Resurrection Ride

As the cliche goes, sometimes it is better to be lucky than good.  Got the call from Kevin today and find myself participating in my second Continental Calling ride tomorrow with Kevin and MW. 

I'll sleep when I'm dead.  (and at this pace... that may not be long.)

It even looks like the weather will be the same, but with Vitamin G.

DNF: Heat Stroke at ~ mile 130

Was sitting in 5th overall and first SS. Doesn't mean much but adds
to the disappointment.

On the other hand, Corey and Troy are flying and in the top three.
Viva la Lincoln!!

In darkly funny news, as I sat in the shade of a house and drank from
their hose, the realization I was done it and I had a small break
down. About five minutes into it, my face completely cramped.
Totally snapped me out of it.

"I'm done."

The last phone call I received was a real bummer. The incredible heat of the day had its way with Skip. The heat index peaked in the upper 90's late afternoon and Skip found himself with signs of heat stroke/exhaustion like chills, cramps, goosebumps, things not to be ignored. He and Joe Fox found some shade and a water spigot and waited for a ride for Skip.

Skip did report that he was currently waiting at the final checkpoint of the race when he called (5pm) that at that point only three riders had come through and Corey and Troy were two of them. So at least their was some good news.

DK Update

Could barely hear through the wind on an earlier call, but some words I could pick out sounded like 1st Single Speed and Corey and Troy off the front. A later voicemail and text at about 1:30pm said Skip was half way done and was fairly sure he was first in Single Speed and 7th overall and that Corey and Troy had been through about an hour before that. I had to assume that put them in the lead. I think Skip also said that he had been riding with Joe Fox out of KC. More updates as I get them.

4:30am: Gravel Sluts Getting Ready

Eye of My Little Storm

I am sitting in the Traverse City airport with a short 30 minutes of
downtime after having slept for three hours, risen at 5am and slipped
out of Empire, Michigan with the Rapha crew still snug in their beds
or respective spots on the floor. The guys proved to be all class and
it was a pleasure to ride with them.

The ride itself had little resemblence to what I had envisioned but it
was still nice in its own way. The weather locked us out of the
expansive views available on even a somewhat clear day and, from a
riding standpoint, I only truly felt like myself for a small portion
of the ride. Details to follow.

Now it's time to board a plane, touch down in Lincoln for an hour or
two and then jump in a car to drive to KS.

Traverse City - 99 Miles 18.8 mph

Leland - Mile 71

Empire - 40 miles in

Dicks Like Jesus

Mobilized and heading to ride. Mickey Avalon pumping in the Rapha
van. Rain and cold. Going Belgium style.

Breakfast Chatter

Bikes in the Wait

An Evening with the Rapha Gang

What started as an evening of dinner and get-to-know-you chats moved
easily to routes and reroutes, the off for a few beers at the "VI."

The evening's highlight was when a local approached Daniel Wakefield
Paisley and, after commenting on how hot he is, rested her large built
for comfort breasts on top of his head. The table then erupted with
the sound of cameras and phones being pulled.

Shortly afterward she proclaimed him to be a "fudgie". That is a
tourist who stands out because they are always buying fudge.

Apparently, he's a hot fudgie.

A Snack Before Dinner

I Couldn't Agree More

Just finished building up the anti-bling bike and now relaxing waiting
for the rest of the crew to arrive. Light rain, cool air, feeling good.

The Connection

One question seems to be running through any conversation I have with people about the upcoming Rapha Continental Ride I am hosting Thursday.  Phrased in various ways, the heart of it is simply:  "Your hosting a ride in Michigan?  You live in Nebraska.  What's the connection?"

The connection is Mrs. Snob.  Yes, I married into it.

Susan's family has vacationed in Michigan for decades.  Her mother was a teacher and later superintendent of a school district and their family summered in Onekama, Michigan each year.  When I entered the scene, I brought my bikes along.  First bringing my mountain bike and exploring the North Country trail and later taking cross and road bikes and riding M22 and various side roads, the experience leading to the route I submitted to the Rapha Continental.

So, while there are certainly people who know the area better than I do, I think I have the idea of exploring the region down pretty well.  The only blip has been the fact we're doing this right before Kanza, but that will work out just fine too.  

Talk to you from the road.

An Ode to Beers Gone By

Far and away the ditch beer of choice, Busch Light

The Backup

The Designated Driver

"Dude, I thought it was Miller."

"What is wrong with you?  Read the fucking label."

"Sorry... I was drunk."

The Intervention

The Sophisticate

And of course, the Champagne

Happy Memorial Day

Enjoyed a cool jaunt with small clan this morning.  Cortland and back via the Ja-homestead, a bit of gravel and back.  Good conversation, a little DK planning and it was back home to put the legs up and plan for a big week.

The boys are so fast they're a blur sitting still

MW, working it for the camera.  "Give me 'suspicious.'"

When I walked in the door, I pulled off my helmet and was greeted with heavy laughter from Mrs. Snob and Seven.  "Wow!!  You have a full blown Cipollini going."  Nice when your wife can pull that reference when required.

And boy, was it required

Questionable Judgement

I took a picture of this little blip in the weather then decided I could ride right through it.  I wasn't wrong, of course, I did, but the quick bursts of thunder and lightening weren't exactly what I had in mind.

Ah, it'll just blow over.

Coming to a Gravel Race Near You

Reading Habits

Everything evolves (and no, I am not talking about Ida).

Nate's updated the Monkey Wrench Blog to a higher level of functionality.

I've been following the Embrocation Blog for a while and now it's a daily check.

And, to be Mr Obvious, I've added the Continental page as the Calling tour continues.  Not only was a feeling a bit of performance anxiety as a rider, but the Asheville ride makes me concerned the route is too easy as well.

