In the (Feed)Zone
w/Mark Swartzendruber

Editors note: This race report was originally filed in May of 2002. In the absence anything to report on in March, Druber dug this report from the archives. Enjoy.

Vintage Race Report: 2002 Muncie Cycling Classic

Friday night, 7:30: My lovely travel companion Kathy and I are on Rt. 32 in Noblesville, IN destination Muncie, IN and The Muncie Cycling Classic. We are hungry. We decide to stop at a Blimpie sub shop. What's this I see? Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a Long John Silvers...(Drool). Inebriated with thoughts of Battered, Deep Fried fish and those little crispy things drenched in Malt Vinegar, I make a decision that leads to the first encounter with what will from here on be referred to as the "Muncie Experience". The LJS affirms to be a very popular pot in Noblesville, IN. The thought is, a hundred or so hungry Hoosiers can't be wrong.

Not to be dissuaded from my pursuit of hush puppies and malt vinegar we bypass the drive through line stretching around the around the Shoppe and spilling onto Rt. 32 and venture inside. In the Shoppe we find ourselves at the tail end of a substantial line of seriously overweight and flushed Hoosiers. The place is packed save an empty but not yet bussed table in the dining area. I send Kathy over to reserve our dining station. Being astute observers of the human condition, we agree on a sit down dinner as it lends itself to better people watching.

After being in line in front of the deep fryers for 25 minutes, we finally get to place the order. I wasn't all that hungry when we stepped in, but by now, I'm famished. After wiping the film of fryer oil from my glasses, I order a "Fish and More" combo with an extra piece of LJS's most excellent fish. After placing the order another 10 minutes pass. I'm still in line and Kathy; alone at the still unbussed table is now leaning forward to move away from the press of a Girthy Hoosier woman wearing red stretch pants and a white pup tent for a top. Next to me a gentleman is ordering a quick nosh for what I hypothesize to be his family of 4, maybe 5. I speak the truth; he ordered 40 pieces of shrimp and 10 fish and 20 chicken planks. This causes a flurry of activity around the fryer. I see my order on a tray, just about to be rung up, when I'll be damned if the very haggard young manager rushes from the back and snatches my order and bags it for her drive up customer who has been waiting for "17 min. at the drive up window". Damn.... another 10 minutes elapse. I'm about to start gnawing on the pudgy 11 yr old Hoosier with the Mullet who just cut the line for his 3rd refill of Dr. Pepper. Before I can sink my teeth into his fat little neck, our food is served. We bus our table, and dine. What took an hour to arrive is gone in 10 min and we're back on the road for Muncie.

Never having visited Muncie, I have high hopes. Knowing Muncie to be the college home of the most esteemed Tom Doughty, USPS Master who was a hoops star at Ball State U, I'm looking forward to seeing the town. Growing up in and living in a college town, I have a fondness for college town and high expectations. I naturally assume all college towns to be clean and in possession of vibrant economies. WRONG.

We arrive at the Muncie Ramada at 10:00 pm. This "luxury" hotel was chosen due to its close proximity to the road race and time trial venues. Stepping up to the front desk we learn that Ramada's Central Booking system had botched the Team Turin reservations. We did not have 3 rooms reserved as requested, but 2 rooms with one full sized bed each for the 6 of us. This was clearly a problem and segues nicely into Muncie experience number 2…

"WE DON'T GOT NO MORE ROOMS!"

I'll refer to the young lady behind the front desk as Ms. Double Negative or Ms. DN. During the course of our increasingly heated negotiation for rooms, Ms. DN attempted to get her name into the Guinness Book of World Records under the category of Most Double Negative phrases used in the course of a single conversation. Now, those of you who know me well know the Double Negative to be my pet peeve. I once refused a third date with one of the nicest looking women I've ever gone out with because of her prolific use of the phrase "not never". She would also use the word "them" when the correct word would have been "those" but I digress...Despite the assertions of Ms. DN that the Hotel did "not have no more rooms available" the front desk manager Kari, told us we could secure 3 additional rooms with one bed each at a rate $20 higher than the rate we'd secured the rooms for originally.

I refused the offer to be gouged by Kari in hopes that when the rest of my team arrived within the next hour or so, I'd have room reservation situation corrected with Ramada's Central Booking system. I was on the horn with them directly.

