We've All Learned a Lesson Here

Dr. Thompson is cuffed after the guilty verdict. Photo: LA Times

Reading the verdict yesterday in the LA road rage trial of Dr. Thompson, I found myself getting all teary eyed. Not because I was upset, but because for any cyclist who has been hit by a car, or witnessed a cohort being hit by a car, or who has had close calls with angry drivers, the guilty verdict in this case is a long overdue breath of relief.

Car vs. bike encounters rarely go well for the cyclist. Even when the fault lies with the driver, oftentimes charges are not filed against them and they walk without a real form of punishment. Not so in the case of Dr. Thompson.

Dr. Thompson is a former ER physician who lives on a mountain road popular with cyclists. After numerous altercations with cyclists, one day he’d apparently had enough and took his frustration out on Ron Peterson and Christian Stoehr. While descending the mountain road side by side on July 4th, 2008, Dr. Thompson drove up behind them, honked, pulled up beside them, exchanged words and hand gestures with the cyclists and then sped up, pulled in front of them and slammed on his brakes. Stoehr slammed into the back of the car and flew over it, landing in front of the car in the oncoming lane. Peterson went through the rear window face first, nearly taking his nose off his face.

Velonews.com did a stellar job covering every minute of this trial. I suggest you read some of the details because the Prosecutor, Mary Stone, was phenomenal in her cross examination of Dr. Thompson and in her Closing Statements as is proven by the fact that the Doc was found guilty on all 6 counts against him: 2 counts each of assault with a deadly weapon and reckless driving, along with mayhem and a misdemeanor reckless driving stemming from a separate yet very similar incident on a different day with different cyclists that did not result in bodily injury.

Although I’m glad to see the cyclists get their justice, I feel sad for all involved when the rage between cyclists and motorists reaches this point. All of their lives have been affected tremendously. The doc is facing a maximum of 10 years in prison, which he won’t get, but it’s largely accepted that he will do jail time and lose his medical license.

I try to be a courteous cyclist when out on the road. I am not one of the antagonists. Having said that, though, I’ve still had close calls and seen stupid moves by drivers that send me into a moment of rage; curse words flying along with the middle finger as I watch my life flash before me. But, right here, right now, I’m gonna make a promise to my fellow cyclists and motorists – I’m going to do my best to make sure I’m sharing the road to the best of my ability both when I’m on my bike and in my car. I will try very hard to keep my rage in check because, really, what gets solved a “Fuck You” and the finger? Nothing. It just increases the rage. Just look at this case. Could these incidents have been avoided if there had been more understanding on both parts? Probably.

There’s no reason to be the asshole whether you’re the asshole on the bike or the asshole in the car.

Here's the List. Don't Screw Up.

Doping in sport is pretty cut and dry, right? I mean, they either did it or didn't. WADA (World Anti-Doping Association) has released the 2010 Banned Substance list. Can you keep up? Here it is:

PROHIBITED SUBSTANCES
S1. ANABOLIC AGENTS
Anabolic agents are prohibited.
1. Anabolic Androgenic Steroids (AAS)
a. Exogenous* AAS, including:
1-androstendiol (5α-androst-1-ene-3β,17β-diol ); 1-androstendione (5α-
androst-1-ene-3,17-dione); bolandiol (19-norandrostenediol); bolasterone;
boldenone; boldione (androsta-1,4-diene-3,17-dione); calusterone;
clostebol; danazol (17α-ethynyl-17β-hydroxyandrost-4-eno[2,3-d]isoxazole);
dehydrochlormethyltestosterone (4-chloro-17β-hydroxy-17α-methylandrosta-
1,4-dien-3-one); desoxymethyltestosterone (17α-methyl-5α-androst-2-en-
17β-ol); drostanolone; ethylestrenol (19-nor-17α-pregn-4-en-17-ol);
fluoxymesterone; formebolone; furazabol (17β-hydroxy-17α-methyl-5α-
androstano[2,3-c]-furazan); gestrinone; 4-hydroxytestosterone (4,17β-
dihydroxyandrost-4-en-3-one); mestanolone; mesterolone; metenolone;
methandienone (17β-hydroxy-17α-methylandrosta-1,4-dien-3-one);
methandriol; methasterone (2α, 17α-dimethyl-5α-androstane-3-one-17β-ol);
methyldienolone (17β-hydroxy-17α-methylestra-4,9-dien-3-one); methyl-1-
testosterone (17β-hydroxy-17α-methyl-5α-androst-1-en-3-one);
methylnortestosterone (17β-hydroxy-17α-methylestr-4-en-3-one);
methyltestosterone; metribolone (methyltrienolone, 17β-hydroxy-17α-
methylestra-4,9,11-trien-3-one); mibolerone; nandrolone; 19-
norandrostenedione (estr-4-ene-3,17-dione); norboletone; norclostebol;
norethandrolone; oxabolone; oxandrolone; oxymesterone; oxymetholone;
prostanozol (17β-hydroxy-5α-androstano[3,2-c] pyrazole); quinbolone;

3 stanozolol; stenbolone; 1-testosterone (17β-hydroxy-5α-androst-1-en-3-
one); tetrahydrogestrinone (18a-homo-pregna-4,9,11-trien-17β-ol-3-one);
trenbolone and other substances with a similar chemical structure or similar
biological effect(s).
b. Endogenous** AAS when administered exogenously:
androstenediol (androst-5-ene-3β,17β-diol); androstenedione (androst-4-ene-
3,17-dione); dihydrotestosterone (17β-hydroxy-5α-androstan-3-one) ;
prasterone (dehydroepiandrosterone, DHEA); testosterone
and the following metabolites and isomers:
5α-androstane-3α,17α-diol; 5α-androstane-3α,17β-diol; 5α-androstane-
3β,17α-diol; 5α-androstane-3β,17β-diol; androst-4-ene-3α,17α-diol;
androst-4-ene-3α,17β-diol; androst-4-ene-3β,17α-diol; androst-5-ene-
3α,17α-diol; androst-5-ene-3α,17β-diol; androst-5-ene-3β,17α-diol;
4-androstenediol (androst-4-ene-3β,17β-diol); 5-androstenedione (androst-
5-ene-3,17-dione); epi-dihydrotestosterone; epitestosterone; 3α-hydroxy-
5α-androstan-17-one; 3β-hydroxy-5α-androstan-17-one; 19-
norandrosterone; 19-noretiocholanolone.
2. Other Anabolic Agents, including but not limited to:
Clenbuterol, selective androgen receptor modulators (SARMs), tibolone,
zeranol, zilpaterol.
For purposes of this section:
* “exogenous” refers to a substance which is not ordinarily capable of being
produced by the body naturally.
** “endogenous” refers to a substance which is capable of being produced by the
body naturally.
S2. PEPTIDE HORMONES, GROWTH FACTORS AND RELATED
SUBSTANCES
The following substances and their releasing factors are prohibited:
1. Erythropoiesis-Stimulating Agents [e.g. erythropoietin (EPO),
darbepoetin (dEPO), methoxy polyethylene glycol-epoetin beta
(CERA), hematide];
2. Chorionic Gonadotrophin (CG) and Luteinizing Hormone (LH) in
males;
3. Insulins;
4. Corticotrophins;
The Prohibited List 2010
19 September 2009
4
5. Growth Hormone (GH), Insulin-like Growth Factor-1 (IGF-1),
Mechano Growth Factors (MGFs), Platelet-Derived Growth Factor
(PDGF), Fibroblast Growth Factors (FGFs), Vascular-Endothelial
Growth Factor (VEGF) and Hepatocyte Growth Factor (HGF) as well
as any other growth factor affecting muscle, tendon or ligament protein
synthesis/degradation, vascularisation, energy utilization, regenerative
capacity or fibre type switching;
6. Platelet-derived preparations (e.g. Platelet Rich Plasma, “blood
spinning”) administered by intramuscular route. Other routes of
administration require a declaration of Use in accordance with the
International Standard for Therapeutic Use Exemptions.
and other substances with similar chemical structure or similar biological
effect(s).
S3. BETA-2 AGONISTS
All beta-2 agonists (including both optical isomers where relevant) are prohibited
except salbutamol (maximum 1600 micrograms over 24 hours) and salmeterol by
inhalation which require a declaration of Use in accordance with the International
Standard for Therapeutic Use Exemptions.
The presence of salbutamol in urine in excess of 1000 ng/mL is presumed not to
be an intended therapeutic use of the substance and will be considered as an
Adverse Analytical Finding unless the Athlete proves, through a controlled
pharmacokinetic study, that the abnormal result was the consequence of the use
of a therapeutic dose (maximum 1600 micrograms over 24 hours) of inhaled
salbutamol.
S4. HORMONE ANTAGONISTS AND MODULATORS
The following classes are prohibited:
1. Aromatase inhibitors including, but not limited to: aminoglutethimide,
anastrozole, androsta-1,4,6-triene-3,17-dione
(androstatrienedione), 4-androstene-3,6,17 trione (6-oxo),
exemestane, formestane, letrozole, testolactone.
2. Selective estrogen receptor modulators (SERMs) including, but not
limited to: raloxifene, tamoxifen, toremifene.
3. Other anti-estrogenic substances including, but not limited to:
clomiphene, cyclofenil, fulvestrant.
The Prohibited List 2010
19 September 2009
5
4. Agents modifying myostatin function(s) including but not limited to:
myostatin inhibitors.
S5. DIURETICS AND OTHER MASKING AGENTS
Masking agents are prohibited. They include:
Diuretics, probenecid, plasma expanders (e.g. glycerol; intravenous
administration of albumin, dextran, hydroxyethyl starch and mannitol) and
other substances with similar biological effect(s).
Diuretics include:
Acetazolamide, amiloride, bumetanide, canrenone, chlorthalidone,
etacrynic acid, furosemide, indapamide, metolazone, spironolactone,
thiazides (e.g. bendroflumethiazide, chlorothiazide, hydrochlorothiazide),
triamterene, and other substances with a similar chemical structure or similar
biological effect(s) (except drosperinone, pamabrom and topical dorzolamide and
brinzolamide, which are not prohibited).
A Therapeutic Use Exemption for diuretics and masking agents is not valid if an
Athlete’s urine contains such substance(s) in association with threshold or subthreshold levels of an exogenous Prohibited Substance(s).

