Rubber Side Down

Here I was lamenting the rapid end of the ‘cross season, and thanks to one Beatles-haired teenager, we got another chance to get all “Belgie” this past Sunday.

Skyler Trujillo of Fort Collins made the podium at Nationals last month, which resulted in a spot on the USA world’s team. Badass. And to send him to the race in the Czech Republic, his dad and sponsors organized a race with the help of the oh-so-bike-friendly New Belgium Brewery. What’s not to like about that? So Rob and I loaded up all our junk and headed up there, where we found several of our Blue Sky Velo peeps.

Rob can’t believe Andy Harmon ripped off his tall-sock racing method.

Here’s Rob cruising to an effortless second place.

The four BSV punx dominated the Men’s B, sweeping the podium in vigorous fashion. Our man Bill Teasdale took the win.

Then it was time for my race, just as the day got warmer and the course got muddier. It was a super fun setup, with tons of tight turns, snowdrifts, and punchy climbs. I felt a bit out of it, since I hadn’t raced cross or even ridden the mountain bike in weeks, but during the warmup lap I started to feel the vibe.

The whole turnout for this race was rather small, so I wasn’t surprised to see only five women on the start line. Me and my teammate Kayla were the only Blue Sky-ers, since our fast chick Susan was out with a torn hamstring. (She was everywhere on the course cheering, though, which was pretty killer.) There were two ladies on the start with mountain bikes, which weren’t a bad choice for the conditions — except for being heavy.

The start dude hit the siren button on his megaphone and we were off. Historically my M.O. at cross races is to sprint off the front, blow up spectacularly, and free-fall back to 15th like a spent rocket booster jettisoned off the Space Shuttle Atlantis. You could say that it’s the first sign of insanity, to keep doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. But basically, sprinting is the only thing I’m good at. And let’s face it, it feels good to do something you’re good at. But I never have the fitness to back it up, and exploding one lap into a cross race feels like hell. So I’ve finally stopped charging off the line like it’s a drag race.

I let the fat-tire twins lead out, and tailgated them mercilessly in the turns. When we got to a big snowfield along a dirt road, I let my skinny tires cut through the slush and made my pass. I was starting to get overly excited (as racing does to us all), and I was sure that one of these girls would pass me back at any time. But I pulled ahead and seemed to be staying there.

One of many bank-teller turns out in the prairie.

My legs didn’t feel like all that, though, and neither did my back, so subsequent laps found me on foot up the muddy run-ups.

Sure enough, I was starting to get a bit redlined. The second-place girl got within 15 seconds of me while I slowed down to recover, and I was pretty sure it was all over but the cryin’. But I concentrated on all those things you think about when you’re suffering: Relax. Breathe into your belly. Pedal in circles. Look where you want to go. I should have invested in Apple stock. Hey, pay attention, dumbass.

And eventually, I began to widen the gap again. To my extreme pleasure the last lap was upon me, and I felt like I could give whatever was left. I pulled into the finish with a decent lead. It feels very weird to win a race, even when I know it’s just because (a.)not many people showed up and (b.) the course was technical enough to suit me. But hey, I’ll take it!

Eddie Clark interviewed me for Mountain Flyer….I tried not to sound like a jackass, but I probably failed. I have zero ability to be on the wrong side of the camera/audio/video.

Check out Eddie’s work here at Mountain Flyer.

After the race we blasted our helpless gears and bearings with the powerwasher, drank some beers and failed to win anything in the raffle. Best of all, we got to hang out with our race-day buddies, which we don’t often see in the off-season.

And lastly, best of luck, Skyler! Rip some legs off.

And now back to our regularly scheduled base miles.

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If anyone out there was planning on riding Picture Rock this weekend, be forewarned that it’s closed.

I got this from the Boulder Mountainbike Alliance today:

“The Wild Turkey and Picture Rock trails have been temporarily closed at Heil Valley Ranch due to concerns for damage to the trail surface and surrounding vegetation.
Wapiti, Ponderosa Loop and Lichen Trails will remain open.
Current trail conditions in the lower elevation Front Range are generally poor due to the recent moisture, warm temperatures and freeze/thaw conditions. Moreover, the slope orientation and soil type exacerbate the problem even more for these two trails. Finally, with weather forecasting continuing mild temperatures over the weekend, staff has initiated this temporary closure. Signs are being posted today. The two trails will reopen when staff make the on-site determination that conditions have improved and are stable.
Feel free to contact Michael Bauer at 303-818-0615 with any questions.”

So if this bums you out, consider doing this instead.

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to my last post, winter can also be fun.

Behold, the First Annual New Year’s ‘Cross Fondo.

Nearly 40 people showed up on the first day of this fine 2010, ready to rock. The ride was organized by the ever-passionate Greg Keller, who is seen here addressing the troops before they embarked on a series of 360-turn-downs in the dirt jump park.

Actually, before I go any farther, I think I will open this post up to a guest blogger. Here’s Rob Love’s version of events.

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Dan F, known to some as Pale Power, uses the now patented JPow start to holeshot the first race of the year.