10:30 p.m: Having been given assurance by Central Booking that I would be reimbursed the cost of the rooms for the botched reservation and having been given confirmation numbers for 3 additional rooms at my original rate I returned to front desk with 3 new confirmation numbers direct from Ramada central booking. As I speak with Ms. DN I bite my tongue from correcting her grammar as she tells me that "Central Booking don't have no business booking rooms this late because we don't got no rooms and besides that, them confirmation numbers don't look nothing like the confirmation numbers we use anyhow". (I am not making this up...the conversation is etched into my brain, unfortunately). At a loss for what to do, I decide that I'll just allow my team mates to attempt to deal with Ms. DN at the front desk and trust that the central booking system of Ramada will do it's work.

11:30 pm.: The phone rings. Having just drifted off to sleep, I pick up the phone in a foggy state and hear the voice of my teammate He Who Cannot Be Named. He Who Cannot Be Named is the stereotype of blue collar Chicago. He isn't very patient with slow talking people and he's a bit upset. He tells me that he's leaving because he was informed that the motel doesn't have a room for him and he isn't going to sleep on the floor. I ask to speak to Kari - not being able to stomach another conversation with Ms. DN. Kari is quite animated over the phone and I'm informed later by my teammate Dr. Jason that Kari was actually employing the "Head Bob" during her chastisement of me. Kari was quite upset that I had "gone behind her back" and used the Central Booking service to book the additional rooms, and informed me that the last rooms in the hotel were given to a couple who paid $40 more than what I had the rooms reserved for. Kari was quite proud of herself that she'd negated 3 reservations for two nights at $69 per night in order to gouge a middle-aged couple for one night at $109. Hoosier Math.

I asked her how I could have confirmation numbers from Ramada in my possession for rooms at this particular hotel, booked an hour ago only to be told "No rooms are available" but she was able to find a room for some stooges willing to pay nearly double for their room. She told me she cancelled my new reservations when she saw them come through on her computer. Hoosier Vindictiveness.

Saturday: Kathy and I go out to load the car. Plainly visible through the open drapes we can count no less than 10 rooms in this particular wing of the motel vacant and unused the previous night. Six of which are directly adjacent to our room. Seems that Ms. DN was wrong. The motel did have rooms after all.

Despite the directions on the race flyer being completely wrong, we find the racecourse. Registration is smooth and I'm optimistic that the rest of the day will be better. The race is safe, and despite the wind and cold temps, the promised rain holds off. John Puffer won. It was a good race.

Saturday Noon: After the RR Kathy and I decide to find a spot for lunch in Muncie. We see a place called "Mac's Deli Sandwiches and Salads". After the previous night's tasty but oily LJS dinner, deli sandwiches and salad sound good. Little did we suspect that we would be stepping into Muncie Experience #3. As we step inside expecting a Deli, we discover it's more a of a low scale burger joint. The promised salad offerings are 1. Garden (iceberg lettuce with carrot shavings) 2. Caesar (iceberg lettuce, not romaine) 3. Chicken. The rest of the menu consists of burgers, fries and something called "onion chips". Kathy looks at the menu and asks aloud (having food allergies to beef) "Is there anything I can eat here?".

I answer " Perhaps the Chicken Salad". No sooner are the words "chicken salad" out of my mouth, than I hear them echoed very slowly in vacant monotone by the dim-witted, toothless woman behind the counter. She's ringing up the order. "No we're just disusing the menu, we don't know if we want to order that or a fish sandwich or..."Fish Sammwich, would you like Fries with that?" Rather than fight the lead based gene pool of Muncie, we accept fate and stick with the Fish sandwich and chicken salad.

Sat. 3:00 PM: After a quick nap at the hotel, Kathy and I head back to the RR course for the 20k TT. Stage 2 will be contested in a cold, drenching rain and 30 mph winds. I can't believe I'm doing this I think to myself as I'm in the starter's tent. My body is racked with shivers as the official is giving me a countdown. At just before "GO" the tent is nearly ripped from the ground by a wind gust. I struggle with the conditions to the 4th best time of the day. At one point while in full aero position into the headwind pouring my guts out up a false flat I was going 16 mph. Well over half the Pro 1,2 field skipped the TT stage.