Well, there you go. Clear as day.

Bike Laws: State Law vs. City Code

I am completely confused. I live in Charlotte, NC. Like many cyclists everywhere, we constantly have run-ins with angry motorists honking and yelling for us to “get off the road” or “ride single file.” And of course we yell back that we have every right to be there blah, blah. Same ole story. Or is it?

The North Carolina Driver’s Handbook states that, “There is no law that requires bicyclists to ride single file, nor is there a law that gives cyclists the right to ride two or more abreast. “ Firstly, and slightly off subject, could NC have possibly been vaguer in defining the rules of the road? Secondly, from this, one can deduce that we are in fact allowed to take up the entire lane…responsibly. The handbook also says, “In North Carolina, the bicycle has the legal status of a vehicle. This means that bicyclists have full rights and responsibilities on the roadway and are subject to the regulations governing the operation of a motor vehicle.” That one’s pretty clear. From this I know that driving my bike on a sidewalk, for instance, is illegal because driving my car on the sidewalk is illegal. That gives me a pretty good understanding of what I can and can’t do on the road of NC, right? Not really.

Enter the City of Charlotte Bicycle Law Code which at first defines a vehicle as: “Every device…drawn upon a street or highway, except devices moved by human power.” So, a bike is not a vehicle. OK. Wait, what? I should finish the paragraph? Ah, there it is, “…bicycles shall be deemed vehicles and every rider of a bicycle upon a highway shall be subject to the provisions of… the driver of a vehicle except those that by their nature can have no application.” So, a cyclist is considered a vehicle…except when it’s not. That's not confusing at all. So, when it’s on the street, it’s a vehicle, but when it’s on the sidewalk it’s not? And I know I can ride on the sidewalk because the code says it: “It is stressed that bicycles may be operated on sidewalks in the city except where expressly prohibited by posted signs.” That’s not what NC Law says.

I’ll spare you the jargon of the next one and just paraphrase Sec. 15-139 which pertains to traffic. Within Charlotte boundaries, cyclists are required to ride single file which clearly differs from the State Law.

So, now, we all, cyclists and motorists, just need to know exactly which roads fall under NC law and which fall under Charlotte code. Oh, and it’s all probably going to change when you go one town over. No sweat. A typical ride only takes me through about 8 different towns and the city/town limits are clearly marked with brightly colored lines and signs posted with the law clearly stated, so I know exactly which rules to follow. What? You mean there are no markings? No signs? But, I took the test. I passed with a 100%. NC issued me my Driver License. They didn’t happen to mention that the laws have a tendency to change every few miles I drive.

There is too much animosity on the roads. Is it any wonder? The laws contradict themselves and are written so vaguely that there is no clear right and wrong. With more and more people heading out on their bikes (the populartiy of cycling is growing exponentially) maybe it's time to clear up some of these vague laws and come up with just ONE set of rules so there’s no confusion.

Yes, I realize it's been a while. I've done it on purpose. It's the end of the season and I've taken a little time off the bike and off the blogoshpere. Don't cry, I'll start writing again soon when I grow tired of sitting on the couch, drinking beer and getting fat. 'Til then, cheers!

Randomality

I’m ticked off at my odometer. Aside from that being a hilariously funny pun, I’m serious. In recent weeks I have found that my odometer is counting 2 less miles per 50 ridden on average compared to my cycling counterparts. What the heck does that mean? It means that I likely rode 313 miles at the 24 Hours of Booty and not 301…and that ticks me off.

OK, let’s talk about the race that was the subject of my last blog entry. Actually, you know what? Let’s not.

Instead let’s talk about someone who actually has some skills at this bike racing thing. Remember my blog about Evelyn Stevens -the woman that went from Investment Banker to stage winner in the Route de France within 15 months of purchasing her first bike? Well, one month later she’s already added to her resume. Evelyn went on to finish second on General Classification in the Route de France. But, she didn’t stop there. The Wall Street Journal did a nice story on her, too. But, that's not the end either.

Evelyn placed 2nd in the National TT Championship. 6th in the National Road Race Championship. Now she has been selected for the USA World Championship Team. YES, a mere 16 months after starting the sport, she will be vying for a World Championship title. That’s insane. But, hold on, I’m not done.

Evelyn recently signed a pro contract with one of the most powerful teams in all of cycling. And I’d like you to notice I did not say “one of the most powerful women’s teams in America.” Nope, she was signed by the same team that houses riders the likes of Mark Cavendish, George Hincapie, Kim Kirchen, Ina Teutenberg, Mara Abbott….the list goes on and on.

Columbia-HTC snatched up the young talent and I, for one, am very excited to watch how her career develops. After all, that was supposed to be me.

Race Upcoming...50 on the Trails

All year I've been looking forward to the River's Edge Mountain Bike Marathon that's coming up this Saturday. And I guess I still am, but taking a week and a half off the bike right before the race for some well-earned beach vacation time, may have affected me more than I realized it would.

The Crystal Coast in the Southern Outer Banks (SOBX) of North Carolina is a beautiful place. I left the bike at home as a sign to my family that this trip was really all about them. I figured while on vacation, I could run on the beach to aid in keeping my fitness. Well, I got a little too excited and overdid it the first day (I sense a pattern with me - no restraint). The rest of the week was spent limping around with very sore legs and joints - bad move.

Now, back on the bike this week, I feel very weak. Like there's no power left although there's gas in the tank. I took a good spill last night on the trails and had a rather sensitve area come into contact with the stem at a pretty high rate of speed - one of those things where you just grit your teeth and lean against a tree for support until you can breath again. It's a common false assumption that women are less prone to pain in that area than men. Don't argue with me. It's not a debate. Anyway, the bruise is quite impressive this morning.

So, 50 mile bike race in 3 days and I can't even finish one 12 mile lap without crashing...yay, this is gonna be fun.

This Was Supposed to be ME!

When I decided to take up bike racing, I fancied myself as the racer who would make everyone’s jaw drop to the floor with my mad skillz. I was gonna be so good they were going to call me the “Lance Armstrong of Women’s cycling.” Then I did my first race…and all my aspirations went poof as I swallowed a huge pill called reality on a planet I like to call Earth.

But, it doesn’t mean the scenario couldn’t happen. And, in fact, it IS happening. Evelyn Stevens is an investment banker who played tennis at Dartmouth (quick side note: have you ever noticed how the majority of the cycling world is well educated and holds powerful career positions? Hm…). She was a CAT-4 racer one year ago. And where is she this week? Winning Stage freakin’ 4 of La Route de France 28 minutes ahead of the peloton! That’s where.

Over the course of about 15 months, Evelyn has:

- Bought her first bike (Spring 2008).
- Entered her first race, a training clinic in Central Park (June 2008).
- Won the Green Mountain Stage Race (Vermont), after catching and passing the Pro Women’s field that started 5 minutes ahead of her own field.
- Won the RR and placed 2nd in the Crit at the Valley of the Sun (Arizona).
- Participated in some of the biggest races in the U.S. – Redlands, Nature Valley, Battenkill , and Cascade Classic to name a few.
- As an amateur, riding as a guest on the Lip Smacker Pro Team, won the Fitchburg Longsjo Classic in Massachusetts, an NRC race, ahead of riders like Tina Pic and Jeannie Longo.
- Won her first major European race by taking Stage 4 in La Route de France.

Hold on. Let me pick up my jaw.

MC Spandx - "Performance"

Crossroads Classic 2009

I jumped back into criterium racing this weekend. And, you know what? It didn’t suck as bad as I thought it would.

