Out of Context Quote of the Week

“Nothing like anal glands for a pick-me-up on a Wednesday afternoon.”

This is how it’s done!

After another season of watching my thrill-a-minute bar cam videos, I thought you, my adoring fans, would enjoy seeing some bar cam footage from the other end of the talent spectrum.

Specifically, the end of said spectrum populated by cross racers who actually possess, you know … talent.  The tippity-top of the spectrum, not to put too fine a point on it.

The best riders in the world, is what I’m saying.

So, here is 6 time Swiss CX Champion Christian Heule’s bar cam footage from the UCI Cyclocross World Cup race in Lievin, France.

Out of Context Quote of the Week.

“I’m gonna come up there and smell your face!”

“… drive you out to the middle of nowhere, leave you for dead?”

Northeast Velo Cross Race Report

As I drove to Londonderry, NH for the Northeast Velo Cross, I had no illusions of improving upon, or even coming close to repeating, my 11th place finish at this race last year.  If you’ve been following my season — and if you are … WHY? — I’ve made it abundantly clear that my fitness is in the toilet.  Mostly, this is because I’m unspeakably lazy when it comes to getting myself out on my bike whenever I have the opportunity to train.

BUT … I’ve been having more fun this season than ever, no doubt because my busy new life as a dad and husband has given me a new appreciation for how therapeutic playing in the dirt on my bike can be.  I feel like I’ve earned the playtime, which makes racing that much more enjoyable.

Anyhoo, after injuring myself in the parking lot, my already low expectations hit rock bottom.  Today would be a day of industrial strength suckitude.

And that’s … okay.

The course?  Awesome!  See for yourself:

I struggled, I flailed, I got passed.  A lot.

With three to go, as I played in the BMX track — catching sweet air off of all the jumps — I passed a couple of spectators who immediately yelled, “C’mon Mahk!” Since my name is not “Mahk”, I stole a quick glance over my shoulder, which revealed none other than Mark McCormack bearing down on me.  Knowing that I suck, and that Mahk the Shahk is the opposite of me, I quickly deduced that I was about to be lapped.  So I moved over, Mark and his lead group companions roared by me like I was in reverse, and three laps to go instantly became two laps to go.

Since my legs felt like cement at this point, I decided that one less lap was a good thing.

On the last lap, I was on empty.  Heading into the run up, I shouldered the bike, started jogging up that nasty climb, and halfway up, my legs … quit.  That hill broke me.  I started walking. Then I looked up at the guy who’d been standing there, alone, at the top every lap, offering encouragement to every racer grinding their way up the hill.

It was quiet.  We were the only two people there.  We made eye contact, and I’m sure he could see that I’d hit my limit.  He didn’t yell, he wasn’t frantically ringing a cowbell … he just looked at me and in a calm, reassuring voice said, “Don’t give up. C’mon, you can do it. Keep those legs moving!“

I started running, again.  I had to.  I couldn’t let this guy down.  So I started running.  And he kept encouraging me, “That’s it, run it out! Great job!“

I was gasping for breath too hard to thank him.  But if by some chance he reads this:

Thank you, Stranger At The Top Of The Run-up! You didn’t know me from Adam, but you wouldn’t let me quit.  You gave me encouragement when I needed it most.  And I am grateful.

I managed to finish the lap, raising my hands to the heavens as I crossed the line.  By some miracle, I didn’t finish last.  Two people had worse days than me, so I can’t complain.  But one more lap, and I would have been DFL.

I’m really glad I got lapped.

I want to go to there!

I mentioned the Miniatur Wunderland in Hamburg, Germany a in a post few years ago.  It’s the worlds largest model railroad.  It was pretty impressive then.

Evidently, they’ve been busy over there in Deutschland, because they’ve added a fully functional airport, cops pulling over speeding cars, two people humping in a van and HOLY GOD THOSE LITTLE MODEL PEOPLE WERE FISHING A CORPSE OUT OF A RIVER!

Seriously.  It’s at the 3:00 mark.

Now that’s what I call a disturbing attention to detail.

Frankly, it’s becoming a little creepy at this point.

MRC CX race report.

Gotta do a little catching up, here.

The Minuteman Road Club Cyclocross has, in the space of two years, become one of my favorite races.  Nice venue, super fun course, just an hours drive away, friendly faces everywhere, humble folks without temptation, ample parking day or night … what’s not to love?

I got there in plenty of time to do a few warm-up laps.  The course was changed a bit from last year, and I think it had a much better flow this time around.  Of course, the famous flyover was there, but instead of running up nearly vertical stairs, we went up a ramp with strapping nailed across every couple of feet.  A bit sketchy, to be sure, and I wasn’t looking forward to negotiating that in a crowd.

After watching the first race of the day, I jumped out for one more lap before my race.  Coming into the flyover, I found the course workers re-routing the course … around said flyover!  Apparently, the organizers had decided that I was right about the sketchiness quotient — even though I hadn’t actually said anything to anyone — and took the flyover out of play for the duration of the days festivities. *

Of course, the change didn’t make things any easier, because in place of the Ramp-of-Terror™, they gave us a slow speed ninety degree turn in the middle of a giant mud puddle.

