back.

When I saw the lap counter announce two laps to go my head drooped. The heat was catching up with me. I wanted so much to be done. Internally I questioned my ability to race another twenty minutes.

Just one lap later I stripped those doubts from my mind and replaced them with a larger problem to solve. Andrew Lynch was closing the gap and bringing Colin Ferguson with him. With less than a lap to go they worked up into striking distance. I kept an eye on them through the single track as we approached the run up. Luckily, when I needed it most, I nailed the run up. This effort opened up my gap. But, for the first time all day, I could not get my heart rate under control once back on the flats. I was just two or three minutes from the finish and completely gassed. They both pedaled right by.

My heart pounded inside my chest and I barely kept the bike rolling into the final single track section. The slow turns of single track allowed just tiny bit of recovery. My focus during my final trip through the sand was absolute and I rode it convincingly. As I completing the sand section I glanced up to realize both Andrew and Colin were forced to run. My ride through the sand closed the gap and we were tight as we entered the final set of flat grass turns. My competitive drive took over the controls and snapped me to attention.

Andrew and Colin's body language showed they also realized the race was on. I knew just two of the final four corners offered decent opportunities to wrestle back a position. The first opportunity, a right hander, was most ripe for a pass and I pushed hard on the pedals to gain an inside position. My competitors sensed this and stayed on the gas all the way to the corner. The final left hander was tighter but still offered a passing lane. I set myself up well but my legs lacked the snap to get me into a solid passing position. I showed my wheel but Andrew granted no gift. A three second blanket covered all three of us as we crossed the line with Colin nabbing seventh and Andrew in for eighth.

I was destroyed. Snot dripped off my face. Dust covering my sweaty skin. The three of us shared fist bumps to celebrate our spectacular finish to a truly grueling race.

On the long drive home I over analyzed the final lap of the race and grinned on every replay. Once home I looked at lap times that showed my laps times were about twenty seconds slower in the late laps as compared to the early laps. That is a bigger drop than I hoped for but still OK.

More importantly, I wondered to myself if equal splits was the right pacing strategy. I concluded it was the best strategy for me. The Arlington course did not play well to my strengths. The flat and bumpy straights required raw sustained power. I cannot usually match the raw power of the race winners. By letting the front runners go from the gun I was able to sustain a moderate effort for 62 minutes.

Kudos to Andrew and Colin for the reminder that we were in a 65 minute race.

My search to find ways to trim a few seconds in ongoing. For the short term I'll continue working on three obvious avenues for improvement. I'll continue my training regimen and reach for a few more watts. I'll commit more practice at pacing correctly for the course. And I'll pray for some rain.

Sand Section Lesson

A single corner at my last cyclocross event unwound my entire race. The corner in question featured a slight decline and quite dry sand. Lap after lap I failed to navigate the sand. At the end of the day I guessed that my poor execution in this one corner cost me about 90 seconds over my hour of racing. Those lost seconds have motivated this blog post and hopefully a chance to avoid a similarly large error in the future.

The corner in question required bike handling skills and a real time tactical choice to ride or run. Riding was fastest. Running was slower. Attempting to ride, failing, and resuming on foot was slowest. No measurements were available so I'll share my best estimates of ten seconds to ride, fifteen to run, and thirty if a ride attempt failed. Running affects my heart rate negatively and those downstream affects are included in my time estimates.

There was a large risk and small reward for attempting to ride the sand section. And therefore the question is why, in the moment, I made the risky choice to ride the sand corner seven of seven laps despite my string of failed attempts.

The answer is poor assumptions. First, however, some background information that informed my assumptions.

1. Riding was faster than running.

2. On my first sighting lap I realized the challenge of the sand corner and rode it repeatedly to verify riding was a choice with a high percentage of success.

3. During the race I was watching for evidence that other riders were resorting to running the sand and found none.

4. My bike handling is solid (usually). If my competitors can ride an obstacle likely I can as well.

5. During the race I was tracking the changes in the sand section.

If I look at all these points of information statically it appears running is the better tactical choice. Adding in the dynamic points of changing sand conditions and lack of other runners still pointed to riding the sand. On race day this was the end of my analysis and it cost me dearly.

After stewing on my failure for a week my false assumptions became more clear.

The changing sand conditions were eroding two of my data points. The number of seconds to ride the sand was inching up and the ride success percentage was inching down. I wasn't taking this into account in real time.

My second poor assumption regards the absence of other runners. My failure to see runners does not disprove their existence. I suspect plenty of my competitors were choosing to run. I failed to consider this possibility and subsequently failed to reconsider my ride vs run choice.

My general assumption that good bike handling applies to every patch of sand was too optimistic. This short stretch was not in my wheelhouse.

Bringing it all together I believe I was operating with generally good information and thought processes. These general principles were in play for every challenging section of the course and bringing good results everywhere save the sand section. A few poor assumptions, however, conspired to undermine my real time thinking process.