Sat night: Muncie experience #4. He Who Cannot Be Named and the boys had secured rooms at the Radisson downtown Muncie. Kathy and I are told the restaurant appears to be a nice sit down place. Rather than rolling the dice with a trip into Muncie for more direct contact with the lead laced population, we opt for the hotel restaurant. Several kids are there in full prom attire, complete with glitter in the hair and glitter initials glued on the back shoulders.

Hoosiers Prom.

Our party of six is seated quickly, but as if to be a harbinger of things to come, the host leaves our stack of menus on the adjacent table. Given ample time - 25 minutes - to make our selection from the 10 or so available sandwiches and entrees, the waiter comes to our table and apologizes for not coming to us sooner. Though we were at his station, he "thought another waiter had taken our order". Orders placed, we ask for bread and water. A couple of our young riders are famished and begin to develop distended stomachs. After 15 min, the waiter comes back to the table with water, but no bread. Looking for positives, I congratulate him because he did remember to bring a glass of wine for Kathy. Request for bread placed again. 15 minutes later salads arrive for 3 of the 6 of us but still, no bread. Request for bread placed again. Table begins laying odds on if the breadbasket arrives at all, it arrives with sliced wonder bread or something better. 15 minutes elapse and finally the bread arrives. Our starving young riders dive into the basket to find nice dark bread, still warm but only 4 small rolls. Kathy rolls her eyes and curses. Druber does a quick survey of the room for a Christ like figure who might bless and multiply the bread. No such person. I walk in to request more bread directly from the kitchen. 20 minutes later we are sitting at our table with no bread, no water, no wine, no entree.

We notice a dapper young man dressed in a white tux and his glitter encrusted date talking with the manager. He's lost his patience. He's been waiting for his steak for 2 hours and his chances of getting laid after the prom are dwindling by the minute as the glitter is beginning to make his date itch and she's losing enthusiasm.

At our table, the young riders now have flies buzzing around them and landing on their eyelids and they don't even have the energy to bat them away. It's like a UNICEF ad. I expect at any minute to see Sally Struthers come through the door and begin to plead for food on their behalf. We get the attention of Ms. Manager and tell her that now after nearly 2 hours of enjoying Muncie's finest restaurant, we have ordered but not gotten our food. Ms. Manager goes to the kitchen raises some hell and our food arrives 20 minutes later. Apparently the meal took so long coming because two hours were needed to boil the vegetables into soft colorless mush.

Ms Manager comped the meal for us. The cook got into a row with one of the servers and walked off the job.

Sunday 1:15 a.m: Kathy and I are abruptly waken by what sounds to be the taping of a Jerry Springer Show in the parking lot of the motel. Can it be? Kathy peers through a small part the curtains. She sees a group of a dozen or so hearty partiers still in the mood for reverie after the adjacent nightclub closed. The impromptu party is complete with 40's of malt liquor and women sporting hair weaves. "OHHHHHHHGIRRRRRRLLLLL You did NOT say that!" It was loud and went on for 20 minutes until one of Muncie's finest rolled by and flipped his lights on - ruining the atmosphere.

Sunday: 1kilo, 6 corner, ill paved, pothole and gravel strewn downtown criterium through boarded up and vacant downtown buildings. At 10 a.m. the temp is 60 degrees. It's windy but sunny. During breakfast at the hotel buffet a heavy, cigarette-smoking lady in her 50's with blue eye shadow up to her beehive complained loudly that the biscuits and gravy were cold. It was a minor inconvenience that didn't deter her from stuffing seconds and thirds into her pie hole. I drove to the crit in a foul mood.

Sunday 2:00 p.m: Half hour to race time and the wind is blowing at 30 mph with gusts to hurricane force. The temperature is now 48 degrees dropping a degree every 15 min. My right leg is shaking so badly from the cold that I can't get clipped in at the start and I enter the first choppy corner in the middle of the pack. Two laps later I'm pushed off the course in turn 5. I take my fee lap and re enter and hear the officials offer a prime. I attack and win the lap, but after the race I'm not awarded the prime.

After bumping a grinding for 20 min or so, I decide I've had enough fun and abandon with one of my teammates, Dr. Jason. He's a 3rd year med school student; a broken collarbone or a concussion would not be good for his rotations.

We had each come to the conclusion that it was time to get the hell out of Muncie. Pat O' Donnell out sprinted John Puffer for the win.