Long, Rambling, Overly Detailed on Cycling: Part I

I’ve been asked lately how the bike season is going. Every time I hear the question I have to consider how much this person knows about my experience last year, and how much they’d want to hear. The short answer is that it’s not going well at all. The long answer is everything that follows.

January of last year I started riding my bike for the 2005 collegiate season. I rode a lot. Eight to ten hours a week. I couldn’t have asked for better conditions, if you were around the greater Moscow area you’ll recall a two week stint of 65-70 degree weather in February that I took every advantage of. I almost always rode alone, as my schedule was pretty hectic with two jobs and full time school and rarely had the foresight to plan group rides. I also liked being alone for two, three, or four hours at a time.

By the time our first race rolled around I was easily in the best sport-specific shape I’ve ever been in. I’d raced my first year as a ‘C’, the lowest category and was starting off in the ‘Bs’ this year. My first season had been cut a bit short the last time I’d raced in Oregon when I put a pedal down too early on a turn and slid myself down the pavement at about 25mph. Now I was back, this time in Corvallis and with hours upon hours of work put into my legs.

The race started in a gentle drizzle. As we took off from the start I worked my way into the front third of the peloton. About three miles in there was a small hill, maybe ¾ mile long. Hills are a blessing to someone as metabolically blessed/cursed as myself, so I stood up out of the saddle and pulled off the front just to see what would happen. With minimal effort I was pulling away, so I sat back down and let the pack envelop me as we crested the hill. As we came to the second climb I did the same thing, but didn’t let up at the top. I instead dropped a few gears and smoked down the backside at about 80%. As we flattened out near the bottom, the pack came back around me. I felt like I had this in the bag. I felt that physically I was in good enough shape to be competitive in the As this year, and after winning this race, I’d bump up to the category. Guys around me were shaky on the hills and struggling to catch back on to the little attacks that were going on. I settled into a comfortable position about three or four people from the lead.

I was hugging the shoulder line with four riders to my left, as well as people in front and behind me. We were in a straight, flat section of the course. Imagine the least likely place for a wreck to occur. That’s where the guy on the median to my left went down. I could see the commotion in my peripheral vision, then watched as bikes dominoed over right into me. With the gravel shoulder on my right, a bike in front and a bike in back of me, and an OSU Beaver crashing into my left, I didn’t have many options of escape. I got knocked by the crash, then once the four racers to my left were down I was able to try and regain control by squirting up and to the left where I promptly ran into the guy in front of me. It happened very quickly, but I think that I ended up with my front wheel rubbing against his chain-stay and me leaning into him. This only lasted a split second before something caught and I ended up over my bars and rolling down the road. Thankfully we weren’t cooking along too quickly so I was able to roll back on my feet with my momentum and grab my bike. My chain had dropped off of the front rings and I spent about a minute trying to get it back on as the pack sprinted away. When I finally got it in working order, I hopped on and tried to catch back on. They were out of sight by now, but I was hopeful.

Here’s the best part: I came to a T-intersection with a roadside volunteer who was supposed to be pointing us in the right direction of the course. I was pointed in the wrong direction. I rode about twenty miles off course as the wind and rain started picking up. When I happened upon I-5, I knew something was amiss. I turned back around, and noticed how absolutely frozen I was. Riding in the wind while wet will do it. I also realized that I had no idea where I was. Even if I were to ask someone for directions, all I knew was that we were parked in a big empty lot in the middle of nowhere. So I rode, backtracking as best I could, and thankfully came back to our car where I (slowly and with numb claw-hands) peeled off my wet garb and put on every piece of dry clothing that I owned. A few hours later I was warm enough to put my wet jersey back on for the team time trial. I opted out of the criterium on Sunday. Physical damage from the wreck: Minimal.