Going forward I want to close the door on this type of failure. Which is a tough nut to crack. Reasoning through my race day assumptions while executing 400 watt intervals on the bike is not feasible.

I do possess another feedback system. It runs the software in my head that is informed by my race experience. This system is subjectivity. I needed no stopwatch to know after my first failed attempt at riding the sand that my execution was 'bad'. After my second or third failure the switchboard for this system was aglow with red blinking lights.

As I continue to contemplate the sand section failure I hope to update my decision system by adding subjectivity as a reality check. When I am riding well I plan to allow data and assumptions to run the tactical decision show. When the primary system leads to a subjectively 'bad' decision I need to be more open to quickly hitting the reset button.

The Cross Revolution series takes us next to Arlington where I'll try to update my real time decision making. Expect me to write about it soon.

Cross Revolution at Evergreen HS

Cross Revolution took us to the Evergreen High School venue and race day found us under sunny skies and 70 degree warmth. The course was, of course, dry. It seemed pretty fast and contained quite a few short, steep ascents. In general it was similar to last year's event at this venue.

As the first race on my calendar I was using this race to evaluate this year's equipment and fitness.

The Bike

I was not alone in choosing to race a Ibis Hakka MX. During warm up I noticed there were at least five Hakkas in the same color as mine. While waiting on the start line I noticed a few more. This boosted my confidence in my equipment. But the real test happened on the course and the Hakka shined. I'm adapting well to the less precise steering at low speeds. At speed the handling was rock solid stable. And it railed the fast corners.

The Tires

Cornering speed is dependent on tires and my choice of tubeless Maxxis Ramblers in 40mm was an outlier. A quick survey indicated most racers were sticking with 33mm wide tires. Luckily a racer I know was also testing a set of Ramblers. And this racer knows his way around a cross course. When I asked Craig Undem about his experiences so far he admitted this was his first race on the Ramblers. We agreed to share notes after the race.   

My Fitness

Racing cyclocross requires short bursts of power. I can match the fast guys' accelerations once or twice or even twenty times. Cyclocross racing requires hundreds of these short efforts. The power numbers from my power meter don't tell the whole story. An hour of racing did.

Cat 1/2 Master Men 45+

I lined up in the second row behind Craig. He knew that when 25 racers funneled into the first few turns there would be mayhem. When he powered off the line I dug deep to stay on his wheel. After a handful of quick turns the course straightened and I found myself in fourth and well ahead of the traffic jams. After letting one rider come by on the next straight I clamped on to the tail end of the lead group for as long as I was able.

Cat 1/2 Master Men 45+ start. Photo courtesy Woodinville Bicycle.

The run up exposed a crack in my fitness. The other members of the lead group didn't show as much hurt when we remounted at the top.

The sand section exposed another weakness. I bobbled, had to put a foot down, and watched the leaders ride away.

Lap two played out a lot like the first lap except I raced with the chase group. This group was also about five. This group also rode away when I, again, botched the sand section.

In the moment I realized I was matching the power and corning speed of the riders in these two groups. But my frustration was growing with my bike handling in the sand section.

For the remainder of my race I rode mostly alone. The patterns established on laps one and two were repeated. Get crushed by the run up. Recover well enough a few turns later. Then botch the sand section where I would both lose time and put out extra effort to run the bike out of the sand. Had I been racing against the sand section it would have been judged the winner. In seven laps I rode it clean just once. On four of the laps I bobbled, lost momentum, and then dismounted to finish the section on foot. Twice I hit the deck.

Dwaine concentrates during one of the many short grassy descents at Evergreen HS. Photo courtesy Woodinville Bicycle.

On my second to last lap the leaders of the Cat 1/2 men race were closing in and threatening to put me a lap down. I focused myself, barely stayed away, and earned myself the privilege of one more lap. I finished 14th of 22 finishers in my class.

Findings

Sand Sucked. Most days I can find the bike handle. But the short sand section had my number. There is, however, more to this story. My poor performance led me to do some serious thinking on why the wheels fell off and how I will get them back on. Expect a blog post about this topic next week.

Fitness OK. On the sections of the course that did not require running I was pretty pleased with my fitness. More often than not I could push watts into the accelerations and find enough recovery to repeat.

Run up not OK. My legs felt weak. My heart rate hit the ceiling. The run up became my Kryptonite.

Tires. I was staring at the ground with drool escaping when Craig approached me after the race. Despite identical tires we experienced different race outcomes. Craig took his Ramblers to 3rd place. Chapeau.

We shared our thoughts on the Maxxis Ramblers and found consensus. They sucked up the bumps well. We both ran pressure in the low 20's and appreciated the lack of sharp jolts coming through the saddle. Cornering was predictable and on par with a typical 33mm file tread. The Ramblers also gave great feedback. There was a slight sense of tire rollover when a tire was overloaded. When the limit of traction was reached they let go predictably.