Well played, MRC.  Well played.

I somehow found myself staged near the front — I was sure that, at any moment, someone would realize I didn’t belong there and banish me to the back of the grid like the interloper I was — and when the whistle blew, I unleashed my non-existent sprint and was promptly passed by all the guys I should never have been in front of in the first place. **

In other words, it was a typical start for me.

After fighting my way through the scrum in the chicane section — and running into Russ Campbell in the process (sorry Russ) — and nearly going ass over tea kettle when I went into the barriers too hot, I actually got into a fairly good rhythm and put together some decent laps.

Well, decent for my no-fitness-having ass, anyway.  Turns out, it doesn’t really matter how decent you’re riding, if the leaders are over five minutes ahead of you, you’re going to wind up with a pretty poor result.

Still, I managed to pull in a 21/36 finish, which was my second best result of the season, so far.  I think it’s safe to say that was the only time I’ll get within sniffing distance of a top twenty finish this year.

These old guys are fast!

*For the record, I loves me some flyover!  I’ve always been amused at how many riders get completely skeeved out by the notion of going down a ramp.  That said, I think they made the right call.  There was almost no traction going up the ramp, and the smallest slip by a rider in a crowd would have resulted in hilarity carnage.  I hope the flyover is back next year … with some proper steps to climb.

** For the other record, I didn’t sneak up to the front of staging.  That’s where they put me.  So, up yours.

In which I visit the EMT.

I raced my bike this weekend!

Poorly.

Mostly because I have barely ridden in the month since my last race at MRC Cross — which I still haven’t written a report for, but will shortly — and my fitness is non-existent.  And partly because right middle finger was a bloody mess.

Let me back up.

The first indication I got that this weekend wasn’t going to go well for me came on Friday after I finished cleaning my bike.  I set my workstand up in my driveway so I could wash the bike, and believe you me, it was sparkling.  I walked away for a few minutes to let it dry, and when I came back, the wind had blown the stand over.

With my bike still attached.

Sooo … it landed on the drive side, of course, and the rear derailleur hanger was now well and truly bent, the handlebar tape was ripped, and there was a big gouge on the saddle.

I’ve crashed hard at least three times this season alone, a couple of times last season, and suffered not the slightest bit of damage.  I put the bike in my workstand and it gets broken.

Ran to the shop, got a new hanger, fixed everything, packed up the car.  Got up Saturday morning, wife made me a great breakfast, enjoyed the short drive to the Londonderry Velodrome for the Northeast Velo’cross, found a parking spot behind the big building next door, grabbed my travel mug, hopped out of the car and shut the door and felt a sharp pain in my right middle finger.

Because it was still in the car.

I promise you I’m not exaggerating when I tell you, dear readers, that I stood there for a beat, staring at my finger firmly lodged betwixt car door and car frame, and said, out loud …

“You’ve got to be freaking kidding me.”

So, I set my travel mug on the ground, opened the door, and was greeted with the sight of a huge flap of skin ripped open, almost to the bone, on my at this point numb finger.

Delightful.

So, oh-so-very grateful that no one had seen me do this, I picked up my travel mug, took a long sip, and set out to find the EMT.  I almost felt bad about forcing them to get out of their nice warm ambulance, but they looked bored, so at least I gave them someone to make fun of something to do.

The young lady gave me a hunk of gauze to wrap around it and taped it on for me, then handed me a couple of band-aids for later and another hunk of gauze for good measure.

By this time the feeling was coming back. Since it didn’t hurt much, I knew it wasn’t broken, so I did what any intelligent adult would do after injuring their hand in such a manner.

I got on my bike and went out for a couple of warm-up laps.

When I got done, I discovered that I’d need to wrap that finger a lot tighter, because it looked like this:

Disgusting photo by Carlina Dupre

I got it wrapped up tighter back at the car, and was glad the weather had warmed up enough that I wouldn’t need gloves — and after riding gloveless for the first time at Providence in the blistering heat, I discovered that I prefer racing sans gloves anyway — so that helped.

And then I raced.  Poorly.  But I haven’t finished editing the bar-cam footage, so I’ll save the report for later.

In the meantime, here is me being heckled roundly by Evan Patten.

Out of Context Quote of the Week

“Hey Ma … flash the next person that comes by!”

Push da pedals haaahd!

My buddy Dylan McNicholas killed at the Downeast Cyclocross in New Gloucester, ME, this weekend.  A win on Saturday, and 2nd on Sunday!

I taught him every thing he knows.

I got even more happy when, while being interviewed by Cycling Dirt, he pimped my clubs race, Orchard Cross at Applecrest Farm next weekend.

I can’t get this video to embed, so click on these words to go see Dylan doing all that stuff I just described in the other words above these words.

So come to heckle me, and stay to watch Dylan defend his NH State Cyclocross Championship.

Better yet, register for the 1/2/3 masters race, go faster than me, and maybe see your ass on my bar cam.

I’ll make you famous!