Harrisburg, NC. Crossroads Classic. Women’s 3/4. That’s right, a 3/4 race (I’ve been begging all season)! There were about 20 women entered in the race. I was quite excited to get to the start line. Perhaps a little too excited. Let’s face it, training for 300 miles at 24 Hours of Booty hardly prepares you for the heart rate spikes and recovery that is criterium racing. A tactical racer would have taken that into account before throwing her first attack on only the second lap, which is what I did. From that point, the race was on!

And it never really slowed down. We were strung out single file nearly the whole race. Knowing that I have no sprint right now, attacking was my strategy. I had my teammate, Madonna, with me to take care of the sprint finish so my role was to get in a breakaway. I attacked 3 times in the first half of the race and led some chases as well. Basically, I spent all I had way too quickly. I tried like hell to get away, but couldn’t make it stick. Madonna ended up flatting with 4 laps to go and I dropped off the back with about a lap and a half to go, which was fine with me. Like I said, I wasn’t going to contest the sprint. I should have read the race better and timed my attacks more intelligently. We’ll just call it a learning experience.

Despite finishing low in the standings, I had fun in this race. Instead of hanging on for dear life in the Women’s Open field, I got to employ some tactics (even if I employed them poorly). After the race, some of the guys on my team commented on the speed of the race – they couldn’t believe they were watching a 3/4 race. It didn’t really surprise me to find out we averaged 23mph.

What did surprise me was to find out our 23mph ended up being faster than the Women’s Open race later in the day.

They Say Hate is a Strong Word

Well, then, consider this: Cancer, I fucking hate you! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! I hate what you do to our loved ones and I hate what you do to our families. I hate how you tear our bodies up and I hate the tailspin of pain you inflict.

Elden Nelson, aka Fat Cyclist in the blogosphere, has been documenting his wife’s battle with cancer for some time now. In recent weeks, with Susan under Hospice care, Elden has managed to keep it together and write blog posts regarding his wife that have some of the most inspiring words I’ve ever read.

Susan died the other night. When I read the news I found myself immediately deeply depressed and fighting off an onslaught of emotion. Had I not been at work, I would have let it flow. However, I did take an early lunch.

Isn’t it strange how much differently emotional pain affects us compared to physical pain? I’ve never met Elden or his wife and family. Yet reading his posts and hearing of Susan’s passing allows the pain of my Grandmother’s death to easily resurface. I instantly get taken back to the phone call. I don’t remember why I was answering the phone in the library of our home on Nordic Hill Circle, but that’s where I was. The room had three walls of windows and there was light all around. I picked up the phone, “Hello?”

“I, Jodi, it’s Mom.”

“Hi Mom”
Silence.

“Mom?”
Silence.

“She’s gone, isn’t she?”

"yes" Mom's voice was abnormally small as if the word didn't want to be spoken.

I remember exactly how I felt at that moment. I let out an uncontrollable cry. Every ounce of air left me. I was completely deflated and couldn’t seem to draw a breath. My stomach was tight with nausea and there was an undeniable crushing feeling of loss in the center of my chest. I seem to experience it all over again when I read stories like Elden's.

On the other hand, barely two weeks ago I was suffering on my bike trying to break myself on a 300 mile bike ride that was causing so much pain I could hardly stand it. I don’t remember that pain anymore. I remember thinking I was in pain and I remember saying I would never do that again. But here I am 2 weeks later, and I’m already considering having another go at it. I can’t force myself to feel that physical pain again, try as I might.

My Grandmother died 21 years ago. 21 years. So, I’ll say it again. Cancer, I fucking hate you. Time may heal all wounds, but watching a loved one suffer and die never leaves you. No amount of ice packs and Tylenol can take care of that kind of pain.

Fight like Susan.

24 Hours of Booty, Part 2; The Final 100

Jill: “Hey, I was just calling to see how you’re doing.”
Me: “I’m at mile 215.”
Jill: “Oh, you’re doing so good. Is there anything you need from me? What can I do?”
Me: “You can get off my phone because holding it to my ear is killing me.”

(I have apologized to Jill for the above gem of a conversation and my apology was accepted, thank goodness.)

My dandy-ness dwindled quickly. Everything on my body was so sore now that even my breaks weren’t alleviating any of the pain. I could feel the bruising on my sit bones and tail bone. If I removed my gloves, I could see the black and blue on my palms. I’d try to reposition my hands but that made my wrists sorer. Getting up out of the saddle was an excruciating but necessary action as the bones would sear for a few seconds as the blood came back through them. At one of my breaks, I turned right without signaling and got yelled at by a course marshal. “SIGNAL WHEN YOU’RE TURNING,” she said. I didn’t have the energy to explain to her that if I could possibly raise my arm to signal, I most certainly would have, but my shoulders simply were not working. The one saving grace I had and tried to focus on was the chamois cream (although technically it’s udder cream…keep your jokes to yourselves) I used was incredible (thanks for the recommendation, Stacie). Very little chaffing over the 300 miles. Hardly any at all.

Before I go on, let me pick out some more positives of the experience because, let’s face it, you know what’s coming up next – a 100 mile Jodi pity party. This year I was stoked to have 3 friends camping with me in Bootyville; Steve, Jen and Stacie. We had a good time hanging out before the ride and I hope they enjoyed their experience at Booty, even if they went home with sore butts (they were all first timers). Other positives: The volunteers for this event have got to be some of the best humans on Earth. They cheered constantly. I mean CONSTANTLY for the riders on the course. There are 2 in particular, both course marshals, that stand out in my mind and I really wish I knew their names. The first was a woman working the Croyden/Selwyn intersection. She was there through the night cheering each rider as they passed…for about 6 hours. It got to the point where she saw me so many times, she would cheer for me specifically. At least that’s how it felt. She would start yelling as soon as she saw me come around the corner and wouldn’t quit until I was out of sight. I started cheering back at her, too. I kinda felt like we had bonded through the night. The other volunteer was a guy working an intersection on the Hopedale hill. I don’t know where he got his lungs, but he was the loudest human I’ve ever heard…he yelled for hours and hours during the afternoon on Saturday. Again, he saw me so many times at one point he said, “C’mon, keep working your way up this hill. You’ve gotta be near 300, right?” I nodded and from then on each time I passed he called me 300. “Here comes 300! GO! GO! GO!” There’s one other person I want to mention and then I’ll continue the pity party I do so well. There was a spectator at the Start/Finish line who was there from the start until about 4 in the morning. Each time a rider went back out on the course, she would clap and say to us, “Thank you and have a magical ride.”

Because I was relying on adrenaline to carry me through the final 100, I figured that the second 100 would be the mental challenge. No so. The second hundred was just a warm up. The third hundred was the real deal. When my adrenaline failed to show up for the party, I knew I was in trouble. Now my muscles were aching. They were drained. And I still had hours and hours in front of me. I decided to take it in tens. Every 10 miles would be a milestone to shoot for. I hoped this would keep me motivated. It didn’t. At 90, I was thinking, “Crap, you still have 90. But once you hit 80, you’re into training ride distance.” Then, I hit 70. Crap I still have 70. “but you’ll definitely feel better when you hit 60 – that’s a typical ride for you. No sweat.” But my body was shutting down. I could feel it and my stomach was not going to have another Power Bar or Clif Block. It wanted nothing but to go home to the A/C and lay on the living room floor for about a week.

The last break I took was at the 263 mile mark. 37 to go. Four hours left. This was the first time since mile 130, that I had no doubt I was going to finish. I would no longer entertain thoughts of quitting. It was all mind over matter in dealing with the pain and exhaustion of it all at this point. I WILL finish because I don’t ever want to do this again. During that last break I knew I had to eat, but my stomach was tired of the same ole same ole. There happened to be a few white bread turkey and cheese sandwiches left from lunch and I thought, awe what the heck. I’ll try it. My stomach accepted them graciously and I felt the energy from them hit my legs at about 25 to go. I put in a huge effort for some reason. I guess because at the time, 25 didn’t feel like that far, but it was still an hour and 45 minutes of riding, which I hadn’t taken the time to calculate. I went all out for about 10 miles and then bonked again. 15 to go. 15 of the slowest miles of my life. Hopedale hill, which on a normal day I’d go up easily at 15 mph, 19 or 20 if I was trying, was giving me problems at 9 mph. I was actually using my 27 cog in the back to get up Hopedale Drive. The course marshal cheered, “Go 300, Go! Drop it a gear and spin up this thing. You’re gonna make it!” My phone rang. I physically couldn’t answer it.

The last few miles were insanely demoralizing. I thought the Booty Loop was supposed to be 3.2 miles so at 15 to go, I was thinking – 5 laps. I did a lap. 4 laps. I did a lap. 3 to go! I looked at my odometer: 289.8 miles. I still had 10.2 to go. What? By my calculations, I should have under 9 to go. I guess the loop isn’t 3.2 miles. Start again: 4 to go. I did a lap. 3 to go. I did a lap. 2 to go. I look at the odometer. 293.8 miles. Is this a joke? Did time just stop. What the hell? My last time across the start/finish line, I needed about 1 mile and some change to hit 300 which meant I had to go up Hopedale one more freakin’ time. I hit it as hard as my legs would allow. 10.8 mph. That was all I could do.

