This race was known as an absurdly difficult weekend of racing. An 11 mile TT with some good elevation gain Saturday morning, then a 65mi circuit with some climbing in the afternoon. Sunday would be a 125mi road race with
serious (10,000ft+) climbing. On paper it sounds pretty bad. In reality it was far worse.
The TT was exactly as expected: hard, grinding, and a bit tiring although given the next two days not a huge GC effect...this race was about keeping your legs under you. The circuit was far worse than anyone anticipated: it was a 16mi lap, but 7 miles was recently grated gravel/dirt. Loose, rocky terrain took out some of the field due to flats. The climb on the loop had a better dirt surface but it was still not great. The road race was properly savage. 5 miles of road, then 2 pretty damn challenging dirt climbs, on rocky dirt as opposed to regular dirt. People were getting flats left and right. There was no organized neutral support. I think a few fans reacted to this absurdity by volunteering support?
The Race:
TT: I had a bit frantic of a start - while backpedaling to get my shoes clipped in, my chain slipped off the gear. Hopped off the bike to get it back on and started the TT unclipped on one foot. Nothing serious, just frustrating. As a result I definitely ramped it up a bit harder than I should have. I hit a good, early groove and felt like I was devouring the pavement at a good clip - thanks to Andrew letting me borrow his 808/Disc Combo - neither of which I had ever ridden before. The first hills came and went with me digging a bit deeper than expected as I had my 30 second man in sight on longer straights. After that I tried to keep the speed high before more hills and passed one guy (my 90 second man) who was clearly not racing the TT. I got caught behind a horse trailer at one of the turns, made a relatively gutsy move, and safely got through the intersection. I caught my 30 second guy before the BIG downhill - hitting 50mph on an 808 front wheel is quite the thrill...if you like skydiving! He passed me on the downhills after that. I re-passed him and then snagged my 60 second man before the steep pitch at 8 miles...where I was overtaken by my 30sec man, who was crushing it! I couldn't hold him on the hill and he became my target for the last 2.5, fast miles...helping me catch my 2min man with about 1K to go. I was pretty deep in by the last uphill (as planned) and did everything I could to keep aero and keep pushing through the downhills. The last 500m were pretty damn miserable, but I hit the 200m uphill in good stride and kept speed until about 25m to go when the screws fell off! Except for going out a bit too hard, I laid down a real good TT - my heart rate was definitely lower than I thought I could push...but I guess my legs are still not quite back to being able to push my cardio.
Stats: 27th/75, 26:19, couple mins back on the leader (expected)
Andrew and I grabbed some awesome avocado tacos at The Rattlesnake in town for lunch before the circuit race. They were wicked good dude!
Circuit Race: 65 miles, 4x16mi laps, 7mi per lap on a KOM of dirt...rough dirt. This was hard. A lot harder than anyone in the field anticipated. And about as hard as I could imagine the race to be, given the firepower that was in the field. The circuit was mostly easy on pavement, then totally crushing it for the 7 miles on rock/dirt - a surface rather unnecessary to hold a non-cyclocross bike race on for more than a few hundred meters. First lap: heated as expected. A break went, pace was moving fairly well. No KOM contest in the field, but clearly the expected early race pressure. It was tough up the climb, especially not knowing what to expect. A few people got totally dropped, many more got gapped and then worked back to the peloton, but most of the pack held together. Lap 2 was a different story. I anticipated a similar pace, with more surges as people made efforts on the paved section. However, as we hit the dirt it was clear the mood had changed. The pack was fairly strung out, and gaps began to open even on some of the lesser (but still significant uphills). We turned right towards the KOM start and it was heated. People were
flying out the back as we hit the 2 steep kickers to the KOM. I was unsure if a chase group could catch the pack, so I made sure to keep fairly close contact. A group of 10 of us caught the 25 up the road pretty quickly, and a bunch others got back on the fast downhill back on pavement (the pacemaking slowed a lot after we left the dirt). Lap 3 was very tame - Erik Levinsohn kept a smooth, slow pace at the front as his teammate was up in the break, especially due to a horse on the dirt section up to the KOM and I yelled to the group that horse are VERY easily frightened in these situations. Thanks to a very skilled rider, the horse wasn't able to buck her off and she regained control as the pack slowed to a crawl to reduce any further disruption. The last time up the climb was obviously going to be the batshitcrazy race to the finish, that would not have any slow like there was on lap 2. I quickly became redlined, held the tail end of the pack for the first part of the KOM and up to the second steep section. I started to drift as I hastily analyzed my options:
1. Completely max myself out to keep contact through the KOM. Good thought, but the ensuing next 1K of dirt with 2 false flat sections would easily pop me unless the paced slowed drastically - which it was not going to by any chance. This would leave me completely fried and not with the lead group.