Hollywood getting his Tokyo-drift on, BoulderCX style. Take that, guy who is somehow not Paul Walker!

Heading east of the tracks, into the great white yonder.

Marty and I in a cheezy albeit genuine photo. Hey, we’re just psyched to be riding!

Not too shabby for the first day of the year.

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Shore ‘nuf, tomorrow is the State Cyclocross Championships. Should be crazier than a metaphysics conference, especially since it includes one of these:

Rob and I will be out there slaying it. In our minds, at least.

And then Sunday’s event should be interesting, to say the least:

I gotta go race it just to see if it lives up to this overly dramatic video. Show up in your boner pants, everyone.

And lastly, I have not forgotten about mountain biking. Next week I’m headed off to Albuquerque to visit friends, family and the ‘Querq’s trail system. Check back here if you’re curious about the riding down there. I’ll have the laptop along.

p.s. — I just now noticed that Sunday’s racers get free burritos and Mix1. Giggity!

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Also known variously as Riding Around With a Number On, Embarrassing Yourself for Forty Minutes, and Showing Off Parts of Yourself In a Skinsuit That No One Should See.

However, if you’re feeling good and the course is fun, who cares what other people think. Thus were the circumstances at the Schoolyard Cross, held Saturday at Alexander Dawson School.

The course was bumpier than a teenager’s face, but I still thought it was a great time. It also suffered from Bank Teller Syndrome, with many nonsensical 180-degree turns, but hey, who doesn’t need to work on their cornering?

Of course, all this was overshadowed by the mud pit, which was created not by mother nature but by my friend Boups and a few Dawson students with a garden hose.

While it’s true that bike racers can be a whiny bunch, I had to agree with people who were a bit exasperated by this. Everyone had spent hours cleaning their bikes after the Blue Sky Velo Cup, which was the real deal where mud was concerned. To end up with the same chore the very next weekend — when all this grit does real damage to equipment — for the sake of a fake mud pit felt lame.

That said, the slop was easy enough to ride so long as you weren’t throwing elbows in a group, and I can handle the job of bike washing without much complaint. I’m a mountain biker, after all.

Aside from that, the course held some other cool bits: a funky rise up a contour trail before hitting a steep barrier run-up; a great view of the mountains while approaching said run-up; a couple of more slalom-style turns; and a short climb that for some reason was great to charge up. (I can’t believe I just said that. I hate climbing.) There was also a longer, way bumpier hill that was utterly taxing, and of course it was located in direct line of sight of almost every spectator. And finished with a set of barriers. I don’t think I need to say any more.

But I felt pretty decent, which is always a pleasant surprise, and after each grind up that hill I was able to recover and start charging again.

This must be a sign of – gasp! – fitness coming on, at least on some feeble level. Sweet.

After making some decent passes and not getting passed by anyone else, I squeeked onto the finishing straight right before the start of the men’s 4s.

But contrary to how this might look, I was not last. I was 13th out of 21, which is certainly a sign of improvement on my part.

Huge thanks to Rob for shooting these photos (his first attempt with my neck-breaking DSLR), carrying my spare wheels on his back while we rode to the racecourse, and just being rad.

You can see some more photos of the race here.

Next week’s racing brings us back to Xilinx, hopefully in drier conditions, for the next Boulder Racing event. Get there!

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It’s hard to make anyone outside the cycling community understand the addictive nature of this formerly uber-niche sport, which is now gaining popularity faster than the cheerleader who’s putting out.

Check out the race last weekend at Valmont Bike Park’s groundbreaking:

It’s safe to say that once this park is done, I won’t be getting any more questions like, “Is this a real sport? Why are these weird people running around carrying around their bikes?”

In spite of this, I make an effort not to take cyclocross too seriously. Although I have a rad bike this year, I don’t really train. I ride whenever I can, practice a remount or two, and call it good. Once that’s done, I like to just show up at races, ride hard, and have a good time.

Unsurprisingly, you’ll see that my results reflect this. I get my ass handed to me on a regular basis; I’m surprised I can do anything other than hold onto my own butt cheeks. Which, to be perfectly honest, is not as fun as it sounds. But I’m not too concerned. I’m there to hang out with my teammates; ride corners and and sand pits better than the roadies; heckle other racers and eat bratwurst. Not necessarily in that order, although it’s always good policy to leave the brats for the end.

And every week, I watch the pros and get inspired. Damn, those guys make it look downright graceful, as they dismount, float the barriers and glide back onto their bikes, like a flamenco dancer whirling his partner back into his arms after a dramatic flourish at arm’s length. Occasionally, the partner trips in her high heels or he drops her, but their saves under pressure are equally amazing.

It makes me want to do better, and I indulge in glowing, slo-mo daydreams of skimming over the barriers in efficient, athletic style. But then I remember that the barriers come up to my knees and I run slower than Rush Limbaugh escaping a burning Twinkie factory — and my fantasy comes to a predictable, record-scratching halt.

But oh well. It’s more fun than a person should really have while breathing too hard. Come check it out.

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