Evergreen High School was not my break out race. But the news was not all bad. My equipment choices were solid. Despite a single race in the books this boosted my confidence about this year's equipment and I'm looking forward to spending more energy on race craft and training. I'm also encouraged by some aspects of my fitness and feel like there is still a little more to be found.

Finally, the difficulties in the sand section have forced me to challenge some of my assumptions. I've heard you either win or learn. This week the sand chose for me and I'll be back next time a little wiser.

Pre Season Cross Topics

Cyclocross season 2022 is getting underway. My first event is a few days out. That event will be the initial test for my revised training plan and revolutionized equipment.

Training

Training in 2022 has been my most deliberate. Training workloads were chosen with purpose. Early year training for gravel racing, late year training for cyclocross. This was also the year where planned rest weeks were formally incorporated.

January to March was dominated by endurance paced base miles. A few high intensity Zwift events were sprinkled in to keep it zesty. Those Zwift events were later replaced with more structured intervals for a traditional 'build' phase.

Summer was a mixture of racing at Pacific Raceways and the mental reset of a few extra rest weeks.

July brought another transition. Volume was trimmed to accommodate two structured workouts per week. The intensity notched up with the dreaded 30/30's in late August to more closely match the demands of cyclocross.  

Unlike previous years the transition from Summer season to cyclocross season was well scripted. Having invested the time to create a concrete pre season training plan motivated me to execute every one of those interval sessions. Only time will tell if the story line concludes with an improvement in my fitness compared to previous years.

Equipment

Back in 2019 I purchased an Ibis Hakka MX frameset and built it into a gravel racing rig. In 2022 The Hakka will supplant my twelve year old Blue Norcross cyclocross race bike. After swapping a few parts and stripping off the gravel gear I spent a few hours riding my neighborhood cyclocross training grounds. The first ride was to verify mechanical fitness. Subsequent rides were spent evaluating the handling. While designed as a cyclocross race bike it feels substantially different from my familiar Norcross.

Ibis Hakka MX ungraveled and ready to race CX

I've raced just two cross bikes in the last ten years. Both were built by Blue and shared identical geometry. I would describe them as quick steering and having high bottom bracket heights. Initially I was intimidated but eventually learned to appreciate those handling characteristics.

The geometry numbers for the front end of the Hakka MX are pretty close to the Blue. Yet the steering feels less precise. Where I do see a difference in geometry is in the wheelbase and bottom bracket height. The Hakka is longer and lower. Those properties are appreciated when gravel racing. Those properties might also provide me a new learning opportunity this cyclocross season.

This is why we test. Last cross season this saddle probably saw over twenty hours of use. It came home in pieces less than twenty minutes into this year's first test ride.

 

 

 

Complicating the switch from old to new is tire selection. The Blue was shod with 33mm tubulars. They worked in the mud and I hated them everywhere else. It was time to move up to a larger volume tubeless tire. While not the perfect choice a large volume tire was already mounted. The Hakka will start the season with 40mm Rambler gravel tires. I know what to expect from these tires in the context of gravel racing. At low pressures and deep lean angles they might show a different face. It is my intention to swap them out for a more cross specific tire sooner than later. 

Each September I want to believe it will be 'my year'. Each December I hang up a thrashed bike with grand plans to make next Fall even better. This year I intend to write some pages to tell the story between those bookends.

A Dark Place

My alarm arrived too soon. I scheduled just 30 minutes to go from sleeping to driving. The lack of natural light was sending strong signals to my mind and body that 3:15 was an unnatural time to be awake. The eight a.m. start of the 2022 Leavenworth Gran Fondo dictated a rough start to a tough day of riding.

A few minutes after five a.m. I arrived in Snohomish to meet up with my Fell Swoop teammate Thomas. We quickly transfered my bike and gear to his Volkswagen and pointed it towards Leavenworth.

Rain, logging, and mud conspired to make the dreaded Swakane Canyon unready for cycling. The promoter had changed the course to an out and back. This change didn't have much affect on the climbing or mileage statistics. It did change the feel of the race. Thomas and I shared our thoughts and came to the conclusion that this version would tilt more towards the strongest climbers. While that was good news for Thomas is was less good for me.

There were no surprises as we kitted up for the start. The staging area, Peshastin Elementary School, was familiar. We shared some words with friends and teammates. The weather was friendly with forecast temperatures for the Leavenworth area in the range of 50 to 60 degrees. Clouds were in the forecast but just a single digit chance of precipitation.

Unlike previous iterations we were not dreading the weather nor the torturous Swakane Canyon climb. With no aspirations of taking a win I was in good spirits and looking forward to a challenging race that fell well within my capabilities.

At one point it looked like Fell Swoop might field as many as nine racers. As the day of the event approached the complications of life stepped in. Three Swoopers were forced to drop out. Adam was on that short list that was unable to attend. In the days leading up to the event we did discuss the course and some tactical plans. But it wasn't until the eve of the event that I realized how much I would miss his camaraderie on race day.