2. Let it go, try to push the false flat and
crush the early downhill to regain. Unlikely, but at least I wouldn't go beyond redline for nothing.
3. Sit up, wait for others, then work to reduce time losses.
I went with 2, especially because finishing Sunday's 125mi RR was kind of important to complete the whole stage race thingy. I lost sight of the leaders, caught sight of them, then they were totally gone. I saw no one behind so I tapped out the best effort I could manage for the final 6K, attempting to gain places on those who might be chasing. Sure enough, I saw three guys in the rear view gaining. I kept rolling, but with the understanding they'd catch me. As soon as they joined, I hopped in the paceline and absolutely crushed it to cut my and our losses. We came in a surprising 2ish minutes behind the peloton...clearly they were thrashing it out until the finish - which made it clear that choice #1 above would have been a huge mistake.
Stats: 75 starters, 65 finishers. 27th place (again). Moved up to 25th GC. Had I made the lead group - I would have had 18th place GC...
Road Race: One word.
Savage. The first two dirt climbs were AWESOME...if you did it on a less than 4 hour training ride. In a 6 hour, 125mi race not so much. The day after a TT and a brutal circuit, it was insane. Not to mention the
stupid number of flat tires that occurred. It was like someone asked an elementary school class what 2+2 was...everyone had their hand up (in bike racing, you put your hand up to signal that 1) you have a mechanical so the field can avoid you as you slip backward and 2) so the support vehicle knows it has someone in need of help). The first climb dropped over half the field, with a much smaller group grueling its way back to the pack than during the previous day's circuit. The second climb was like someone had put land mines on the course. People were popping and blowing up everywhere. It was absolutely insane. I was one of them, and people were telling others to "let them go" as they knew what was ahead. Dean Phillips, this guy Jason, and I (and a couple others whom I don't know by name) made huge, and I mean really really serious, efforts to claw back the leaders. They were in sight and we were closing the gap. I yelled to our group of 15 or so that if we could just rotate a few times we would regain contact. Amos quickly rebutted my prodding with "we are on a climb" and then "it's 4K long and it gets steeper and steeper and steeper." I cursed myself for the huge amount of effort I put in. I had dug myself a hole that would only be recoverable if we had caught the leaders and sat in for a while. It was clearly going to be a LONG day, seeing that we were just over an hour into the race...
The next 35 miles went as follows:
- three times of (climb, group splinter then regroup)
- lots of pretty serious fatigue
- five times of (people really not wanting to paceline, finally getting a paceline)
- even worse fatigue
- feed zone
- a bit of "light at the end of the tunnel"
- dirt
- a bit of "holy crap we aren't halfway"
- more fatigue
- then resurgence of energy as we swallowed a couple guys dropped by the lead pack
- pass staging area/parking lots where people probably looked longingly in desire as our next time by here would be in 60 more miles
- Jeremy Durrin swinging through, took the wheel car 25mins to get to him due to so many flats because he flatted while in the early break
Here's where it got interesting. We came up to the turn onto the dirt road we hit on the first time through. By this point there were no signs/directions, police, support, or volunteers showing the proper route to take. About 100m onto the dirt we stopped and discussed if this was the "right way", thinking it too absurd to actually take this twice in a race...we were right but had no way to know as no one had a phone to check on where the course was supposed to go. Pee break, more discussion, some cursing, and a lot of 'this is stupid'. One guy reasonably stated "There is no way I am keeping my wife waiting for hours while I ride without a clue of where we should be going". The only two who were unfaltered by our cause to complete this damn race were Amos Brumble and myself. We bid our fellow racers adieu as they - maybe intelligently - accepted a DNF and a reasonable finish to the day's work. Amos and I chatted, then suffered, then chatted, then Amos got a flat. I was smart and brought a PitStop! "Take that absurd bike race - you can't outwit me!" PitStop failed. Amos' flat was still very very very flat. "Well, I guess that PitStop was good in theory." Amos headed back towards Manchester in hopes that was the simplest and faster way back...with no phone he was left to walk or ride his flat. Ride the flat, he did...as I think anyone with tubulars would have.
