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Meanderings 2:00 a.m. Pizza While I was taking jabs in my last visit to the (feed) zone at the USA Cycling nationals' registration process and riders who I perceived as having no business taking race slots away from potential contenders, I overlooked some critical information that I'd like to add to the record here. ABD has taken hold of the reigns as the top amateur team in the country. Over the past several years, that title has been carried by teams such as Mercy Cycling with Steven Cate and Shane Thelman, the Go Mart team with back to back national criterium champions James Baldesare and Ben Sharp and Road contenders Paul Martin and Scottie Weiss, and after them, Snow Valley, Endeavor and the Broadmark Capital squad out of Washington State. ABD claimed two podium spots in this year's Elite National road race with Reid Mumford 2nd and Mike Ebert 5th. In the TT, Mumford and Bryce Meade notched top 10 finishes. At last years Elite Crit in Downers Grove, ABD sprinter John Puffer was narrowly edged out by Brad Huff for the jersey and then won the huge Rock Island crit this year. I've known most of these guys for a long time and it's very cool to see them reach the level of accomplishment that they have. As related to me by Curtis Tolson: Every rider who was put onto the wait list for the Nationals, Elite or Master, is in debt to Dirk Pohlmann of Knoxville, TN. Mr. Pohlmann took the silver medal in the Masters 40-44 Time Trial. Dirk then stayed around at Seven Springs, and went to the criterium. Upon seeing that all pre registered riders did not show for the race, he requested entry off of the wait list, a request which for some reason, the USCF could not grant. Out of the 125 who entered the race, some 90 or so actually toed the line and of those, well over half were pulled from the race before the 50k crit was half completed. This clearly had an impact of Mr. Pohlmann who set his heart at that point to become a vigilante for justice. He took his number from the time trial and jumped into the pack on the start line for the road race. With his guts burning for justice, he proceeded to tackle the extreme conditions of the road course and solo to the win by some 2 minutes! He was of course DQ'd as a non entered rider because some how, the Federation could not find a way to take him off of the wait list and put him into the field legally. In so doing, Mr. Pohlmann said in deed, what ten thousand signatures on a petition could not. I have a new hero. As related to me by the guy whose name sounds like the opposite of the deceased AC/DC lead singer, well over half of the riders in the 40-44 road race were out of contention within 5 miles of the start of the race. As related to me by team mate Paco, in the 50-54 age group, the number of riders popped on the very first climb, not more than 2.5 miles into the race was roughly ¾ of the field. Something must be done to correct the nearly open registration process in order to insure that more potential contenders are not shut out of the National Championships by riders who certainly have the right to register and participate, but will never do anything other than fill the field. I understand some changes are in the works for next year. Please offer suggestions to your regional director. If you feel you have been unfairly singled out in one of my pieces, you have every right to object, provide your point of view and rebut, either via e mail or in person. In fact, I welcome the feedback. With that said, don't be an idiot and call my home at midnight to argue with me about an article. I count a number of my greatest friends to be people I've met through cycling. Moreover, I have a larger number of acquaintances both male and female who are bright, funny and genuinely good people. I consider myself fortunate to have the opportunity to know these people. With that said, there also exists, thankfully in the minority, a thin skinned, ego centric, self adulating, self aggrandizing group of cyclists who operate just a step below the best of their group. My God, the number of humorless people I've met who take themselves more seriously than they ought and assign more importance to themselves and their accomplishments great and small boggles the mind. Somehow I've ended up on a couple of mass email lists from these types and those without mass mailings, post blogs here and there and if not on electronic media, they drone on long and loud in the parking lots at races so all within earshot can listen and adore. They gush forth their training targets and write race reports in sober, excruciating and self congratulating detail as if the consumption of such morsels is craved by the masses. The only ego larger and more easily bruised, I expect, would be that of a U.S. Senator. If most of them were even half as good as they think they are, they'd be in France chasing Floyd up the Col de Joux-Plane as I write this right now, or rather, he'd be chasing them. Let me give you a hint…The truly good cyclists at the level we participate and at the levels above are on the whole humble, self deprecating and realistic in their self assessments. It's the mediocre, those