Jake, a member of the Vicious Cycles Promotions team, lead the traditional neutral roll out. He chose his vintage Yamaha BW200 for the task. Of course, speed was not the goal. But it was an agonizingly slow neutral out. At least we had time to chat.

The goal of the neutral roll out was to get us safely to Eagle Creek Road. I slipped up the peleton as we approached the typical 'let loose' point of the course. I wanted to be near the front but not on the front. I heard the meek honk of the BW200 horn and then Jake hit the throttle. We were racing.

The out and back version of the Leavenworth event was pretty easy to characterize. The outbound leg was about ten miles of gradual paved climbing followed by about seven miles of gravel climbing followed by about eight miles of gravel descending followed by about twelve miles of gradual paved descending into the Entiat aid station. Then turn around and back track to Peshastin.

The pace was manageable until the gravel climbing started in earnest. I was able to keep the leaders in sight a little longer this year before choosing to dial down to my own best pace. Once at my pace it was a simple matter of turning the cranks near threshold for as many minutes as necessary. 

Fell Swoop teammate Thomas rides with the leaders during the first climb. Photo courtesy Mark Alan.

I completed the climb almost as fast as last year and was feeling good about my pacing as I neared the top. I was also slowly bringing back a group of about six riders. This was good news as it improved my chances of sharing the work when we reached the pavement on the other side.

The descent was smooth and fast in places. It was also filled with braking bumps in others. I had seen this descent in previous years and knew what to expect. I was bringing riders back one by one. When I reached the pavement I was already on a strong looking rider's wheel. A quick shoulder check showed another racer eager to bridge up and make it three as we started the slightly downhill paved run into Entiat.

I had hoped for a larger group but two friend was certainly better than none.  After just two rotations one of the friends suffered a mechanical failure and was forced to pull off. My new best friend and I soldiered on. We chatted little. But we couldn't help notice we were both riding Ibis Hakka MX frames in the same color and size. I said we were meant to be 'teammates' and we both got to work alternately pulling our short train towards the aid station.

As we approached the turn around I affirmed to my Hakka friend that we were well matched and that I wished for us to ride together on the way back. I needed water and we agreed to make a quick stop. And I did. But not quick enough.

In the time it took to fill two water bottles a group of about ten riders coalesced and departed. I hit the road 30 seconds back. And I knew it might as well have been an hour. I didn't have the legs to win a ten versus one battle if I was the 'one'. Good fortune struck and I was not the 'one'. A second rider was also caught out. He was strong and we both knew what to do. After a few minutes of trading hard pulls we were able to reconnect with the larger group. I thanked him as he was stronger and did the larger share of the work.

Getting into the large group turned out to be both a blessing and a curse. There was no organization. A number of riders were initiating a rotating paceline but it repeatedly broke apart. I was on my toes as there were some unpredictable moves that threatened my front wheel. Eventually the group did reach a concensus that we would rotate. Just one rider was having trouble which created havoc. Not efficient. Not safe.

Few words were spoken. I could read the frustration in the riders around me. I chose to open my mouth and encouraged the hold out to stick on a wheel. One broken rotation later I made it more clear by saying "I need you to hold that wheel". My next words were also clear: "If you can't maintain rotation you need to stay at the back." I meant no disrespect. And I'm not sure how the remainder of the group felt about me giving one rider permission to sit on. But I achieved my goal. The rotation smoothed out.

Unfortunately for me a smooth rotation didn't mean an easy rotation. We were still working against the gentle gradient. My legs were still stinging from bridging to the group. I was having a hard time eating while in the paceline.

Wheels on

Up to this point in the day I had made good decisions. I had put myself in great position. I had put down a solid effort. I had done my share of work.

I projected forward a few miles and could read the writing on the wall. I would not be able to climb with this group. I didn't feel safe eating while in rotation. Lack of nutrition before the climb would be disaster. After two hours and forty-five minutes of racing I elected to drop out of the group. I said "thank you" to the group, let the rider ahead of me know I was dropping, and waved goodbye.

The next twenty minutes was spent getting myself ready for the final climb. I had about three miles of pavement to get some food in. Another group of riders caught me just before the gravel started and I surfed those wheels for a bit. When the pitch started to steepen I chose my own pace and prepared myself for a long slog.

Wheels off

At three hours and fifteen minutes off came the wheels. I felt the beginnings of leg cramps. Taking a nature break only postponed the inevitable. I stayed in my lowest gear and learned to manage the pain. The suffer was just beginning.

The pedals continued to turn as I rumaged through my mental cycling skills toolkit. Hydration and nutrition double checked and appeared to be on schedule. A caffeine shot was ingested. My position on the bike was altered as I looking for the tiniest relief. Racers were coming past regularly. Despair continued to crush my mental state.