The next week found us in Seattle. Typically our road races are the first event, but this week we started with the team time trial. The As were down a rider and asked if I would ride with them and I agreed. We weren’t out to break any records, just get some points for the team. Travis and Charlie took off with me sucking their wheels. In the first mile, the road drops down a hill and turns to the right. Unknown to me, as I was gazing at Charlie’s wheel and butt, the U. of Oregon team had just crashed two minutes earlier on the corner. One of their riders was standing on the far side of the road telling us to slow down and watch for gravel. I didn’t hear this and by now had my arms in the aerobars on my bike, which don’t have brakes attached. Imagine the three of us in a straight line. Travis, Charlie, me. Travis sees and hears the warning, and slows. Charlie, sees Travis slow down, and pulls out of line to the left as he slows. Me, looking down, with my hands gripping something that can’t stop me, creep right up to Travis’s wheel with Charlie to my left as we hit the corner. I reached for my brake with my right hand, but it only twitched my bike a few inches left, right into Charlie. This time, we went down at about 35. I clearly remember having a very calm sense of “I can’t believe this is happening” as my right forearm dug into the chipseal. We slid, rolled, and bounced for a bit, and got up as Travis rolled up to us after turning around. Physical damage: Substantial. We hauled ourselves over to the ER for some stitches and Hydrocodone prescriptions.

As I was having my arms and legs picked clean of gravel I started to think about this bike racing deal. I started thinking about how much time I’d put into this. How many hours I’d spent sitting on a tiny bike seat, alone, moving myself around Washington and Idaho. For what? Even if I’d been winning these races, I was beginning to see this as something extremely selfish. Everything I’d put into this “hobby” was self-serving. It was to make me look good. I couldn’t honestly say that anything I’d done on my bike had benefited anyone but me. And it actually wasn’t doing me too many favors so far. Hmmm.

Our next race was in Bozeman, Montana. I’d done this race the year before and was looking forward to it. It ended on a three mile climb, 1100 feet gained. It was my best shot at winning a race that year. I was excited.

I was also feeling a lot of tension about it. The thoughts from the previous week had been rolling around in my head and building a tiny fort of doubt.

Now understand this: I’m a terrible criterium rider. This is because I’m scrawny, and a retired runner. My mentality on a bike is similar to how one runs; steady. Pick your pace, stick to it to the end. Crits are nothing like running. Road racing in general is nothing like running, but crits especially. Good crit riders are typically your beefy dudes, with legs the size of couches, to use the classical reference. I’ve always gotten smoked in them, but I was hoping to maybe be able to at least hang on with all my training this year. The crit was the first event on Saturday, and as usual, I got owned. Started near the back from the get go and only fell back until I was totally alone, then pulled out. No big deal, road race tomorrow.

More tension that night and the next morning. Can’t shake the feeling that I’ve wasted my time this semester on something selfish. The drive to the start of the road race was a good hour. I spent the majority of it asking God for some clear sign about what I should be doing with the cycling thing. We got there, unloaded bikes and started warming up. As I took my bike down the road I felt a clicking/knocking in what I thought was my crankset, which was a new addition to the Trek. This was its maiden voyage. I asked Charlie to take it out to see what he thought. As he pulled back up he said “I didn’t feel what you’re talkin’ about, but what’s up with your left shifter?” I didn’t know what he was talking about. He proceeded to show me how my front shifter was seized up and I was therefore stuck in one chainring up front. We took it apart and dumped about a quart of lube into the thing to no avail. There would be no shifting between big and small rings for the Trek. Given the nature of the course, with a huge hill and all, I was out of the race. That seemed to be a pretty clear answer. I told the team that I was done for the year.

You may be asking what else I could’ve been doing besides riding my bike. Plenty, I think. Over Christmas break of that year I found that my sister wasn’t saved after a quick talk with her. Our relationship is another topic that I could (and should) spend a lot of time on, but for now it’s enough to say that I failed as a big brother while I lived at home and now had a chance to repair some of that. Instead, I rode my bike.

Similar situation with my brother, as far as me not living up to my role as a brother. I’d been trying to establish more of a relationship with him as well, but bike riding went on.

There are a few other things that I may have been neglecting, some of which I talked a bit about in my Shakespeare paper last semester, but my brother and sister were definitely on the front burners.

So that’s the backdrop for this season. I’ll try to have it up this week, and hopefully it will be edited and smoother than this.