Ghosts of My Past - Estes Park Challenge - Stage 3 RR

This is it. the final stage. A 9 mile loop of hilly hell that we would have to traverse 5 grueling times. After the road race and time trial from yesterday, my legs are a bit fatigued. Maybe gelatinous would be a better description. I tried to scope out the course by car last night but ended up getting lost on some crazy canyon road in the dark. Oh well, sometimes I feel like the less I'm prepared, the better I do. Less pressure.

I get a short warm up in and it's time to line up. A few riders exchange nervous banter while waiting for the start. Why is it that people can't just sit in silence. Is it nerves? The gun interrupts my pondering and were off.

The peloton moves along with a comfortable ease, legs a bit fatigued from the previous day. The first 2 and a half to 3 laps continue at this pace, feeling almost too easy. I'm up near the front to keep out of trouble (and to keep an eye on the overall leader), riding along, maybe even getting a bit lax... When, bam! an attack goes clear. The leader isn't in it so nobody responds. I sit, watching the group of 5 or 6 riders pull away. I could catch them still, if I really put the hammer down but another minute and it will be a different story.

I go. This is a hands in the drops, head low, big ring pain fest, but I know I can bridge the gap. Inching closer, I notice a shadow on my left side. A glance back and I realize that I've towed the entire peloton up to the lead group. Good for me...

One big happy family again. Everyone plays nice until the first hill on lap 4. It's a steepish number, not particularly long but a leg burner just the same. Who decides to attack? The leader himself. Stockburger. No one chases... What the hell?? Do I have to do everything? So I go. I get right on his wheel and sit in. That wasn't too tough. I look behind me and we've put some distance between us and the peloton. This is crazy. I'm on a possible winning break with the overall leader of the Estes Park Challenge.

I take a turn or two up front until we get to the false-flat downhill that precedes the start/finish. Then Stockburger hides behind my ample draft and lets me pull him all the way to the next hill. We cross the start/finish line, 1 lap to go....

I'm feeling good but getting nervous. I can't panic but the gravity of my situation is setting in. I'm in second place and there is the slim possibility that I could win (if I don't do something stupid). I glance behind me as we start the climb, the peloton is back there but I don't think we'll have to worry about them catching up.


That's me in the dark blue looking a little haggard, sitting in second place in stage three of the Estes Park Challenge.

All the sudden Stockburger stands up and he's gone. Damn... I go WAY in the red just to match his acceleration and proceed to blow up... Damn. Next thing I know, the peloton is passing me and there's nothing I can do about it. I'm now with the stragglers that the peloton dropped. I get in with a small group of 5 or 6 and we take turns up front on the final downhill before the finish.

I've got nothing left for the finish. That last hill is going to eat me for breakfast and it seems everyone in the group knows it. They all attack in unison and I put forth everything I've got to pull even with the last guy in the group as we cross the line.

21st place. Stockburger won (not that I was surprised). Race over. That was my first and only stage race.

What did I learn from all this? Well, it was something another rider said to me that I've held onto over the years. A Vitamin Cottage rider came up to me after the race and told me that I rode really aggressively, and that he thought that if I had played my cards better, I could have beaten Stockburger. He said I worked too much at the front and chased down too many breaks over the course of the race. I needed to conserve more energy and not to expend it unwisely. And most of all, to be patient. It's funny, at the time, I was probably a little taken aback by what he said. But as I've aged, I realized he was absolutely right.

Final overall: 17th place.

Ghosts of My Past - Estes Park Challenge: Part 2

...Continuation from yesterday's post


Actual photos of the race courtesy of my wife - The start

The Peloton, with John and I tucked nicely in the middle, rolls out from the start. As soon as we reach cruising speed, I start making my way closer to the front. Ideally I want to be among the first 10-15 guys. John is content to stay mid-pack so I bid him farewell.

I pick my way through the pack by waiting for small gaps to open and very subtly, but deliberately, moving my front wheel into those gaps with the rest of my bike gradually following. If there's one thing I've learned about riding in a pack, it's no sudden movements. Even when moving quickly, it's done with a gradual merging so as not to upset the flow of the peloton. I get to where I want to be nearly without incident. Nearly, because at one point, I get forced onto the gravel shoulder, but work my way back onto the tarmac with an outstretched elbow (and some slight contact), encouraging the rider to my left to give me my strip of road back.

The first climb begins, some racers accelerate and some seem to move slightly quicker than standing still. the peloton no longer exists as one cohesive unit. The rider in front of me feels like he is going backwards, so I stand on the pedals and go around him. I do the same to the next couple of guys and all of a sudden, I'm up front. Just me and a rider in a blue Polo Sport jersey. He puts the hammer down and I grab his wheel, we manage a small gap, but as we summit and begin the descent, I look back to see the peloton already gaining.

I put my hands into the drops, and shift to the big chain ring as the Polo Sport rider and I increase our speed. Just behind me, I hear the familiar cacophony of multiple shifts being made, the peloton is back with us. The descent continues, pretty much straight down with a couple of sweeping bends, not too bad even for a nervous descender like me. We are going really fast now and a couple of racers begin to pass me. My nerves start to protest the speed. I look down at my computer... 54 miles per hour. What would happen if my front tire were to flat at this speed? I try not to think about it, but fear insists that the vivid imagery stay front and center in my brain. A sweeping right-hand bend sneaks up on me and I feel the overwhelming urge to grab the brakes, but I know all too well what happens with forceful braking mid-turn. I take comfort in the riders in front of me taking the corner faster than I am. If they can do it, so can I. I don't really believe it but that's what I keep telling myself so I can relax. That, and there's this little trick I play on my brain...