Fifteen minutes later I reached the lowest of lows. I muttered the word 'hate' under my breath with every turn of the crank. I actively searched for positive mental imagery and found none. I wanted nothing to do with a bike. I wanted nothing to do with Leavenworth. I wanted only to be home and have this day behind me.

At three hours and forty five minutes I reached the steepest pitch and walked. This was good for my cramps but did nothing to lift my spirits nor speed. Riders were now coming past more frequently. I could not see my facial expression. But the reactions I caused made it clear. They were witnessing, in real time, a broken soul. They offered the kindest words and encouragements.

When I reached four hours into the event I forced myself to eat again. It was a mini wrap from the Pita Pit. One of my favorite Vicious Cycles traditions. Following this one positive emotion was an unstoppable wave of negative emotions. I gave myself permission to cry. I was most of the way up Forest Service road 5800, hiding from no one, still turning the cranks, and freely sobbing.

As I neared the end of the climb I contemplated the future. Would I ever again race gravel? Would I still be a cyclist? Would I share this story? I discovered few answers in the moment except the title of this blog post. At that same moment I rounded a corner which revealed the camera of Mark Alan. I was looking shattered and gave not a damn. As I passed I witnessed him inspect the image and imagined the grimace he must have captured.

Dark day for the author. I was crushed. I felt dead inside. Photo courtesy Mark Alan.

The remaining hour passed without drama. The gravel descent was taken below race pace. Once back to the pavement I worked at an endurance pace. My race was not against the other riders. My only goal was to get off my bike and back to my home as quick and efficiently as possible.

On the drive out of Leavenworth I learned that my teammate Thomas finished in an impressive seventh. I shared little of my day other than it was not positive. When I returned home my wife asked my how it went. My answer was short. "It was the worst day on the bike of my life."

It was the worst day. But it was not my worst performance. I've tried to keep the experience in perspective by remembering that I was performing well right up until I wasn't. I had made all the right moves to maximize my finish potential. If the race had finished in Entiat it would have been a good day.

I haven't discovered why this experience turned so dark. I do know that at the point in the race when I chose to drop from the rotating pace line was the turning point. There is something within me that drives my training, my preparation, and the motivation to push the pedals. It is the magic that makes me a gravel racer. It disappeared in a blink. At exactly 2h:45m into Gran Fondo Leavenworth.

Accidental Road Racer at the Tour De Bloom 2022

Early Spring in Western Washington isn't always warm or dry. When my race team, Fell Swoop, announced they were attending the Tour de Bloom stage race in Wenatchee and renting a house, I thought a long weekend under sunny skies didn't sound too bad. Originally I planned to attend as a spectator, enjoy the weather and camaraderie, and leave the racing to the more serious roadies. But the inclusion of a 50+ cat 3/4/5 field seemed to offer a great vehicle for me to dabble my toes in proper road racing.

Tour de Bloom included four stages over three days. Road race stages one and four book ended the time trial and criterium. Racing at Pacific Raceways, known properly as a Circuit Race, prepared me for the basics. Yet there was plenty left to learn. In the week leading up to the event I was feeling the nerves.

Adam suggested, as a tool to manage my apprehensions, to pencil down some process goals for each stage. He intended that I channel energy into creating and accomplishing some stage specific goals as a way to manage my overall level of nervousness. In the week leading up to the event I chose two or three goals for each stage and put then down to paper.

The road trip to Wenatchee would also serve as an additional test for my Westfalia Vanagon. No land speed records were broken on Friday's drive. But my vintage van did survive a number of climbs including the final twisting ascent to Waterville.


Stage One - Waterville Road Race - 29 miles

One factor in choosing the Tour de Bloom as my first road racing event was the moderate distances that the 50+ 3/4/5 field would cover. Twenty nine miles seemed about right for getting a taste of open road racing. The course was through rolling fields with no significant climbs. The first twenty miles was a loop to the North of Waterville that returned us to town where we started an additional loop of nine miles that lay to the South.

The forecast included a decent chance of rain and temperatures of about 50 degrees. Choosing the right number of layers just added an additional level of apprehension as I prepared for the start. Talking to my teammate Jonas did nothing to calm me. He raced earlier, got soaked, and didn't remember being so cold on the bike.

Our field of 50+ 3/4/5 had nineteen starters. Five of which were Fell Swoopers. We were combined with the 60+ field for a starting peleton of about 35 riders. As we chatted before the start Z-dog warned of the possibilities of a strong crosswind section at about one quarter distance.

The race started easy as we headed East out of town. I spent the first ten minutes working on two of my process goals. I wanted to get comfortable racing within the confines of the center line rule. I also wanted to observe the general etiquette when riders moved about in the peleton. These goals kept my mind busy until we turned North and into the anticipated crosswind sections.

But there was no wind. It might have been the calmest I've seen in Eastern Washington. However, the chance to work would soon be on offer.