Odometer reading after the ride.

I hit 300 on the straightaway of Selwyn Avenue just before the light at Queens College. I threw my hands in the air. My shoulders burned with that action. Nobody watching would have any idea what I was doing or what I had put myself through over the prior 24 hours. And it didn’t matter, because, despite the impression you might get from this blog, this wasn’t about me. It wasn’t even solely about raising money for Cancer research. It’s also, for some of us, about finding inspiration from the experiences and hurt of others and using it to physically and mentally push yourself past your breaking point. Because, I can assure you, when you’re at that point, you see things so differently. Unfortunately, most people won’t put themselves there purposely. For most, they don’t see it until its thrust upon them. Like when they lose a loved one to a terminal illness.

For me, when I’m in the place that I was for about 170 miles of my 300, in pain and in tears, then the littlest acts become enormous. When I’m there, getting the nickname 300, having someone take notice of me and cheer for 6 hours, and being granted a magical ride from complete strangers who I will likely never see again, is…is…well, it’s a lot of things but mostly, it’s deeply, deeply moving.

I got off my bike and collapsed into a chair under the Booty tent. A couple of volunteers brought me some bottles of Vitamin Water and asked if I needed anything. I told them I was fine. I sat there and looked toward the Bootyville camp as I realized my phone had rung earlier. It was Steve. My friends had decided to go home (I didn’t blame them, it was hot and they’d done a lot of riding themselves). However, before they left, they took the liberty of breaking down my camp and had loaded it all into my car for me (*insert big sigh and tear of exhaustion*). Sometimes the biggest gifts come from your friends.

Booty 2009 is in the books and as I sit here the day after, most of my aches have already recovered. My legs are cement logs and my shoulders are still killing me. In fact, I went to get the milk out of the fridge this morning and nearly dropped it. “Whoa, that’s heavy,” I said surprised. Jill just laughed. Walking is quite an effort as well.


One last thing. I rode in memory of my Grandmother who died of Cancer when I was 13. “An American Tail” was the last movie I saw with my Grandma before she passed away. I can’t listen to the song “Somewhere Out There” without crying. At some point in the middle of the night, I think she was singing it to me…or maybe it was just playing on my iPod. Either way, it broke me.

24 Hours of Booty, Part 1: Gypsy Road

Booty Volunteer: “How many are you going for?”
Me: “300.”
Booty Volunteer: “Are you going to make it?”
Me: “No doubt in my mind.”

And I didn’t have any doubts through the first 100 miles. In fact, that first hundred was quite easy. But somewhere around 130, things started going downhill fast and I began to strongly consider abandoning my bid for 300.

Anticipating a huge calorie output during my ride, I spent Friday morning and afternoon fueling myself with as much food and water as my stomach could handle. By 2PM we arrived in Bootyville to set up camp. At 7PM, the ride started and within 5 minutes I saw the saddest thing I would see during the course of the ride. A middle-aged gentleman was riding a tandem bike by himself. A white bike helmet sat lazily on the empty saddle behind him. Attached to the frame of the bike was signage with his wife’s name and the day she died; it was just this past April. I got choked up for a second and began preparing myself for an emotion journey. Late in my ride, I would press on relentlessly by telling myself that no matter how bad I was hurting, it was nothing compared to what many of my cohorts have experienced fighting cancer.

Aside from the first few laps (avg. 8 mph), the first 100 miles went by somewhat quickly, mostly because my friend Stacie was setting a blistering pace – one I knew I could not keep for 300 miles – to help get my speed average back on track after the slow parade-like start. I had to force myself to slow down. After our first break, a couple hours in, I knew that my very carefully laid out plan was going to have to change. I would have to stop more often than I thought. And each time I stopped, it took about 20 minutes to get back on the bike…I had not planned on it taking that long. Because of the longer breaks, I started falling off the pace I had set out for myself. In fact, the first 100 took about 7 hours (including the breaks); a full hour longer than I anticipated. But, if I stuck to that pace, I could still be done with 3 hours to spare. No sweat. Throughout the night, though, riding by myself, I started to panic a little that I would run out of time. I kept re-calculating my timing in my head to calm myself.

Somewhere around the 130 mile mark, about 3:30AM, my body realized what I was doing to it and it put in a protest the likes of which could be compared to an anti-war rally. The protest wasn’t coming from my legs, though. It was coming from every joint between my shoulders and fingers – my knuckles, wrists, elbows and especially rotator cuffs began aching tremendously from the jostling of the handlebar. Despite my pre-emptive action of loading up on 8 hour Tylenol, I could barely keep my hands on the bars for more then a few seconds at a time. It was also at this point I realized exactly how bad my sit bones and tail bone were aching. I was already to the point where my comfort had gone out the window. I, of course, had expected this, just not quite so early in the ride. I wasn’t even to the halfway point yet. I had my first thoughts of quitting. “You’re the only one who will care if you don’t make 300. No one else cares.” Then I’d retaliate with myself, “The faithful reader of my blog (Hi Mom!) will be disappointed.” And with that, I tried to laugh it off and keep going all the time asking myself, “If I feel this bad right now, how on Earth am I going to survive another 170 miles?”

Another harsh reality hit me as I saw the first rays of dawn. I had stated that by breakfast Saturday, I wanted to be as close to 200 as possible, with 175 more of a reality and 150 as a worst case scenario. Well, breakfast came and I only had 155. I was really thinking I would have more than that. I know what you’re gonna say. “That’s only 20 miles off.” But, my pace was slower than I expected. At the rate I was riding, 20 miles would take an hour and a half and I was already in so much pain that if I hadn’t been so doped up on Tylenol, I’m sure I would have had a headache from clenching my teeth so tightly. I put it out of my head for long enough to have a huge plate of food – scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, cheesy potatoes, a banana, some coffee and a doughnut.

I was halfway through the ride and barely halfway through my goal. I had 12 hours to ride the 145 miles I needed to reach 300. Knowing I would keep slowing down as fatigue overtook me, I became very emotional when I realized there was a good possibility I would run out of time. Tears tried to form. I fought it off. Quitting was certainly on my mind, “Oh, it would feel so good to go to sleep.” I fought it off. “There are people here who have suffered much worse than this.” I pressed on, barely able to sit and barely able to hold the handlebar.

Breakfast must’ve done me good cuz I was able to stamp out 45 miles to reach the 200 mark by 9:30AM. I kept telling myself if I reach 200, I’d finish the last 100 on adrenaline alone, after all, it was in the plan, clearly written and labeled with a cute little bullet point. I knew the second hundred would be hard because most of it was done during the night, riding alone in the dark when the only thing your body wants to do is go to bed, but instead is suffering through an activity in which it clearly doesn’t want to participate. The second hundred is purely mental and when I hit it, I was elated. I rewarded myself with a Coke at the break. After the coke I was feeling all fine and dandy until I got back out on the course with 100 miles yet to ride. I awaited the arrival of my adrenaline.

So, it was 10AM. I had 100 miles and 9 hours in which to do it. I began to feel confident. However, I think I put too much reliance into my adrenal system. As it turns out, adrenaline alone is not enough to get you through 100 miles of pure pain. I figured this out rather quickly at mile 203. There was no adrenaline. My body was simply not going to do this. I had been so convinced that if I hit 200, the rest would be as good as done. Not. So. At. All.

Read Part 2: The Final 100

24 Hours of Booty Prep Time

Well, I'm in the middle of packing up the car, but I wanted to take a quick second for an update before I go put in 300 miles in the name of cancer survivorship.

Once the ride starts, I can expect to burn about 15,000 calories and lose gallons and gallons of fluids from my body over the following 24 hours based on the goals I've set for myself. As such, I've been eating and drinking non stop since I woke up this morning. I don't want a repeat of a few years ago. That year, I called Jill at 7AM, after riding all night in thunderstorms, drenched, disoriented and completely wiped having nearly collapsed when I got off my bike. I sat at the breakfast table with my head down, unable to eat, while Jill made her way to the Booty Loop, around the traffic, broke down my camp, loaded my shit in the car and then helped me into the passenger seat to take me home. That was my worst year at this event.

I have detailed out a plan for reaching 300 miles. I won't write each detail here, but basically it goes like this - get as close to 200 miles done before the sun comes up and the temps hit 90. To do that, I've allowed myself numerous short breaks throughout the night, with a good long break for breakfast; a breakslow, if you will. I will change clothing often. Eat often. Reapply chamois cream very often. I'm happy with my plan of attack and I'm happy to have several friends going for 300 with me. I'm also happy to have discovered Uncrustables, the world's best cycling food, at the Blood, Sweat and Gears ride. I have packed a box of the peanut butter and honey on wheat in my cooler.

