Month: January 2006

During Euro ‘Cross Camp, Geoff Proctor and I concluded that he (with USA Cycling) really nailed it when they made a top-30 finish at a world cup tantamount to discretionary selection to our world championship team: it is, in fact, really tough to finish in the top-30 at a WC. Consider the American results at world cup races since our own nationals. Only once has any of us ‘cross campers made top-30, and that was Trebon at Hofstade, the first race. His subsequent results were early DNF’s at Hooglede-Gits and Leivin, and a DNS at Hoogerheide, yesterday. In Wicks’ four tries, he finished 39th, made an early DNF, and then placed 36th at the last two—and he’s also a top guy. For Powers, it was two-laps down, one-lap down, an early DNF, and 38th place. Baker and I had three tries (as we weren’t in Europe for the French race): he had an early DNF, 38th, and, yesterday, 39th; for me, I placed 40th, 36th, and finally 40th. Even Page, who is by far our best rider, has had some trouble, finishing 41st and then not starting at Hooglede before hitting two top-20’s. The point isn’t that we suck. Rather, world cups are tougher than they often look.

They’re full of good guys who have a lot to race for. Yes, a WC is like a cash cow in that it’s the place to get UCI points: I think 40th is like 2nd at a C2, for example—not to mention only ten Belgians can start. On the other hand, you have to be here in Europe to do one, and you have to finish in the top-40 and be classified. Yup, it’s doable if I can do it, but our results prove that to do it well is a another thing entirely.

And what a fine line it is, sometimes. Take me for example. At the two Belgian rounds, I at least started the last lap less than one minute out of 30th, so that’s close. And yesterday, I finished just over a minute off that place. All it took was a terrible start. (In fact, all of us started poorly, in part because even though we’re all highly ranked by the UCI, so are all the other riders: we still line up in back at these later WC’s.) At most of the big races I’ve botched the starts, and that’s on me. Yesterday was no exception: I missed my left pedal, my shoe just slipping over it, the pedal then slamming into my calf and, in turn, grinding me to a halt. DFL up to the first turn! Even though not many more than fifty guys started, all of them are pretty good, especially early in the race. Therefore, any places yielded so early are so very hard to get back. Simply allowing any ten guys to make the first turn ahead of you means that you’ll spend the next hour just getting back to where you should have been all along. Back home, even I can start in the sixth row, ride in the mid-30’s for a lap, and eventually place in the top-ten or better. Not here.

The course was so fast that the first thirty guys in the race were still together after three laps of what would be nine. To move up on such a course is so hard and takes patience, timing, and, obviously, power. Anyhow, I managed to pass a handful of guys on the first lap and finally settled in a group that included Wicks and Powers, the front of the group not yet even in 45th. Baker was ahead, tailing a good group, the head of which was not quite 30th place. Barry and I seemed strongest of our group and so drove it, on the third lap catching and passing a small group that moved us up to the high-30’s. A few more guys, including Baker, soon faded back to us and swelled our group to ten, and we found ourselves racing for 36th place. After two laps, the Italian Fontana attacked the group while I was on the front of it, on the so-called “speed zone”, a flat pavement stretch just after the course crossover that was, you guess it, adorned with a radar. I believe our speed was 45kph then, which is quick for guys in the high-30’s. Anyway, Wicks covered the attack, but two other guys got in between Wicks and me. They were quickly gapped, and Wicks and Fontana went away and caught another Italian. I eventually got to the front at the start-finish, a cobbled climb that turns into a long, flat brick straightaway. I was strong there every lap, and again I went to the front to chase. But I couldn’t get across, and I was loathe to continue to try as Wicks is a teammate. I was also hurting, and the others didn’t seem to be interested in pushing the pace too much. I settled for racing with the group. We caught one more guy, and on the last lap there were eight of us together, racing for 37th. I was still strong, and so I attacked the group three times to get away. On the last attempt, I got a gap and held it for maybe1k, but Parbo (a Danish racer) got across and went around to win the group. Powers and Baker pulled around me with less than 100m left. We were 4:15min. down overall, and 20sec. off Wicks, who finished 36th, just behind Fontana.