A series of rolling climbs were enough to split the field. As the efforts started to ramp up I was hanging in good position and felt I could crest with the lead group. But it was not to be.

After a few miles of shuffling the groups were solidified. William Dejarlais, aka 'DJ', went off the front with a rider from the 60+ group. A chase group of three including Fell Swooper Jude was second on the road. Matt and I were in the second chase group of about ten riders. The rolling climb was enough that the remainder of the peleton was broken into pieces.

Knowing that teammate Jude was up the road in good position made for a strategically simple race for Matt and I. We needed only to cover any and all bridge attempts.

A rotating cast of four strong riders worked at the front over the next twenty miles. They put in strong pulls. I did not. Sometimes they wanted to rotate at the front but it seemed like I was too often on the wrong wheel and inadvertently disrupted the rotation. As needed I followed closely when it looked like an effort was being laid down.

As we started the nine mile loop South of town we caught a glimpse of Jude's group of three. We were slowly closing the gap and I was concerned they might be caught. When we were just a couple miles out from the finish I felt confident Jude's group would stay away. Matt and I had a quick meeting. He offered to lead me out at the finish. When Matt dropped me off I did my best and sprinted to second from our group for sixth. This was a surprisingly good result and I was elated and thankful for Matt's effort.

On General Classification time Strongman DJ was two minutes ahead of second place. The three man chase group came in together putting our man Jude third on GC and best of the Swoopers. He graciously accepted his nomination as team leader.

It wasn't until the racing was done that I realized I half failed on process goal three: Have fun. Pre-race I was a mess. But in the moment, during the race, working for my team, I had a blast. I found it most rewarding to dig in, follow a hard effort, wait for the shoulder check, and then see those shoulders slump with the realization that Fell Swoop was still one the wheel.


Stage Two - Malaga Time Trial - 9.5 miles

The downtime before Saturday's Malaga Time Trial was most enjoyable. The team was able to gather at the rental house for dinner and stories and camaraderie. Jonas prepared pasta. Jason shared stew and cornbread. Both were delicious I ate much too much. These hours were the draw for me when I planned to attend as just a spectator and I savored them past my intended bed time.

I felt no need to put a large effort into the TT. Jude's excellent performance in the previous day's road race removed any GC burden from me and I was free to stick to my three process goals: Survey the team for thoughts on how to choose an effort level, arrive at a sub threshold wattage target, and then hit it.

With no GC ambitions my TT was anticlamatic. Most of the team I surveyed talked about the balance of maintaining some reserve for the afternoon's criterium while still optimizing TT time. I chose a low 275 watt target against my FTP of about 300 watts. I hoped to average 270 on the outbound downwind leg and then bump up to 280 on the return leg.

My warmup was uneventful and before long I was sprinting out of the starting tent.

My outbound leg was uneventful. I caught no other riders but a number of them blew past me. I watched the motoref wheel his BMW into a too-close-for-my-comfort U-turn. The course turn around was a single cone placed on the center line.

My return leg was a different animal. The motoref rode my wheel for a few minutes. Maybe he was admiring Mikes vintage Calfee. The wind, now taken on the nose, slowed me substantially. I was able to hold my preferred TT position most of the time and I was getting better at holding steady power. Jude passed me and I yelled encouragements that all included the word 'team'.

When results were posted we learned DJ crushed it putting more seconds between him and the three or four riders in contention for second on GC. Jude solidified his role as team leader with a solid TT effort of fourth that kept him in the hunt for a GC podium.  

Only a single rider finished slower than me which cemented my role as domestique. My ability to hit my power targets improved as I rode. From 261 against a target of 270 in the outbound leg to 278 against a target of 280 on the return. The best reward for my effort was waiting form me back at the team house. A Subway sandwich and a couple hours of relaxation.


Stage Three - Downtown Criterium - 30 minutes

Leading up to the criterium I knew a nerve storm was on the horizon. I took sixty minutes away from the hustle and bustle of team activity and closed my eyes for a little nap in the back of the van. When I woke it was full steam ahead.

Process goals for the criterium were primarily focused on safety and experience. I wanted to spend time near the front where I expected to be surrounded by decent bike handlers. I wanted to observe the level of aggression into the corners and protect myself from inside moves. I wanted to take a lap at the front or in a break.

My pre race recon started with surveying the team. It was important to me to understand some of the standard procedures in a crit before I was standing on the line. Jason, Z-Dog, and Jonas patiently answered my questions about how to pull off, what to do if I flat, when to expect to be pulled, etc. When we arrived at the venue I was able to calm myself with duties such as schlepping gear to the team tent and getting my kit in order.

The Wenatchee Downtown Criterium was, thankfully, a simple four corner layout. At the end of the start/finish straight we turned left onto a short hill. The next left put us on the flat and gusty back straight. After corner three we descended down the brick paved Orondo Avenue and into fast corner four. The streets were wide, clean, and mostly smooth.

