A Hard Days ..........

Maybe it was bad karma from my road ride last weekend.  Maybe BJ put the mojo on me for running him off the road.  Whatever, I came down with a head cold last Wednesday.  According to the OMTP (Old Man Training Plan) this was to be expected as the training hours increase so does the chance to pick up a bug.  It was just what I needed going into a race weekend.

                                 Ok, everybody who's going to beat me today please raise their hand.


I'm normally excited about racing and look forward to it, not this time.  I was dreading riding 2 hours in 90 degree heat while snot ran down my cheeks.  Anyhoo, we headed to Dauset for the 3rd round of the Georgia Series early on Saturday morning.  There was a time trial scheduled for 4:00 that afternoon and with it being Memorial Day weekend and all I figured I-75 would be a zoo, I was right.  We got there in plenty of time to take a full lap of the XC course before the TT.  Gone Riding was running the trail backwards over the famous Huff and Puff section this year.   Great, it had 4 rock climbs.  Yea , yea, I know, they might not have been much of a climb for some people, but for me, they were a challenge.

Fortunately the TT used only the flowing section of the course and at 4.5 miles it wasn't a killer.  We did climb what they called Pine Mountain at the end, and yes it hurt, but I managed to get the best time in my class.  So did the kid.  Even with a cold, once I started pedaling, most of the symptoms faded, except the dry throat.  I just couldn't seem to drink enough water.  The top 4 in my class were there so while I gained a point or two I didn't get a big leg up on anyone in the series.

On the way to our hotel after the TT we ran into a solid line of traffic.  Seems two semis had collided on 75, caught fire, started the woods on fire, and had north and southbound traffic stopped.  These folks were trying to get to Atlanta using this little two lane road.  After taking an hour to go 5 miles we got to the hotel, can you imagine how happy I was?  It was a good thing I had made reservations as the lady in front of me got the last available room.  I had planned on going to the next exit north to eat but that wasn't going to happen so we ordered pasta delivered to the room.  The kid and I walked over to the Mc Donalds/gas station to get some snacks and something to drink.  It looked like one of those scenes from the end of the world.  Trash all over the place,a smoky haze hanging in the air, all kinds of different people walking around, the line for the ladies bathroom stretched all the way into the hall, the restaurant was packed, I didn't hear one person speak English.  Back out in the parking lot it was a mad house as drivers maneuvered trying to get to the gas pumps or just to find a place to park to get into the Micky D's.  I half expected to see zombies coming off the I-75 exit ramp.

Things were cleared out by the time we left for the XC race on Sunday morning.  My cold symptoms had faded but I still wasn't in the best frame of mind to race.  After our warm up I got to the starting line early, I learned my lesson last year about this narrow start and wanted to get on the front line.  Of course they delayed the start 15 minuets.  When the whistle blows we get off to a well mannered start, old guys are like that.  I wanted someone else to take the point and both Clydesdale and FRSS (who brought a geared bike this weekend) were glad to oblige.  We settle into a "hey it's 90 degrees" pace and cruised for a while.

I let another rider by me who I had beaten easily the last two races, figuring I could get him when the time came.  Fourth!  I've been here before.  We were still all together when we hit the first little rock climb.  Clydesdale, who was in first, dropped a chain.  We piled up behind him grunting and cussing.  Third!  I ran the next couple of climbs which didn't take much longer than riding but really took the wind out of me.  I came through the scoring chicane third on the first lap.


My beautiful wife handled the water bottle at the feed zone perfectly.  I had drained the first one and started sucking on this one immediately.  I just couldn't seem to get enough water.  All of the sudden Santa Clause comes by me.  Fourth!  We're still in a tight group and when we get onto the only wide trail we all draft past FRSS who was in first.  Third!  At the end of that section Clydesdale snakes by me.  Fourth!  As we get to the little rock climb the "guy that I beat easily" was off his bike and holding his leg.  Cramps.  Third!  Well ok, I thought, I'll take a third feeling like I do.  If I can just keep this pace.

On the last climb, maybe a mile from the finish, the first cramp hits.  I'm almost out of water and not feeling very good.  I wasn't happy to see FRSS come huffing by me on the hill.  He encouraged me but I was done.  I thought I was going to have to get off and push.  Fourth!  And that's where I ended up.

The kid got a second!  Climbed all the climbs (mostly), and was pumped at the end. 

At the finish I told those guys in my class how much I hated them and they just laughed.

I hope it was just being sick that caused me to fail.  I am looking forward to the next race so that's a good sign.

Has the OMTP let me down?  Did I not follow it correctly?  Or is this my potential?  Then again, maybe it's BJ voodoo.

The Day I Almost Killed Big Jim

It started like most days start that involve a certain amount of tragedy.  Clear and cool for the time of year, but nothing really out of the ordinary.  It was Silk's 40th birthday and we were riding to Thomasville Ga. from Tallahassee on the road.  A small group assembled at Zone 5 at 9:00 am, little did we know how the day would end.