who operate on a slightly lower plain who clamor for notice and call attention to themselves. When you're good, people notice, when you're not, people won't. You only point yourself out as a wannabe when you speak of yourself in Herculean terms. Like Sgt. Hulka once said, "Lighten up Francis." It has long been a fact that when normal people hear us speak of our cycling exploits, race wins, and arduous training schedules, they scratch their heads and say something akin to: "Yeah, I used to ride my bike a lot when I had a paper route". I mentioned in my last writing that the British Open Golf Championships were at the Royal and Ancient in St. Andrews. I am incorrect about this. The 2006 Open is being hosted by Royal Liverpool in England. Tiger Woods won on Royal Liverpool's burnt out moonscape the same day Floyd Landis closed out his remarkable comeback. Speaking of Floyd Landis, I fairly bristle with pride. Much has been made of Floyd's conservative Mennonite upbringing. I too was raised Mennonite - not of the conservative sect that Floyd's family comes from but I can attest to his point that patience and perseverance are hallmarks of parental instruction in the denomination. Props go out to former zip code racer Kent Menzel of the Indiana Masters team who boldly crossed the Indiana border and raced across two state lines at Superweek's 40+ series and actually did well. Hopefully he's remembered the route and will let the rest of the Hooterville Masters in on the secret passage out of Indianapolis. It's not at all unusual to see Indiana racers in neighboring states such as KY and OH, but to go across TWO state lines is down right Magellan-like for a Hoosier. Good to see you up there Kent. As brought to my attention by Turin riders Jamie Kimberly and John Myers. This is good…Do a Google image search of the term "feckless weenie". SUPERWEEK After returning from Nationals quite bored with racing and a bit disappointed with the results and having that feeling of malaise compounded by my dehydration episode at the IL State TT championship, the last thing I wanted to do was ride my bike again…ever. This past week, it was Thursday before the heat index dipped below 105. I did a spin class in the Air Conditioning on Wednesday and then rode outside for a couple of hours Thursday hoping not to suddenly have my body shut down with chills at a certain point of exertion, which is what has been happening to me ever since the Tennessee meltdown on Memorial Day. I was due to ride with the Rhino for the last two Superweek races in the Pro 1,2 fields, since he's still a few years away from being able to do the 40+ races. I called on Thursday to confirm our plans. "Rhino,
Druber here." While The Rhino flew in to O'Hare and drove up to Kenosha and finished 9th in a bunch gallop in that evening's stage, I was at Soldier Field in Chicago at the Bon Jovi concert. That's right; Bon Jovi. I did after all, marry a Jersey girl. Our fiends Marluuhhv and Cletus went with us. Cletus and I were two of about 100 men in the crowd of 65,000 housewives between the ages of 30 and 45. I speculate that every housewife in the Northwest Suburbs of Chicago left their children with their husbands in order to see and get giddy over Jon, Richie and the boys.
A drunken girl spilled her adult beverage down The Lovely Kathy's back during "Livin' on a Prayer". As a wise man once said, "The only thing uglier than a sloppy drunken man is a sloppy drunken woman". After the concert ended, we retired with Marluuhhv and Cletus back to the Michigan Avenue Hilton for cocktails. The evening ended with a pizza being ordered and consumed at 2:00 a.m. I figure that if Landis was able to do the epic ride he did after having a beer the previous night, what harm could half a bottle of gin and pizza after midnight be to a schlub like me? I picked up The Rhino just after noon on Saturday and we managed to fit 2 bikes, 3 wheel sets, a bike case and our luggage into my Mazda 6 wagon. I'm telling you, it is the best bike racer vehicle ever. Even Reid Mumford owns one. Oh, nearly forgot, The Rhino's mother sent us away with a German Chocolate cake as well. As it turns out, this is The Rhino's favorite food. A couple of years ago The Great Downer Ave. stage of Superweek was rated by Velo Fluff magazine as one of the top 5 criteriums in the country. Downer Ave. is a trendy neighborhood just off the lake front in North Milwaukee. The residents of the neighborhood hold a day long street festival, gladly find other places to park their cars for a few hours, host yard parties and turn out in droves to watch the race. I estimate nearly 15,000 boisterous spectators lined the streets 4 to 5 deep in places. Very cool. Not surprisingly, I felt like shit during the race. About an hour and a half into the race the back third of the field, where I was riding, got gapped. I found out later that Jelly Belly rider Nick Reistadt had crashed and the split was formed. We didn't bother chasing. At that point we were occupying places 90 - 150 and most assuredly would not be among the 30 who got checks. The Rhino was up ahead of the melee but he got chopped with 3 to go by a Kodak rider and lost too many spots trying