The last 100 will be done on a combination of adrenaline and absolute anger at cancer as I listen to stories of loss and pain and surviving from my fellow riders. I hope to be coherent enough during the event to take a few photos and videos. So, for now, I'll say good bye and good night. I'll see you on the better side of 300.

Boonen?...Boonen?...Boonen?...

They say you’re in the Tour this year, but I have yet to see you do anything thus far but crash. Perhaps more time training to beat Cavendish and less time suing the Tour Organizers would have served you better?

Your team suggested the Tour de France would be much better with you in the race – that Cav wouldn’t have any competition without you there. But you haven’t added a lick of interest and we’re already half-way through. If I didn’t see you’re name on the start list, I wouldn’t even know you’re there. You’re not being shown on TV. You’re not riding anywhere near the front. You’re team hasn’t even attempted a lead out train for you, much less given any effort to disrupt the Columbia-HTC train. Why are you handing the sprint stages to Cavendish?

You’ve been quoted as saying, “All sprinters are having the same problem and that’s 2 words: Mark Cavendish.” But, you’re not even contending the sprints. Farrar and Hushov are there every time, but the best you can muster is 16th? So, be honest with us. You weren’t actually expecting to get into the Tour were you? So you weren’t training for it, right?

Just tell us that’s the case so we can lower our expectations and quit being disappointed.

Okay, Tom. It's time to pull that thing out of your ass and get to sprinting.

Bruce Rosar: Not an Asshole

I did not know Bruce Rosar personally, but from what I’ve seen in comments about him, he was highly regarded, well respected and an all around really good guy. He was a leading cycling advocate in the Triangle area of North Carolina who allegedly turned left in front of a car last weekend, got hit and was killed. It is without a doubt a tragic event for all involved. His death has lit a fire under the “Share the Road" debate. And opinions are strong on either side of the argument. I’ll give you one guess as to which side I’m on.

I’ve been reading through the comments on the article related to Bruce’s accident and I have to say that the self-righteousness of it all is startling. “Well, I had a motorist chase me with an ax handle.” “Well, I saw a biker run a stop light.” “Well, just yesterday someone honked at me.” “Well, 2 days ago, I had slow down for a cyclist.” “Well, this just proves bikes should NOT be on the roads.” “This is a public safety issue.” “Well, I pay taxes on these roads…”

SHUT UP! Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Listen to yourselves.

The motorists accuse the cyclists of being the assholes. The cyclists say, no, it’s the motorists who are the assholes. Get off your fucking soap boxes. We’re all assholes. We may not be assholes all the time, but we’ve all had our moments and we’re all assholes (with a rare exception here and there). We would all be better served to check our egos at the door and realize that the people on those bikes and in those cars have moms and dads, sons and daughters, families and friends who love and care for them. And every motor vehicle death, whether it involves a cyclist or not, is tragic.

Admittedly, I will never understand what it is about a cyclist that drives some motorists into a frenzy of hate and anger. Reading through the comments though, two things seem to be the big culprits - cyclists slowing down traffic and cyclists disobeying the rules of the road. Like I said, we’re all assholes. I’ve broken the rules of the road in my car and on my bike and I’m certain you have, too. I mean come on, nobody, and I mean nobody, drives the speed limit except maybe my grandmother. So, since we’re all breaking the laws, let’s just call that argument neutralized.

Cyclists piss you off because they slow you down. You know what slows me down when I’m driving my car? Here’s the short list:

• Other cars.
• An accident during rush hour (as if the stand still on the Interstate isn’t enough).
• Dump trucks on slim country roads.
• 18-wheelers trying to make their way up a hill.
• Pedestrians in crosswalks.
• Stop lights.
• Drivers who don’t understand how a traffic circle works.
• People who drive the speed limit.
• People who turn right.
• People who turn left.
• Squirrels.
• Deer (although I hear they're willing to start paying taxes).
• Possums.
• The occasional skunk (actually, I usually speed up for skunks).
• And assholes.

Unfortunately, the roads weren’t built for me alone. Hence the whole “Share the Road” concept. I like to extend the philosophy beyond just cyclists. And it’s my opinion, when you’re granted the privilege of a driver license, you assume the responsibility of respecting all vehicles and pedestrians on those roads. And if you can’t agree to that, well, take the bus…or get a bike.

But, the accusations have got to stop in lieu of more constructive conversations. Conversations like the ones Bruce Rosar used to have. Because Bruce wasn’t an asshole.

1/2 Day Facebook Auction

Today is the last day for fundraising for the 24 Hours of Booty. I’m very close to my goal so I’m going to try and woo you so I can take your money and donate it to the cancer community. Introducing the “HALF DAY FACEBOOK AUCTION!”

My Father suggested I offer up my sweaty Booty socks. I think it’s a GREAT idea, but this is for charity and I feel I should give a little more. So, up for auction is:

- One pair sweaty Booty Socks
- One BRAND NEW "New Belgium Fat Tire Ale" Cycling Jersey (pictured below)
- One pair BRAND NEW "24 Hours of Booty" cycling socks

Go to my Facebook profile page and put your bid in the comments section of my status update. I’ve made it public for today only, so you don’t have to be my friend to see it: http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1437165804&ref=profile

Opening bid is $20. If you’re not in Charlotte, I’ll pay shipping. I’ll close the auction at 8PM tonight!

If you don’t wanna participate in this nonsense, please feel free to visit my personal donation page:
http://hob24.convio.net/site/TR/Bike/General?px=1002716&pg=personal&fr_id=1060

A Slice of Humble Pie with Whipped Cream and a Cherry

I raced the Charlotte Mountain Bike Series last night. I crashed 4 times. Well, 5 if you include when I fell over before the race by losing my balance while standing still. I couldn’t get my stupid shoe unclipped. I guess technically, I laid the bike out twice, crashed twice, and fell over like a dumbass once.

We haven’t had significant rain in Charlotte in several weeks and the course was showing it. The corners were mostly loose sand so navigating some of the sharper ones was a little tough. I laid out the bike twice in 2 such corners. Maybe those aren’t really regarded as crashes, but both me and my bike were on the ground, so call it what you want. Also, I was warned before the race of a new bridge that had been built that wasn’t quite right yet. I was told to beware of the tree on the inside corner because as you approach it, it looks like you’ll clear it, but at the last moment you realize because of that tree, you can’t lean your bike into the turn. Insert my first crash. On the first lap. I didn’t pre-ride the course, so I wasn’t familiar with this obstacle. I hopped onto the bridge, saw the tree and the off camber slope of the wood planks and thought, “What’s the big deal?” Then my handlebar hit the tree and I endo-ed off the bridge. As I pulled myself back onto the bike, I laughed at myself for not heeding the warning better.

At the time of that crash, there was one girl, Suna, with me in the lead of the race. By the time I got myself situated back on my bike, she had drawn to within 10 seconds of me. And she stayed there the whole race keeping me in a constant state of panic. I don’t think I ever got more than a 30 second gap on her, so on the second lap I had to play it smart. I had to go fast enough to keep the gap, but not push myself so hard that I crashed again. If I crashed, there was a good chance Suna would close the gap and I’d lose the race. So I spent the whole second lap telling myself, “Don’t crash, Winterton, don’t crash.” Side note, when I say my own last name in my head, it comes out as “winnerdin” which is how my brothers football coach used to get his attention back when we were kids, “Hey, Winnerdin! What are you doin’?” Weird that it has stuck with me all this time.

The last and worst crash came just before the finish. I was about 4 minutes away from winning my second mountain bike race of the season when my left wrist, handlebar, and brake/gear lever slammed full on into a rather hefty tree a full speed. There I was, flying over the handlebar…again. Once I finally hit the ground and came to a complete stop, I picked up the bike, keeping an eye behind me. I could hear Suna, but not see her. I jumped on the bike and took off like I stole something. I just had to get into the last singletrack section first. She wouldn’t be able to pass me in there. I sprinted on the short road section. I felt like she was right on my wheel, but a glance back and I didn’t see her as I entered the final section. As I finished the race, I could still hear her bike behind me rattling over the rooty course.

I’m pleased with the race. I had to work for the win. Suna put up a great chase. I could do without the crashing, though. The damage - a nice zinger on my left calf and right shin and small scrapes up and down my arms. More importantly, my bike ended the day with a bent brake lever and busted gear indicator. Oh, well, that’s bike racin’, right?

Tour de France: The Soap Opera

If you’ve never watched the Tour de France before, you need to watch this year. Only 3 Stages in and this years Tour is already heads and tails better than the previous 3 versions (except perhaps Floyd’s comeback victory in 2006, but that one’s now been erased). By comparison, last year’s Tour was a month long snooze-fest. But, this year, Team Astana is back. Contador is back. Lance is back. And the drama is back.

When Versus coverage of the Tour started at 8:30AM last Saturday with Lance declaring, “Oh, yeah. I’m here to win,” I got chills and realized, man I’ve missed this guy more than I thought. Watching him in the Individual Time Trial, I found myself hoping he would scorch everyone. Those 20 minutes while he was on course had me pacing my living room and shouting at the TV (and I usually save TV shouting for football season). He didn’t scorch everyone. He wasn’t even best on his team. He wasn’t even second or third best on his team. Perhaps he really did come to the Tour to support Contador? Lance as a domestique in Le Tour? That thought makes me nauseous. Then Contador set the best time in the ITT for Astana. I took some Pepto to settle my stomach.