Big Worm, Lil Chris, B, Silk, BJ (Big Jim), and I rolled an easy pace through the maze that is Killearn.  We picked up Lil Ball and Chad at Bradley's Country Store and the yellow sign game started.  Oh, you don't know what that is?  This group has had a tradition (if you want to call it that) of sprinting to yellow signs, you know, street signs with a yellow back ground.  Not only those but city limit and state line signs, these count even more.  That's where the trouble started.

In the beginning I was content to not go for any signs.  These Silk rides tend to offer more challenges than are originally stated so I held some energy back.  But not BJ, oh no, he's out of the saddle on every sprint, picking up the pace when he's in front, and riding out in the wind when he's not.  I mean the guys an animal, I suspect horse steroids, really, have you seen his calves?

Anyhoo, as we approach the town of Micosukee (sp?) Lil Ball slides up next to me and whispers "the city limits sign is just around the corner, go for it".  I should have been suspicious, he is rarely nice to me.  But, like an old fool I start to sprint from the back, going around BJ and Big Worm who are watching each others legs to see who jumps first.  "Ha, got the jump!" I think to myself.  It is at this time that my limited roadie training and my extensive moto racing experience converge, and not in a good way, at least not for BJ.

Let me explain, in moto if you're in front you "own" the line.  In other words you are allowed to drift to the inside and cut off your opponent..  Now he can always ram you but it is good practice to just shut off.  So, since I began the sprint on the outside toward the center of the road when I heard someone on my right jump, I naturally just moved over to my right.  I can remember thinking "I'll just cut this guy off".  All you roadies just let out a collective gasp didn't you?

Big Worm had been telling me I needed to get used to being "bumped" on a road bike, so when I felt a sweaty arm up against my right arm I assumed I was getting "bumped" and just pushed back, all the while continuing to drift toward the edge of the road.

Apparently in cycling this move is frowned upon, and not expected.  I heard "David, oh shit!" and looked to my right just in time to see BJ leave the road headed toward the ditch.  I watched in horror as BJ lept a culvert, dodged a mail box, and ducked a speed limit sign (I've been telling you this guy is awesome haven't I?), finally bringing his bike to a stop.  I hollered an apology but kept on going.  Why, you may ask?  Two reasons: 1. I thought he might beat my ass, 2. I still wanted to get the sign.

As Lil Ball said afterwards "hey, a win's a win". 

                                                       Yea, now who's your daddy?

Grand Funk

Last night, on our way home from another great Tuesday evening MTB ride, B was reading, and I was listening to the classic rock channel on XM.  The easily recognizable drum entrance to "We're an American Band" by Grand Funk came on.  I started pounding on the steering wheel while B looked at me with that "now what" look.  So he got to hear the story again.  I know I've told him about this song and what it reminds me of at least a couple of times.  Sometimes I think he's just humoring his old man by letting me tell it again.

The story starts with  "Dino had this on 8 track".  Which of course gets the question from B "what's an 8 track?".  How do you describe them?  After we get past that I get into the story.  And yes, I had a friend named Dino.

It was 1974, Gatorback Raceway, just outside of Gainesville Fl.  I had a 1972 Kawasaki 175 with a Hooker exhaust, plastic Preston Petty tank, and a 21" front wheel.  The trickiest bike I had ever owned.  Three of us were piled in Dino's green Chevy van, complete with green shag carpet, and of course the 8 track player.  Dino had a brand new Honda CR 125 Elsinore, the bike that would change the face of motocross.  We turned off the paved road onto the entrance to the track and saw the field full of vans and pickups (this was long before the days of motor homes).  Cue the American Band song.

The race was a 4 hour hare scrambles which was run using the MX track and some single track through the woods surrounding it.  The event was set up to be run as a team event.  I didn't learn this until the riders meeting.  Yea, I know, but give me a break, it was my first race.

The exact details of the race are fuzzy, which makes sense when you consider this happened 38 years ago.  I just remember coming through the scoring barrels and Dino (who had quit because he was tired) yelling "all you have to do is finish and you trophy!".  This was my first case of trophy lust.  I am still surprised what I'll do for a shiny piece of plastic.

Well I finished third, got protested by a father who claimed I changed riders (my introduction to moto dads), and could barely walk to trophy presentation.

By this time B was already back to reading his book and the song was over.  But on my side of the truck it was still 1974, I could smell the Castrol oil and the dust.  I still have that trophy on a shelf out in the shed.  "Out on the road for forty days".

Damn it was good to be 18 in 1974.

Try It, You'll Like It

I don't know if you're really interested in hearing what I think about certain cycling products, seeing as how I have only a couple of years in this sport.  But bear with me here, I do feel I'm qualified to test products that have an effect on how comfortable the ride is.  You see, as you get older, you lose a little padding.  Areas that once had a layer of well, something, now seem to be, boney.  Too much information?  Think it won't happen to you?  Just wait.