Corner four gave me pause. I took a bunch of practice laps so I could come to terms with it. I was the last rider to take a practice lap and felt that I knew that corner well enough.

Minutes before we started Z-Dog came up and gave me a hearty pat on the back. He knew I was freaking out on the inside. I could not have made it this far without him and I told him so.

The start whistle took me by surprise. I was able to get moving and clipped in quick enough. The field strung out for a couple laps and I just held the wheel in front of me. For the first five laps or so I stayed out of trouble and came to terms with the downhill corner four. I was pleased to observe everyone around me was predictable and free of unnecessary risk taking.

After a few laps I put my racing hat on and got to work. I knew that in a crit if you aren't moving up you are moving back. I found comfort in corners three and four. I often gained one position by setting up on the inside of corner three and making the pass entering four. I also found that the peleton would occasionally ease up approaching corner one. A few extra pedal strokes at the end of the start finish straight earned back up to five positions. By the end of the race I found I could maintain a position in the top ten without too much work.

Jude and Dwaine flying the Fell Swoop colors midway through the criterium. Photo courtesy Mark Alan.

What I wasn't doing was racing to win. At the pointy end strong riders were pushing the pace on the prime laps while I hung on. One of my most rewarding moments was during the run into a prime. I was fifth wheel and had no ambitions for the prime sprint. The rider behind me, GC leader DJ, followed me down the hill. He did have ambitions and I could hear him coaching and praying 'no brakes' as we approached the fast corner four. He didn't know I hadn't touched brakes for that corner all day. I stuck the corner, emerged tight on the rider in fourth, and DJ was free to rocket up the inside towards yet another prime.

The race wasn't easy. I averaged 297 watts. But it wasn't so hard I stopped thinking. As we took the last lap bell I sidled up to Jude, gave him a look, and pedaled forward. He got on my wheel and I went to work moving him up. We climbed for the final time taking back a position or two. On the back straight I metered my effort to get us moving up the inside checking my shoulder to make sure he was still on. Halfway down the back straight I made a poor choice and got myself boxed in. I had to let off the pedals and Jude had no choice but to switch to a better wheel. Damn! Mission failed.

Fortunately Jude was able to work his way forward and bring home a 3rd maintaining his chances for a GC podium. I was scored 8th. Eleven 50+ racers remained in the lead pack.

The feelings of relief were evident on my face. The team was there to congratulate me for finishing my first crit. And tell me I did OK for a newbie. After taking a few minutes to savor the moment I changed clothes and retrieved my recovery food. I found a seat in the sun and jotted down a few notes for this race recap. Then Z-dog informed me he had something for me. I expected a critique of my crit performance or nugget of crit knowledge. Instead he slipped an ice cold Bodhizafa IPA out out his bag and into my hand. This made my day. Thanks Z-Dog.

With the peak stress of the weekend behind me I was able to relax and enjoy the remainder of the criterium. We cheered for fellow Fell Swoopers who rode in later races. We had a quick bite at a pub just uphill from that fast corner four. We marveled at just how fast some of the elite riders sped by. And we felt the descent of a noticeable chill in the air. With the help of many hands we disassembled the team tent and headed back to the rental house for more story telling and some well earned rest.


Stage Four - Plain Road Race - 50 miles

Sunday morning dawned cool and dry and filled with surprises. Jonas was up early to catch his nine something start time. The rest of us had a leisurely morning. We sipped on coffee, watched the final kilometers of a stage of the Giro, and slowly tidied up the rental house. We also discussed some race tactics.

We determined DJ was uncatchable. The next four riders were all within a minute on GC including Jude. Our plan was to control the race, protect Jude, and let his legs do some talking on the final climb to the finish line. These team tactics trumped some of my process goals. The one goal that was still relevant was to attempt to assess the strengths and ambitions of other riders in real time.

My vintage Vanagon gave us a bit of a scare as we were about to get under way. The alternator light was flickering. This could not be ignored. I asked the guys to wait until I knew more. As soon as I opened the engine compartment Jason miraculously spotted a loose connector. I was able to snug it up and the problem was solved.

When the Vanagon arrived in the tiny community of Plain another surprise was revealed. Falling snow. Snow did not correlate to the forecast for 50 degrees and a 20% chance of precipitation. I added more layers. After warming up I went back to the van and added another.

The course was mostly flat except for the hill climb finish. It consisted of two laps over a 25 mile course. The course had a small rise just a few miles into the lap. We contemplated that the field might split on that first rise and prepared ourselves for an early effort.

We started with just 25 riders, fifteen from the 50+ field and just ten from the 60+ field. A top five contender in the 50+ field had retired so Jude faced just two other riders that were close enough for a GC podium.

The first climb was taken at a moderate pace and the field stayed together.