Stage 2 – pretty much a formulaic sprint stage won by Cavendish. It would be more of a surprise if he didn’t win. Then, stage 3 comes. Which, by and large, was expected to be another formulaic sprint stage. And for most of it, it was. When Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwin start explaining why French flamingo’s are white and not pink, or why the long horn bulls we’re looking at provide the best beef in the world, you know the stage has gotten to it’s boring point and there will be no action until the last few kilometers of the stage. So, you sit and wait.

And wait I did. I was writing random thoughts for this blog when I heard Phil Liggett’s familiar excitement. “There’s a gap! They’ve got a gap!” What? Who’s got a gap? “The peloton has been caught out. Team Columbia has turned the screw into the cross wind.” I looked up to find the entire Columbia HTC team in an echelon powering them selves into the wind. They were pushing so hard that a time gap opened up to 30 seconds. And, holy shit, Lance is with them…and he has 2 teammates with him! More holy shit – Contador missed the move, as did most of the favorites. What the hell is Columbia doing? There’s 30k to go yet. They must be pissed about something. I did not take my eyes off the screen for the duration of the race. By the end, the break had 41 seconds on the peloton – a significant gap on what was supposed to be a sprint stage. My breathing returned to normal and I basked in the glow of Lance’s unmatched ability to read a race. Have I mentioned I’ve missed this guy?

Whether the “duel” between Lance and Contador is contrived by the media or not, the drama of it all has already made this Tour one of the best in recent times. Today is the Team Time Trial. Astana is the heavy favorite to win. There is a high likelihood that Lance could end the day in yellow. Did he attack Contador yesterday? I personally don’t think so. This wouldn’t be the first time Contador read a race wrong. Lance didn’t make much of it after the race when he said (I’m paraphrasing here) – when the entire Columbia-HTC goes to the front, and you know your about to hit the wind, you have to expect they are up to something and damn, you better be at the front when it happens.

Well, there you go. It’s like Days of Our Lives. Except without Alison Sweeny’s teary eyes, illegitimate children (as far as we know), and the hair is shaved from the men’s legs instead of their chest.

PostSecret Cyclist Hater

According to the website, PostSecret is an ongoing community art project where people mail in their secret anonymously on one side of a postcard. It was started by Frank Warren as an experiment and has grown into a worldwide phenomenon that has turned Mr. Warren into a best-selling author and a highly sought after speaker. I visit the website every week to see which new secrets have been posted. Today I saw this gem:

I had to snicker a little when I read it because, in my experience, when I ride on Sunday’s it always seems to be the people with a Jesus fish sticker on their car that cause the most problems and this secret just confirmed it for me. My most recent incident was only a couple of Sunday’s ago. I almost ended up in the Catawba River after a pick-up truck with a Jesus fish came WAY too close to me on the Wilkinson Boulevard bridge (despite 2 open lanes of traffic without another soul on the road) and sent me swerving into the barrier. I was able to keep the bike upright, but when I experience an incident like this, I tend to think things like, “How about some good will toward men throughout the year and not just on Christmas, asshole.” Then I wonder if they are on their way to church or on their way home from church. And if they are on their way home, exactly what was said at the church service that has made this person so angry at me that they’d like to make an attempt on my life? Or, if they are not going to church at all today, do they even deserve to display their fish?

I’m glad this person submitted their secret for me to see. It makes me feel better about revealing mine: I’m prejudiced against people who display their faith, but don’t practice their faith – especially in considering that one commandment about not killing others.

For crying out loud, find the source of your anger, deal with it and quit taking it out on cyclists – surely you can see the ridiculousness of yourself when a person on a bicycle sparks enough rage within you that you’re ready to kill or seriously injure them. And if you can’t, you may want to take that Jesus fish off your car – cuz you certainly aren’t Christian.

Blood, Sweat and Gears

The lo-lite: It took me 30 minutes longer to finish the route this year than it did 3 years ago (the only other time I’ve done this ride). The hi-lite: I totally killed the Snake Mountain climb!

100 miles. 13,000+ feet of climbing. 1,250 riders. This is “Blood, Sweat and Gears,” a benefit for the Watauga County Chapter of the American Red Cross. I was feeling good about this ride. After all, I’ve trained more in the mountains this year than all my previous years combined. Plus, I’ve got a couple 100 mile rides in my legs already this year. I was convinced I could better my previous time of 6 hours and 19 minutes; I even went so far as to think I could possibly break into the 5 hour mark. I was wrong on both counts.

I lined up 30 minutes prior to the start so I was pretty close to the front. Christina and Dirk were ON the start line and there were maybe 100 riders in between us. I was already feeling good. I could just sit in with a large group and let them help me better my time. Unfortunately, the drive train on my bike had other plans.

50 yards down the road, my chain would not stay in a single gear. It just slipped and grinded. Finally the chain fell between the spokes and cassette forcing me to pull over. I watched nearly 1,250 riders pass me as I fought with my chain. Once I got the chain unstuck, I ran through the gears. I’m not exactly sure why or how, but the derailleur limits were off as well as the gear indexing. I did not have a tool to set the limits, nor did I want to take the time in doing so. I resided myself to tightening the derailleur cable to fix the indexing – but would have to pay close attention to which gear I was in or I’d lose my chain again. I only had 100 miles left and almost the entire group had passed me. Great!

I sat in with people where I could but, I estimate I spent at least half of the ride by myself. Still, I thought I’d be strong enough to have a respectable finish. I was feeling good up the first climb, Shull’s Mill, and was finding my climbing rhythm fairly easy. I tried to pace myself knowing what lie ahead, but looking back, I could’ve done better with that. A detour over a gravel road didn’t affect me. I had lots of food and plenty of water. The weather was cooperating, for the most part, and as I hit my one rest stop (at the bottom of Snake Mountain), I was feeling good about myself given my crappy start. A small aside – next time I’ll know to plan my pit stop at the TOP of Snake Mountain so I’m not carrying so much water and food with me on the climb. But, even with 2 full water bottles and a couple of frozen “Smuckers Un-crustable” PB&J’s in my back pocket, I slayed that climb. All the people that had passed me on the lead up to the hill were walking their bikes up the climb. I’d say, including myself, there were about 5 people still on their bikes riding the 20% grade and about 30 off their bike walking along the side of the road. With grades that steep, you just turn your pedals and think of how gnarly the descent is gonna be. And it was. And I slayed that, too, reaching speeds up to 50 mph. I am so impressed with myself, I thought.

And almost as soon as I had the thought, my legs drained. All of a sudden every little incline in the road was a major climb. I looked at my odometer. 65 miles. Sweet, I only had 35 miles of absolute misery to look forward to. I found a small group that was going a good pace and sat in with them for a little while, but I lost them just before we hit the George’s Gap climb. I was toast. The people I had passed on Snake were now exacting their revenge on me. The last 15 miles of the ride were nearly unbearable, but how could I not finish after suffering for so long?

As I hit the last little kicker hill on Mast Gap Road, a lady on the side of the road started yelling, “You can do it! Only 2 more miles and most of it’s downhill!” All I could think was, well the next 50 meters isn’t and I’m dying right now, but thanks.

I’m not sure of my official time yet, but when I crossed the finish line, the clock said 6 hours 51 minutes. Disappointment overcame me as I sat in the shade for a minute with some pizza and a Coke. I was drained. I was dizzy. But, I was still proud for finishing. I got back on the bike and headed back to the car when I heard Christina call my name. Her and Dirk were already in street clothes, sipping beers and eating cookies in the shade of a tree. They both finished over an hour before I did. Ouch.

Back at the cabin, I had a little nap before heading out with Jill, Christina and Dirk to dinner at Black Cat in Boone (delicious, by the way. Highly recommend it). My spirits lifted and with a good meal in my tummy, I allowed myself to start planning for next year.

A Plea to Race Promoters and Organizers

I have mentioned CAT 3 limbo multiple times on this blog. It’s the “no-man’s-land” that women racers fall into once they leave the ranks of CAT 4 racing and begin lining up in the Pro 1 2 3 field. Some riders make the transition without problems, but I have heard from many women who have found the transition to be somewhat demoralizing.

I’ve thought a lot about why the transition is so hard and what can be done to ease it a bit. Of one thing I am sure – we all want to see more women racing. Leaving race after race in a constant state of frustration doesn’t bring women back to the sport. The way I see it, there are numerous reasons so many women fail as a CAT 3 and one very simple solution to prevent it. Here are just a few reasons why we fail:

1. Racing legs don’t happen over night – it takes years to develop a good base strength and power output.

2. Racing smarts don’t happen overnight – racing is not as easy as it looks on TV. One wrong move can ruin the race, which makes newbies hesitant to try new tactics, which in turn prolongs the learning process.