Anyhoo, Todd at Higher Ground Bicycle Shop gave me a can of Dry Goods.  He also gave a can to BJS only he got the menthol variety, more on that later.  This stuff is supposed to be used in places where you would normally use Chamois Butter or some other anti chafing product.  It is an aerosol and the original formula looks, feels, and smells like foot powder.  You spray it everywhere, yes, everywhere.

I was a little skeptical when I first went to apply it.   I considered the fact that Todd might be playing a trick.  So I tested it on my arm.  No ill effects, so I applied it to the areas it was meant to be applied to. 

At first it is COLD.  It quickly dries to a white powder.  It has a pleasant scent, not too strong.  But the best thing about it is it works!  I've used it for two 10 hour riding weeks (I know, 10 hours is a lot less than you ride), which included a 3 hour road ride in 85 degree weather, and have been pleasantly surprised.  On longer rides I might use a chamois cream along with the Dry Goods but for every day use it works just fine by itself.

I figured BJS would love this stuff, so when I went to tell him about it I was surprised to find out that Todd had given him a can to try.  BJS didn't like it at all and gave the can to me since I was so fired up about it.  Turns out he was using the menthol formula.  How bad could it be?  Before my next ride I tested a spot on my arm, cold at first, a stronger odor, but after it dried it felt just like the original formula.  "BJS is just being picky" I thought.  So I applied it to the areas it was meant to be applied to.

Oh my goodness!  It felt like I had dipped myself in a bucket of ice water.  I figured it would go away once it dried.  Nope, it lasted for a good 45 minutes.  I thought something was wrong!  BJS never mentioned anything about this when he handed me the can.  Was he just being sly?  Or was he ashamed to say he might be a little (no pun intended) sensitive in certain areas?

I have no idea what the product will cost.  It is not as messy as creams to apply.  The can is still over half full and I've used it every day.  It works on feet and anyplace else you might chafe.  It washes out without leaving any trace.  I cannot recommend the menthol formula, maybe it was just me, but the discomfort wasn't worth it.  So if you even care, I do recommend the original formula, good stuff.

In and Around the Lake

Santa from last weeks race got the hole shot and I was determined to not let him get away.  I settled in behind him after elbowing two other old men off his wheel before we hit the first section of single track.  It was 86 degrees and dry in Winder Ga. last weekend.  The second race of the Gone Riding Georgia State Series was held at Ft. Yargo State Park on it's fantastic 10.5 miles of single track.  And I was determined not to just trail ride on the first lap like I did at Conyers the week before.

On a look back over my shoulder I could see 5 of us in our lead group but the pace was not punishing so I figured every body was content to let Santa pull for a while.  I was forcing myself to drink whenever we hit an open spot, which wasn't very often.  I noticed Santa never took a swig and figured this wouldn't work out so well for him if he didn't stay hydrated.  He made his first mistake at the only rock section, almost going down and taking me with him, but in good Santa fashion he apologised.  Not long after that I eased by him but so did Mr. Fully Rigid Single Speed (FRSS) who also passed me in the process.

When we hit the feed zone at the end of our first lap we were still in a tight group.  Ham, my nemesis from last year's series, taunted me as he got around when I went for a fresh bottle.  I dumped cold water on my head which seemed to rejuvenate me so I stood up, passed Ham back, and caught up to FRSS.

All of the sudden feeling froggy I passed FRSS on the only open section, hoping to put two riders from another class between us as I did it.  It worked but only until we got to the long hill.  I still don't know how that guy climbs so good on a single speed.  He said "let's work together" but I could tell I had burned my matches so I watched him slowly pull away.  I always encourage riders when they pass me.  Even if they're in my class.  I don't hold them up unless they have earned a little dose of rolling chicane due to previously being impolite.  It's just the kind of guy I am.

Anyhoo, the Clydesdale rider who had just moved up to my class and had gotten third the week before, was on my wheel.  He seems to finish strong, maybe I should buy him a box of donuts.  Now I was in third.

With 5 miles to go I started to feel like puking.  I could see another rider from my class behind me, even though he was a ways back.  I thought "if you want it you can have it", I'm such a loser.  I could hear a rider breathing hard behind me.  He gasps "not in your class man".  I let him by and sneak a look over my shoulder, no one there.

Since I almost got nipped at the line at Conyers I tried to keep focused and managed to cross the line in third.  My first sport podium.  Yes, I am awesome.

The kid met me at the finish with a big goofy grin on his face.  You never get tired of seeing your kids smile.  At 16 they seem to come less and less.  He had gotten 2nd and was full of race stories.  If you know him you know how strange it was to hear him.  He doesn't believe me but I was happier for his success than mine.  And yes, I think that 3rd in the 50+ sport class is somewhat a success.