Now was the moment of truth. I was 70miles into a grueling bike race. The gruppetto went from 10, to 15, to 13, to 2. Now it was down to either 1 or 0, all up to me. It was a no brainer. I forged on, knowing that 50 more miles solo was going to be rough. And given that I was already pretty darn shelled...it could only get worse. I had no phone, no way to fix a flat, no support, feeders, volunteers, or police. All I had was a fair bit of water, pretty destroyed legs, and ample food - I still had a sandwich, 2 PROBARs, and a pack of PROBAR Bolt - the new chews laced with a little bit of caffeine. Most importantly I had singularity. One person. One goal. One cause. One option. Finish the race. I had never DNF'd aside from irrecoverable mechanicals or a crash. Technically, I even finished the Exeter Crit after a really rough crash because I carried my bike through the finish. I spent the next 3+ hours (yes, I was rolling pretty darn slow by this point) in solitary confinement. This was due to a pretty insane stage race, poor support, not having any sort of dictation on where to go, volunteers and police leaving posts, and apparently some dude on a motorcycle started taking down signs that showed the course. I saw a handful on Sunday cyclists out on their stroll, people tending to their yards, and one wonderful lady who filled my bottles with water from "Milton Glacier: some of the best tasting water Vermont has to offer", which was some of the best water that touched my lips. Had I not had this kind lady - or someone else to help me, I would have been out of water by mile 90 with no way to get more. She asked where I was headed and said the finish line was about 8 miles away. I told her it was around 30 more miles. She asked "Why 30? It is just down the road here". I had a race to finish. I knew by this point I was THE caboose, the laterne rouge, the one-man gruppetto. Thankfully there was no time cut or broom wagon to tell me I had DNF'd by default. Over the next 30 miles I just kept eating as much as I could chew and swallow, drank steadily, and told myself "you will not dismount this bike, even though you are a complete idiot bringing only a 26t cassette today". 10 miles later, I highly considered getting off my bike to walk a hill. 10 more miles, standing didn't work, zig-zagging just made me feel dizzy, almost topple, and really just want to turn the bike back downhill. I couldn't push 200 watts on the flats anymore. I gave myself a time cut of 6:30. I got to the point where I kept repeating Andrew's cell phone number in my head (which I thankfully had memorized) so if I seriously could not continue I had a safety net. I saw people wave, I waved back if I wasn't going uphill - otherwise I nodded. My head still felt okay, my body was slowly starting to fail. I had run out of food aside from the package of Bolt chews, which I would not open until 10 miles to go. I went through the last feedzone. There was not a single person. Apparently Andrew waited for me as the people manning the zone dwindled and returned to the finish, to wait for me to eventually show. I considered grabbing one of the bottles/bags in hopes it had something in it.
 |
| The graveyard of food (plus one sandwich) from Sunday's festivities. I would like to think that nothing could stand in my way of finishing...but, honestly, without all this I might not have. |
When I got to 10 miles left I knew I would make it, more than 45 mins back from the leaders. I saw the 4K to go sign at the point where I began to get hit by the cloud of dizziness I had long pushed off thanks to bringing 2000+ kcal in my jersey pockets, thanks to those 350+kcal per Probars and my super dense homemade sandwich :). A car went by, I tried to draft it but I couldn't accelerate. There was no reprieve, except the mostly downhill last 3K. Sadly I would have to noodle the rest of the way and couldn't push to make it to the finish sooner. 500m...alas! I could see the finish line and made an excited "sprint" at 100 to go in anticipation of being done. I wanted to raise my hands as I finished, but I didn't want to crash as I crossed the line. Andrew was in his car chatting with a guy, who happened to be the race director, immediately past the finish line...as I told Andrew how insanely dumb "that friggen race" was (hahaha).
I told Andrew I rode alone the last 50 miles, he chuckled. I told him I needed to make sure that my time was taken down. I checked with the officials if they got my finish/time. They said I finished in whatever time it was. I hesitated and then asked them what place I was (I knew I was DFL - dead ----- last). 16th. I thought I misheard them. Wait "Only 16 people finished...?". "Yes. And that puts you into 15th place GC." I literally laughed out loud. 15th place usually means nothing in a bike race. But in a stage race, with over 50 starters, 15th is a magic number. It is the very last individual in the race who receives upgrade points...and by 'upgrade points' I mean upgrade
point.
1 single point. That alone was worth the 50 miles of solitude. But, alas, that was only the smallest part of what I gained in those 50 miles. I didn't get to the point of suffering, pain, or desperation that one hits and reaches enlightenment, but I sure learned some things about myself of which I previously wasn't quite sure...