to keep his bike upright to get paid. He finished 33rd. After the race and clean up, The Rhino and I had dinner in downtown Milwaukee at the Calderone Club Ristorante Italiano. It's a decent joint with good pasta. After being in San Diego for five years, The Rhino cannot get over the number of relatively unattractive women in the Milwaukee area. Two were sitting down the bar from us smoking cigarettes and getting sloppy drunk on Miller Lite. Yech. The soon to be sloppy drunk men in the bar found them to be attractive though. A Jimmy Buffet song comes to mind. After dinner The Rhino and I went back to our room and ate over half of the German Chocolate Cake. Sunday, the final stage of Superweek is the White Fish Bay criterium. Before heading to the course we stopped for breakfast at the neighborhood diner. I had a spinach and feta omelet with American fries and toast. The Rhino had 3 eggs over medium, American Fries, toast and as he was gobbling the last of it and the waitress was clearing the table, he ordered up a short stack of pancakes for himself. Extra syrup, please. The waitress was impressed. Whitefish Bay has an excellent course on a downtown/residential circuit with a good crowd in the near north suburb of Milwaukee. The Rhino and I arrived in time to catch the tail end of the Cat 3,4 women's race and then the 40+ masters race, which was hotly contested between Labor, Morgan Stanley and the sMACKS. Eventually Chris Walker, no doubt fresh from NOT racing at nationals, soloed away for the win with MKA borrowing a page from the HeadsMACK's playbook and "blocking like hell". Butch Stinton led out the long sprint and managed to hold KronsMACK off for 2nd. It was a ripper of a race. The Rhino and I each pitched in $20 for a prime, which fittingly, former sMACK elite squad team mate Clark Priebe won. That was fun. The Pro 1,2 race was fast. We averaged over 29 mph. After not drinking gin and having pizza at 2:00 a.m. I felt much better. I managed even to follow Steve Tilford into a developing move as the Milram boys chased, which drew Tilford's ire. I was clear when I started out but hell, those Europros are fast, and I guarantee it wasn't me they were trying to bring back. I hope Steve understands. I forgive him for yelling at me. It's the Mennonite way. Given the rare opportunity to race with fast guys on good legs, I made the most of it. I was riding very comfortably in the front third of the race. With about 15 laps to go, Darren Pipp of the Endeavor team came unstuck from his pedals as he avoided a hard braking rider in front of him in turn 3. The remaining riders went around him like a surging stream around a boulder. As I was sprinting out of the corner to regain contact with the pack, my chain ruptured, causing me to lose balance rather suddenly. I fell off of my bike into an instinctive "figure 4" slide, the kind you're drilled on hundreds of times as a baseball player and slid bike first into the curb. My right side crank and pedal left a rather impressive 10 foot long scrape in the pavement, but fortunately, I got away with not much more than a good strawberry on my hip and ankle and the palm of my right hand and right elbow. It's nothing like what MKA treated us to of his hip and buttock, so I'll spare the photos. Bike racing sure is fun, huh? I'm just glad I didn't take anyone else out (especially Tilford). That would have been even more embarrassing than the reaction of the woman, who looking at my exposed and bloodied ass, drew attention by yelling "Oh my Gawd, he's ripped his shorts off!" I slinked away, carrying my broken chain, a prop which I used several times on the way to my car to explain my crash. "I didn't just fall down all on my own for no good reason…see, here is the broken chain". Last year, my best effort at Superweek was put to rest by a broken chain as well. However, unlike last year, this was a new chain, installed just before going out to PA for Nationals. Go figure. The Rhino finished a respectable 23rd. Alex Candelario of Jelly Belly won both stages. The Rhino and I left after he collected $55 for his placing and set course for the Lake Shore Drive W Hotel back down in Chicago. It's a trendy hotel for pretty people. We clearly did not belong. After cleaning up we made haste downstairs to the hotel lobby bar where the pretty people were drinking fruity drinks in martini glasses and Chardonnay. Instead of trying to fit in, we hailed a taxi and headed north to the Rhino and Lovely Kathy's old Ravenswood neighborhood and our favorite watering hole, the Hop Leaf Bar. The Hop Leaf was bustling as per usual, even at midnight on a Sunday night. If for no other reason, this is a reason to love Chicago. After 3 beers The Rhino caught a case of the munchies and we hailed a cab past Wrigley field to Chicago Pizza on Sheffield Ave. It's open until 5:00 a.m. - another reason to love Chicago. The Rhino disappeared into the lavatory as I ordered the pizza. As he walked back to the counter, The Rhino said "I hop you ordered a large". The weekend ended just as it began, with a good buzz and pizza at 2:00 a.m. in a swanky hotel room. Good times. Enough
for Now,
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