For the next 45 minutes the pace was up and down but never hard enough to crack the field. There was tension in the peleton. It seemed to me that DJ was itching to put out some watts. Every smart rider knew getting into a break with DJ was a ticket to the GC podium. Smart riders also knew any break without Jude would feel the weight of five Fell Swoop jerseys pulling it back.

At about the twenty mile mark Z-Dog pulled a feather out of his cap. The pace was slow and he broke out of the field. I heard someone say 'Yeah Z'. I smiled. Then a voice said 'let him go'. No one reacted. Until someone did. DJ launched out of the pack and bridged up to Z-Dog. They rode away. All the Swoopers knew the deal was done. By drawing DJ out of the peleton Z-Dog virtually guaranteed there would be no more serious break attempts. The pace steadied and Fell Swoop took control of the peleton.

At the start of the second lap the peleton passed Z-Dog on the small climb. Each Swooper thanked him on the way by. He had burnt a bunch of matches helping DJ get away. Z-Dog was exhausted and frozen and retired not long after.

The weather started to catch up with me on the second lap. The snow and hail flurries continued on and off. When the road was wet my face endured a shower of road water spray. I was dressed for a dryish 45 degree day on a wettish 40 degree day. When the pace was slow I could feel the ice water creeping in. Each surge of speed slightly warmed my insides but it was never enough to completely push back the chill.

Fell Swoop continued to control the peleton. Sunday continued to offer surprises.

At about seven miles to go we were dealt a hay maker. The follow car pulled alongside to inform the peleton that the race would finish on the flats without the hill climb finish. There would be no chance for Jude to out climb his rivals. Darn.

We still had four Swoopers and we re-organized for a lead out and sprint finish. We did not know the location of the finish line.  As we neared Plain I warned 'we are running out of runway' and we started to assemble our train. Matt would light the fire, I would follow, and Jude would finish it.

There was no '1 kilometer to go' sign. The pace started to quicken as we passed through Plain. The highway bent left but we were directed straight and onto Camp 12 road. It didn't stay straight all that far and we pulled the trigger without knowing where the line was. Dutton pulled hard all the way to the first bend and I took over. The road pitched up and I was spent within fifteen seconds. Riders started coming around me. Then we heard yelling and a car horn and more yelling from behind.

We had passed the finish line some time earlier and didn't know it. I was deflated. I felt that the Fell Swoop team did everything in it's power to put Jude on the podium. I felt like our moment to shine was stolen. I shared my sentiments with my teammates.

The final stage didn't end as planned. All finishers in the peleton were given equal time and Jude retained third on GC. I wobbled and shivered back to the Vanagon happy to be out of the wind and out of my soaked kit. I said my goodbyes and was behind the wheel heading home and eating left over pizza within the hour.

Sunday's final surprise was positive. When I arrived at home I learned that the promoter did have a finish line. The promoter did award finish positions for the stage. While I may never know where that finish line was, my aggressive positioning landed me a third for the stage. And my first USA Cycling upgrade points. Jude sent me a message that he had picked up my podium prize: a six pack of beer. And Jonas, whom I will quote, sent "Nice job getting an accidental 3rd!" It was a crazy cap to a busy weekend of racing.

Epilogue

It took me 48 hours to decompress from an overwhelming weekend of racing. I participated in three new-to-me disciplines. I learned more about myself as a bike racer. I spent time with the team. I survived my first criterium.

My most impactful take away is that I am now an 'amateur bicycle road racer'. Four stages over three days and three disciplines means I'm no longer just a dirt racer looking in. I'm bonafide. Even if only in my own mind's eye.

The best part of the weekend was being accepted into the team. Gone are the feelings of being 'that gravel guy'. We shared a house. We shared the work. We shared the fun. My legs worked well on the road and that was because of the help I received from my teammates going into all four events. A few shout-outs:

Matt - I parked next to Matt before the first road race. I was freaking out inside and he gave me the gentle guidance and assurance I needed to unrev my stress motor. He also had the generosity to lead me out for my first ever top ten.

Jason - Quiet, calm, collected. I was taking cues from my teammates. Jason's mellow demeanor reminded me in real time that we are racing for fun not paychecks. Plus... he troubleshot the Vanagon charging system issue in under thirty seconds!

Jonas - He cooked for everyone. He shared thoughts on nutrition. He offered to help me with details of my training. And he reminded me before every event that I would be OK.

Z-Dog - His favorite discipline is the criterium and I leaned heavily on him for crit guidance. He gave me everything I needed and more to get me there, get me through, and keep me out of trouble. And, of course, that cold beer.

Jude - Despite his modesty Jude knows a thing or two about bike racing. His wisdom was appreciated. It boosted my confidence by no small amount when he trusted me enough to take my wheel when it mattered.

I'm proud to have ridden as a member of Fell Swoop. I'm proud we participated in Tour de Bloom as a team. I'm proud that we donned the Fell Swoop kit and demonstrated teamwork on the road. Did we win on GC? No. Did we have fun? Yes. Did we make a positive impression? Fer Sure.