3. Over training and burn out happen easily when you want to do well – in an effort to keep up with the “big girls” a lot of women increase their training time, get burnt out, quit riding for a few months and then find themselves back at step one.

4. Moving up from a CAT 4 to a CAT 3 is relatively simple - the requirements for the upgrade are minimal and if you race consistently for 1 year, it’s most likely you’ll make the upgrade.

5. Racing is mentally draining – nobody likes to fail at something they work so hard for. You spend a lot of time training only to get dropped in the first few laps of a race. You begin to believe you’ll never be good at this. Why bother?

So basically, women need a more nurturing racing environment in which to grow. Men’s racing has many separate categories to accomplish this. But, there are so few women racing, that breaking up the categories is simply not feasible. I can accept that. So here’s my suggestion – most events already offer a Women’s CAT 4 race and a Women’s Pro 1 2 3 (or OPEN) race. I propose simply turning the CAT 4 races into a CAT 3/4 field while still offering the Pro 1 2 3 (or OPEN) field as well. I have a few reasons why I believe women will succeed in this set up. When you’re not worried about getting your butt kicked by racers much stronger than you, you can:

1. Test your legs on a breakaway to check your fitness against others of your own ability. And when you feel confident about your fitness, give the OPEN field a try to gauge your progress.

2. Try new tactics. The fear of trying any kind of tactic is greatly reduced when in a field of your own ability.

3. Stay mentally positive. Even sporadic success in a 3/4 field will be enough to keep you coming back for more which means more women staying in the sport.

4. CAT 4’s benefit from racing with riders slightly more experienced than themselves.

5. Gain more experience. Because it’s relatively easy to meet the requirements for an upgrade, riders suddenly find themselves among racers who have considerably better skills then they do. Someone who can’t handle their bike or freaks out easily is going to cause problems for the Pro 1 2 3 field. It’s safer to have a separate field to learn those skills.

6. Upgrade your license with confidence knowing you’re not instantly being thrown to the wolves.

7. Create the opportunity for more riders to “double up” on the races, which means more race entry fees paid, which means more money for the event. Every little bit helps.

8. Integrate racing into your life easier. Some of us don’t have 10 or 15 or 18 hours a week to train in order to be competitive with Pros and Cat 1’s once we’ve upgraded. Some women are happy just racing at the competition level of a CAT 4, but are forced into a CAT 3 upgrade if they have a little success. This way, despite an upgrade, they can stay at a level comfortable to them given the amount of training time they can find.

I have been in races where the USA Cycling Official stands at the start line lecturing the Women’s field; criticizing us that more women don’t race. But I have yet to hear of any solutions or see any changes to bring more women in. That burden is dropped on the shoulders of those who do show up to race week after week - us. There are a lot of groups out there promoting women’s cycling and working very hard to grow the sport. We just need the Organizers and Promoters to help out.

I would encourage you to consider this very simple solution in an effort to grow the sport we all love. Thank you.

If I Didn’t See It, It Didn’t Happen

Saturday morning’s ride ended in a bang. Well, more like a bang, a pop, a crack, a squeal and a thud.

Let me set the scene for you. It’s the end of the ride. We have about 2 miles left. About 20 of us are riding down Park Road Extension behind Carolina Place Mall. There is a BJ’s gas station on our right. There is a beige Lincoln MKZ approaching us in the oncoming lane. It merges into the turn lane to enter the gas station. That’s when I found myself screaming before I even knew why.

“CAAAAAAAARRRRR LEEEEEEEEEFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTT!” The driver had turned into our group.

Bill was first in line. He did some fancy riding swerving and hopping the curb to avoid the car. Shane, the guy behind Bill, had his wheels taken out by the front end of the car. His bike is destroyed, but somehow he came away with barely a scratch. Hal, third in the line, hit the front side panel of the car, endo-ed into the windshield, cracking it, slide across the hood and landed in the middle of the road. I was behind Hal and was the first one to reach him. He lay in fetal position breathing heavy in a state of shock until paramedics arrived.

I’ve witnessed several bike accidents in my years of riding. Generally, what I’ve found happens is half the group of riders surrounds the fallen rider to keep him/ her safe from more traffic while assessing the damage and calling 911. The other half of the group surround the car and driver so he/she doesn’t leave the scene (you’d be surprised how often people just try to take off – I’ve witnessed that, too). But this driver, an 80 year old male, did not try to escape. Instead he got right of his car and informed us that he “didn’t even see us.” Of course that set off the cyclists who start arguing, “How the hell did you not see a group of 20 cyclists?” I mean, at that point, we’re a bigger entity than a Ryder Truck.

Pineville Police were on the scene about a minute and a half after the accident. Paramedics and Pineville Volunteer Fire Department arrived a few minutes later. Hal was coherent as he was put on a stretcher and loaded into ambulance. Officers talked to all of us. Shane reported that the driver was looking over his own shoulder; not even looking in the direction of us.

Although there is animosity between cyclists and motorists, I have to believe that MOST motorist really do not want to hurt other people. The driver was visibly shaken. Literally shaking. I felt bad for him, too. He must have realized his mistake. He stood over Hal with a deep look of concern in his eyes. I don’t even recall him walking over to look at the damage to his car. It was just a bad situation for all involved.

Regardless, the accident was still his fault so there was no doubt in my mind that he would be ticketed. I mean, with all those witnesses, how could he not?

Here’s how. That little statement, “I did not see them.” That’s what the driver told the officer. Apparently, in NC, those 5 words keep you from being cited. It seems like a grave injustice for cyclists and pedestrians alike that there’s not a better law to help protect them from blind motorists.

Hal was released later that day with only scrapes and bruises, which is unfathomable to me given what I had seen. But, still, I'm grateful that my fellow cyclists were able to walk away from this one. Too often, that's not the case.

Lights OUT! Guerilla Radio!

A debate has been reeling in the cycling world for several years now as to whether or not race radio takes away some of the sporting elements of bicycle racing. With very little or no evidence to show otherwise, the Tour de France organizers have stepped in with what could produce the evidence necessary for the ban.

For those that don’t follow pro cycling races, let me explain. All riders in the races wear earpieces that connect them to their team director who is driving in a car behind the peloton. The Director “directs” the riders on tactics – when to attack, when to sit up, time gaps to breakaway’s, when to start chasing, etc. The Directors know almost down to the second exactly how long it will take to chase down a breakaway. It’s become formulaic and we see it happen in race after race. A breakaway goes clear several kilometers into the race and only to get caught 150 kilometers later when they are within 1km of the finish. On the plus side, though, the Directors can warn the riders of obstacles on the course up ahead.

This year, the Tour de France has proposed banning race radio for 2 stages of the 3 week race. And I’m all for it! Let’s finally see if the riders are just as tactical without being hand fed the information. Let’s race the old fashioned way – on instinct!

At the Tour of California this year, bad weather conditions knocked out race radio communications and it sent the peloton into a frenzy. No one could figure out who should chase the break or when. It was quite comical to see the racers looking at each other like they had no idea where they were. Chris Horner was pleading with the group to start chasing but by the time they finally listened to him, it was too late. The break stayed away and it nearly caused disaster for the race leader. THAT’S the kind of drama that makes people watch a sport.

Why should I bother sitting through 3 hours of race coverage when I can write the script for the first 2 hours and 55 minutes?

A Hero Ain't Nothin' but a...Drug Trafficker?

Missy “The Missile” Giove hasn’t made headlines in the cycling world since the mid and late 90’s when she was dominating the World downhill mountain bike scene. As a young cyclist just getting into mountain biking back then, I identified with her and she quickly became a hero of mine. She remains so to this day.

So imagine my excitement when my ex- Sister in Law called me from Suffolk, Va., to inform me that Missy Giove came to speak in my niece’s Women’s History class and that she lived in town. Next thing I know, I’m invited to a cookout that Missy Giove is invited to as well. I am beside myself with excitement. That BBQ is to take place in a couple of weeks.

Missy, having been retired from cycling for several years now, has drifted into anonymity with regards to cycling news… until this morning. I start every day with my daily check of cycling news websites. I opened Velonews.com this morning and the word “Giove” instantly caught my eye on the homepage. But, it wasn’t good. She had been arrested with 2 others in New York transporting 400 pounds of marijuana. Maximum penalty: 40 years. Minimum: 10.

I’m so pissed. Does this mean she can’t make it to the BBQ?

One more thing, quickly. Apparently one of the DEA agents was testing lines for Law and Order when he allegedly, knowing her Championship background, felt the need to insert himself in a move of classlessness by stating, “drug trafficking can lead you downhill fast.”

*Cue theme music …roll the credits…and, fade to black*

A Cyclists Nem"R-SYS"

According to the manufacturer of this wheel, its shattered appearance is a result of rider error.

The rider, Ben Delaney, who happens to be a journalist for VeloNews, wrote about the failure of his $1400 Mavic R-SYS wheelset and the article has gained a lot of exposure on FaceBook and in the blogosphere among other places.