Barry and I coughed up what could have been solid results mostly because of our dismal starts. What’s frustrating is that we felt pretty good. I know I can’t complain. Before the race, the Texans (including the old MTB haunch Will Black), who were here to contest the master worlds in Mol, asked me how I felt. I told them that I feel like I have, maybe, my best ever fitness and form. I also told them that I was scared by it. What I’ve worked for all season is to be at my best at this moment in time—and I did it. Now, I told them, I really have no excuses. Any poor performance will reflect either poor racing or, deeper, my limits as an athlete. When you feel this good, there are no excuses—and I don’t want any. And when you get this far, there is no tomorrow—and I don’t want one.

All season, you can always hope to feel better, always look forward to the next race—that’s what keeps you going. I guess I’m disappointed with yesterday’s race because I feel like I didn’t make the most of my fitness, my form. That worries me a little because it was my second to last chance, and I screwed it up. I was hoping, of course, to set precedent for next weekend, to gain momentum at the WC and then carry it to worlds. Yes, I felt good, physically speaking. I was the only one of our guys to race the C2 at Zoonebeke on Saturday, and it was a low-end torque kind of slog. Definitely, I was stung by it—that race, in those conditions, was not the best warm-up for the circuit of speed that is the GP Adri van der Poel at Hoogerheide, or for any WC for that matter. But still, I felt fine, so it’s not an excuse.

To steal from a famous coach, I had the “thinking body” but not the “dancing mind”. By choosing to race on Saturday, I proved that my mind was not with me. I knew I was already feeling good, so I didn’t need Zoonebeke to open up for Sunday. Yet, I immaturely resorted to a bit of self-sabotage, always erring to the side of racing too much, figuring more attempts mean a better chance at success. (I‘ve made great strides in the past two years to overcome this affliction, but I still haven’t kicked the habit!) There were more problems. I had no front brake because I forgot to check it before the start—the cable slipped in the yoke, so my brake lever bottomed out on the bar before the pads hit the rim. I was constantly trying to adjust it on the fly with my inline barrel, but to no avail, of course. In fact, this is what I was doing when Fontana attacked. In fact again, whenever I got to the front, I tried to fix it instead of pressing my advantage. (I didn’t want to change because the race was too fast.) I was also fussing with the zipper on my skinsuit, which was jammed—I wanted to unzip a bit to cool off but couldn’t. Finally, I never knew what lap we were on because I couldn’t find the lapboard. When we were on the last lap, I didn’t even know it. I would have gone sooner otherwise, as this guy is strong but not quick and needs a lot of real estate to get fully clear. All these problems could’ve been so easily avoided, even by a guy who has spent too much time in oxygen debt, like me. I’m fortunate that there still is a tomorrow—this time. Now, the proverbial eggs are in the one basket. I desperately want to put my good form to good use.

All this—in a sideways manner, at least—brings me back to the numerical discussion that I began with. When Barry and I went to get some espresso this afternoon, we talked about our goals as bike racers. I was in a good mood because, still feeling strong, I put in well over three hours on the bike today, after a double weekend of racing and two days of solid training before that. Barry had a great recovery ride with his coach (who is Geoff Proctor), so he was also feeling it. Yet, both of us were a little disaffected by how things were going: we were not satisfied with our results. I can only speak for myself, but I have long ago abandoned goals based on how I place in races. I’m not the best, so I can rarely make a play at winning a big race. I mean, I’ve never even won a UCI race of any stripe back home. Here, of course, winning isn’t even an option. I’m realistic, but I’m also driven to succeed. It’s just that I define success in a relative way: I want to perform better than before, constantly improving until I finally reach—and acknowledge—my plateau as an athlete. Therefore, at worlds next Sunday, not only do I want to ride a flat-tire-free race (unlike last year) and finish on the lead-lap (like last year), but I also want to ride a bit stronger than last year, when I felt like I was missing something, as if I was not at my best. Sometimes, however, you can give it a number. However modest it may sound, I would like to be in the top-30 at Zeddam. For me, that will not be so easily attained, and whether or not I do it, I know I’ll suffer—badly.