The trick plays off nothing more than classical conditioning. The brain is conditioned so that when the brakes are applied, the bike slows. Therefore, the squeezing of the brake levers is associated with the decrease in speed. What I do when a descent makes me nervous is rather than grabbing the brake lever, I grab the shift lever that sits right behind the brake and squeeze that. For those of you with Campagnolo Ergo shifters this will make sense. The brakes don't engage and the bike doesn't slow, but my brain associates that squeezing with slowing down. It helps calm the nerves. Any other bad descenders out there with Campy shifters should give it a try, it works pretty well.

We arrive at the bottom and I'm still with the group. The peloton chills out on the long flat section leading up to the next climb. Gotta conserve... Then what in the hell am I doing up front again? I move back a few riders to get some draft. This is where I want to be.

Next climb, not much to this one, not steep, no turns, not that long. Everyone stays together as we top the hill and begin the next descent that leads to the start/finish. I know from my course reconnaissance that this descent SUCKS. It's steep and twisty with a couple of off-camber 90 degree turns and a couple of switchbacks. Just the type of thing you want to negotiate with 100 other cyclists at 40 mph.

We gain speed and I'm already feathering the brakes in anticipation of that first turn. Riders pass me and I join in with a group of 5 or 6 guys going roughly my speed. We get to the first turn, it's an off-camber 90 degree asphalt monster waiting to shear the flesh off some poor racer's hindquarters. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of red on my right side, this guy is going to try and pass on the outside! He's got way too much speed going into the turn and he just continues in a straight line. I see him shoot off the side of the road, bike and rider totally airborne, and, out of my periphery, I see the cloud of dust and debris that marks his eventual landing. I imagine he's badly injured, there was an old post and wire fence running along the road and he may have hit it. Best not to think about it now, my nerves can't handle it.

After witnessing the crash, the peloton negotiates the rest of the descent with more caution. Great, now I can keep up... We round the last 90 degree, right hand turn (again, off-camber - which will be fun on the final lap when everyone is jockeying for position for the inevitable sprint) and begin the slight uphill straight to the start/finish line. I cross the line in about 10th position, right where I want to be at this point in the race. 5 more laps to go.


Lap 1, descent just before Start/Finish

Laps 2 through 5 go by with out event. I chase down a few more breaks and eat a gel packet on lap 4 and the Polo Sport rider and I launch a flimsy attack on the first climb of lap 5. The peloton catches us with minimal effort and I fall back into place in the group. The group descends and climbs as one and I'm right where I want to be coming into that final, tricky descent. If I can hold position, make it around that final off-camber right-hander... My uphill sprint is pretty good... I could win.

To be continued...

Ghosts of My Past: Part 1

During the winter months, as the temperature plummets, thoughts often turn to warmer times and of races gone by. Today, I find myself in just such a retrospective mood, where thoughts have turned to races in my past.

I've never won a race. Placed top 10 lots of times. Placed top 20 even more. Even stood on the podium once. But I've never been first across the finish line. Not sure whether it's a physical or mental thing, but my suspicion lies with the latter. My point is, the races I recount are the ones that stand out in my mind. Maybe they stand out because they were epic, or very difficult, or maybe I did something really well or made a dumb mistake. Either way, this won't be a brag-fest or a bloated recount of my palmares.


The Race: Estes Park Challenge Stage Race
Date: June 23 and 24, 2001

My first (and only) stage race. It was also my first race involving an overnight stay at a hotel. I was just coming off of a nice top 10 finish at the Andy Finch Memorial race so I knew my form was coming around, besides, I had been training like it was my job (much to the chagrin of my wife and my actual employer).

Being nestled in the Rocky Mountains, this race promised some REAL climbing. My climbing was above average so I thought good results were in my future. The goal I set for myself was a top 20 overall, my secret goal: top 10 with a podium spot on one stage.

Checking into the hotel was a very cool experience. Racers everywhere, multi-thousand dollar bikes laying against the front desk, lining the halls, it was crazy. I felt like a PRO, even though I was racing Cat 4. The "PRO" experience continued in a large conference hall where registration took place. We all gathered to receive a pre-race briefing, complete with course maps and racer schwag bags then it was dinner and off to bed. Tomorrow bright and early, the first stage awaits...

Slept like crap. Got up early, made some crappy coffee in the hotel coffee pot, then made some crappy oatmeal in the same pot. Did a quick check of the bike and my wheels, pinned on my numbers and suited up. The morning was cool and foggy, calling for arm warmers and knee warmers. I wanted to get in a practice lap and scope out the course before the race start.

The course was an 8 mile loop with a couple of decent climbs, unfortunately for me, both climbs were followed by blistering descents. The first one, I topped out at 49 mph, according to my computer. I'm a terrible descender, there wouldn't be any lasting breakaways for me. I will get ahead on the climbs and just try and stick with the group on the the way down. Back to the Start/Finish and it's almost starting time. Racers are out warming up, doing quick little bursts to and fro, like spandex clad hummingbirds. I find my buddy John amid all the chaos and exchange some nervous pleasantries. We talk strategy for a bit. He's talking about how we can get in a break and he'll work for me, but I know that once we start, I won't see him until the finish. John can climb and descend like crazy, but his starts are horrible and it takes his engine a long time to warm up.

Loudspeaker crackles on - "Cat 4 men - 5 minutes to start." Quick trip to the Porta-John and it's line up time. WOW... There must be over 100 racers lining up (actually it was 93). John and I nestle into the middle of the group. Loudspeaker again, telling us about the rolling enclosure, the yellow line rule, neutral support, etc.

"Racers get ready..."
...
...
...
Crack! The pistol fires and the peloton slowly rolls forward. I clip my foot in and the race has begun.

To be continued....