Perhaps the most interesting part of the whole ordeal to me was Mavic’s conclusion that the shattering was a result of rider error. Rider error? He was turning left. Are these wheels only made to go straight? It had nothing to do with the fact that these wheels use hollow carbon spokes that employ “wagon wheel” style lacing? And Ben’s wheel was a “post recall” version. Why was there a recall on the original? Because they had the tendency to shatter. By all accounts I've read so far, there seems to be a flaw in the design of the wheel.

Ben Delaney states that his confidence in Mavic has not been thwarted, but I cannot say the same; not until they take ownership of their failed technology. A shattering front wheel is downright dangerous for a cyclist and just throwing your hands in the air and blaming the rider is not an acceptable response from Mavic.

Ease Up There, Buck-O

I was scanning the “Bikes” section on the Charlotte Craig’s List site today, as I normaly do, when I ran across and interesting listing. Here is the content of that listing, word for word, exactly how it appears on Craig’s List:

“re: WTB TREK ad (China)
Reply to: see below Date: 2009-06-10, 7:32AM EDT

Hate to break the news to you. But...... All low end Treks (basically anything below $2K) are made in the same factory as Specialized & Giant in China or Taiwan.

Heck.... I wouldnt be surprized if you added Huffy, Schwinn and Murray and other Wallmart bikes to that list. It is obviious that you are attempting to be brand loyal (you should try being bike shop loyal instead). and I can respect that.

But ask yourself a few questions.....

Would you really care about Trek if it werent for Lance? Are you truly a serious enough cyclist to be consious of the subtle differences between these low end frames? Do you really need to pay a premium for the same old stuff?

(Example....my Wife goes to the Farmers Market in January for tomatoes. It is pretty obvious that none of the produce is grown locally , rather they come from the same fields in Mexico, Does she habitually go to the same stand each time and deal with the Venders in broken english even though their Mexican tomatoes are $1.29 /pound when she go five feet away and get them for .99cents? No.

My suggestion is to keep trolling Craigslist like we all do and keep your eye open for a well equipped used buke that fits you and forget this whole Trek thing.

Or..... you can go to Wallmart and pick up a Next Mtb for $69 load it in your car and go to Hobby Lobby. Aisle 12 is the decal aisle. Pick out a set of decal letters that closely match the Trek Logo (oh yeah...dont forget numbers...enough for 3700 or 4500) Go home put the decals on and ride.

VIOLA! A BRAND NEW TREK 4500! Just be sure to re-assemble the bike and make sure all the nuts and bolts are good and tight (Doubt the High school kid in Wallmarts backroom did a very good job)

Good luck on your Quest......Hey Quest?? Thats another one coming off the same assembly line as Trek!”

Whoa! If you’re like me, your first thought was something like, “Holy cow, what did the dude wanting to buy a Trek say to this dude to get him all riled up?” So, I went and looked at the original post. Here it is word for word:

“WTB Trek Mountain Bike - $1 (University)
Reply to: mailto:sale-wkgze-1214328929@craigslist.org?subject=WTB%20Trek%20Mountain%20Bike%20-%20%241%20(University) [Errors when replying to ads?]Date: 2009-06-10, 6:43AM EDT

I am looking for a TREk mountain bike that is in very good condition. I would like a mid-level bike (3700 or 4500) that has been taken care of. Please let me know what you have available and the asking price and also include picures if available. corey_mackinnon@yahoo.com Thanks"

The audacity of some people.

Do You Like Apples?

I won. How ya like dem apples? And I’m not gonna lie, it feels gooooooood.

I was abnormally nervous this morning prior to the race. I have not raced a mountain bike in about 4 years and was unsure of what to expect. I decided my best race would be a tactical race. I was confident in my fitness so I took the beginning of the race to size up the competition.

I had great help from my teammate, Leah who took off from the start and got into the singletrack first. I was third into the forest, but having my teammate leading took a lot of pressure off me for the first part of the race. I really did need a little time to remember what this kind of racing was like. A couple of riders tried to overtake Leah, but she’s pretty quick up the hills so she was able to regain the front spot rather easily. I sat on her wheel and let her take me through the first part of the course. Her effort whittled down the field to 3 of us.

Now it was time for me to employ some tactics. I didn’t know the strength of the girl with us and so I had to test her. I came around Leah and made a small move on a downhill. I dropped the girl briefly but she fought her way back. Then I tried again on a steep uphill. Same thing, I temporarily dropped her but she fought her way back. I’ve always been a technical rider and so I decided to use that to my advantage.

When we got to the first technical section, I hammered it down the hill. At the bottom I looked behind me. I had opened up a pretty good gap. The problem was that the following section was flat and wide open. I didn’t want her to see me ahead of her cuz that causes a “chasing the rabbit” sequence that usually gives the chasing rider more motivation to ride harder. I attacked as hard as I could on a sprint hoping to get to the next curve before she could see how close she was to me. It mostly worked. I could still hear her in the distance though which kept my stomach uneasy.

The move that put the nail in the coffin for the rider behind me was a very technical, steep, rocky and root climb called the Billy Goat Trail. I knew this was where my big move would come. I killed that climb. I went up it so fast I surprised myself. By the time I hit the top, the girl chasing me was no where to be seen. And I saw no one (save for a bunch of guy racers that I was passing) for the rest of the race. I kept the pace steady, not overexerting myself. I felt no pressure on the second lap and once the win started to become inevitable in my head, I was extra cautious. No need to lose the race at this point because of a stupid crash or something of the like.

As I exited the singletrack into the grassy area that led to the finish, I took several looks behind me…just in case. One last look over my shoulder with the banner in sight and I let the elation overtake me. I threw both hands in the air (not necessarily an easy thing to do while riding in the bumpy grass), patted the logo on my chest to thank my sponsor and enjoyed the moment, as brief as it was.

Leah came across the line to snag 3rd overall and 1st in her age group.

I’ll be honest. I like winning. And I also happen to like apples. Especially when the apples come with a side of a first place Giordana-Clif Bar ass kickin’.

Pahoehoe = Lava, Which Means I’m HOT!

I haven’t ridden my mountain bike in over a year. I haven’t raced it since God knows when. My mountain bike is 10 years old – it’s practically a classic. The wheels don’t match and the rear derailleur has been replaced. The bar ends are 2 different colors and the chainstay is wrapped in rubber with zip ties holding it on. But there is one thing that makes my bike inherently better yours – glow in the dark decals.

Yes, my mountain bike is mostly unimpressive to look at; no where near the caliber of my road bike, but for some reason, I still really love the thing. Since my foray into road cycling started 4 years ago though, my mountain bike has been sorely neglected. Well, that’s all changing this weekend, people. The silver bullet is back! The ole Kona Pahoehoe is tuned up (kind of) and ready (I guess) for its racing re-debut (God, help me) as we make our grand comeback (what exactly am I thinking?) at this weekend’s Catawba Riverfront Classic (really, what good could possibly come of this?).

Me and my Pahoehoe are gonna make like lava and scorch this race, baby! (My overconfidence is purely tactical, not deserved.)

400 Miles Later...

Jim O’Brien wanted me to ride 200-300 miles with my new fit and let him know how I feel. Well, Jim is in Pennsylvania right now helping out with the Pro races up there, but if he were around right now I’d let him know that I’ve seen the light.

Never did I think it was possible to do a 100 mile bike ride and feel nothing but a small soreness in my neck (I mean c’mon, it’s 100 miles – you’re gonna hurt a little). The Saturday after my bike fitting, my buds and I attempted our first 100 miler of the season. I was somewhat scared cuz earlier in the week I had felt weird on the bike, but I’m weak when it comes to peer pressure so I went. The first 20 miles or so I didn’t feel so hot and I began to wonder if I was in for a rough day, but shortly after I had that thought, everything fell right into place and even at the end of the ride, I was still feeling very strong. I felt like I could keep going forever, but I was ravenous and so I went with the plan that took me and my buds to Big Daddy's Burger Bar instead.

The following weekend (my birthday weekend) we decided to do 100 again. I was determined to prove to myself that last week’s breakthrough was not a fluke. On this day, though, the temps were 10 degrees warmer. That wouldn’t have been an issue for me normally, but one of my buds had a crash during the ride and I had used my water to cool her down as we waited for her boyfriend to come pick her up. I ended up a bit dehydrated toward the end of the ride. My head was in a fit of dizziness for the last few miles and when I got off the bike I was unsure if I’d be able to get off the floor to get burgers.

Alas, I made it off the floor and felt a lot better with some fluids and air conditioning. Otherwise though, my body felt fine; very limited soreness if any at all in my back, shoulders and neck. As far as the bike fit goes, I think Jim hit it spot on. The prior week was not a fluke.

So in the 2 weeks since the bike fitting I’ve put about 400 miles on the bike and I can’t wait until Jim returns so I can sing his praises directly to him. I can’t say it enough – go get fitted. Right now.