Of course, the War Axe kits were already at a pinnacle of development, so they're unchanged.  Alpha predators just remain and dominate the food chain.

A New Favorite

Elk's IF jersey transformed via Mrs. Snob.

It took a while, but I finally took it off.

Serendipity

One of the pleasant perks that comes with hosting a ride as part of the Continental Calling is the jersey that arrived in the mail a few days ago.  Rapha has a Country Jersey line honoring Belgium, France, Italy and Holland and, as if in conjunction with my recent travels, I'll be honoring the country that I fell in love with for some time to come.

Now if I could only get someone to scream at me in Dutch

At another point, Mrs. Snob and I discussed trimming my mop of hair into a "Lars Boom," referencing the hair style of last year's cyclocross world champion.  The considerations were serious and ridiculous at the same time until Susan came across the pre-growth monster that hid dormant under Boom's helmet before sprouting out of the back and moving from acceptable to heavily euro-styled.  

After that, it was never spoken of again.

"No honey, that's just a mullet."

Speaking of jerseys, War Axe will be ordering more kits soon.  Details over at the War Axe site or email info@waraxebicycles.com.

Out With the Kill Takers

I grew a bit concerned this morning when only Troy and Corey were there to set out on a Sunday jaunt.  Mercifully, the Gravel Conspiracy had taken enough out of them that the pace was pretty moderate and the conversation, when the wind would allow, was flowing.  We closed the day with coffee, plans for Dirty Kanza and a smile.

"I'm sore.  You sore?"  "Yeah, I'm sore."

"This headwind is not helping the recovery."  "Huh?"  "What?"

Three is not a crowd, not with these machines.

Jay joined us in Cortland and I had a spin-fest with a tailwind the whole way back.

"... a little kingdom, torn with factions and exposed to revolutions."

While the Lincoln scene has scattered between the Gravel Conspiracy and the Branched Oak 12hr this weekend, upcoming travel and events are keeping me at home this weekend.  A little yard work, soccer and normalcy but that doesn't mean I didn't "Do Work."

Wittstruck.  I had no idea this road was so good.

He's So Dreamy

When Cyclingnews becomes US magazine... our Mac ends up with this as wallpaper.

Mrs. Snob's current crush... Fabian the beau-hunk

A Few Stills from Maastricht

Note the gully for you to roll your bike up.

Dick.

NAHBS is in Richmond Next Year...

... and Johnny thinks we should get these guys to play an off-site party.  The man is genius.

"Hup, Hup, Hup"

Somewhere near the end of the Amstel Gold, Eddy Merckx rode up the Cauburg then was unceremoniously told to get off the course by an overzealous race official.  Eddy simply obliged and then, once off, decided to take a small path up a grassy knoll instead of fighting his way through the crowd.  As I snapped this photo, I shouted a classic cross "hup, hup, hup."  When he reached the top, the Cannibal turned and gave me a smirk.  I couldn't tell you if it was approval or annoyance.  

Look out.  Only the greatest cyclist of all time coming through.

TransIowa V5: Poor Oliver (Contains "Abrasive" Language)

While I can be pretty loud at times, I am generally a pretty quiet person, particularly in groups or crowds. So when Corey first told us that Oliver had been kind enough to volunteer for support duty my first thought was, "I don't think I have ever even spoken to that guy." I knew he had done Kanza last year, but couldn't recall a conversation.

After pulling from the race, I slowly morphed into SuperFan/Support Guy and told Oliver to look out because he now had a partner in crime. I then proceeded to talk his ear off burning all of the emotion energy that comes with pulling from a race.

He'd mentioned at some point that he was a bit concerned about being the outsider of our crew so then feel right into the mix in having to deal with me on a mental bender.

While I suspect he knew why I was so chatty, he was also quick to point out that we'd actually chatted at Kanza and we'd been introduced at Yia Yia's once.

"Really?"
"Yeah, it was during the commuter challenge."
"The one where people wouldn't pay up unless you went to Yia Yia's?"
"That's the one."
"I don't remember that."
"Yeah, and then we talked about your phone at Kanza."
"My phone?"
"Yeah, your iPhone."
"Oh... that. I remember that."
"Yeah... I thought you were a bit... ummm ...abrasive."

And that's where Oliver made his mistake. I have a habit, particularly when wound up, of putting words in people's mouths. And off I went...

"Abrasive huh?"
"Well, you're so quiet that..."
"You thought I was a cunt..."
"No... I..."
"An abrasive cunt."
"Well..."
"You think I am an abrassive cunt."
"But now..."
"Oh, I see. You still think it. Cronin, the abrasive cunt, that's how you think of me. Well that's just fucking great!"

We laughed hard and shortly thereafter had to go grab EB from some random gravel road.

It's true though, I am.

Rapha's Road Journal Begins

As I was pushing my way through a damp, spongey 'B' road section somewhere along the 100 mile mark of TransIowa, my phone rang. A quick glimpse showed a phone number I didn't recognize, thought, "Who the fuck is that?" and simply put my phone back in my pocket. In an somewhat ironic near-miss, it turned out to one of the guys from Rapha regarding the Michigan ride I am 'hosting' in a few weeks.

When I first heard the voicemail, I thought, "Man, maybe if I had answered this I would have been inspired to keep riding." Of course, now that seems a little silly. Rapha makes a fine garment, but performance roadwear doesn't exactly contain mystical healing powers... if they do, I really blew it.

While I have a few weeks to go, the Continental Calling Tour has already begun with a Road Journal you can follow. (Hey Corey, you'll see Mena was part of a ride post tornado, so all that scenery we saw was put to all of the uses we discussed.)

TransIowa V5: "No Mas"

Five times over five years.  That seems like a very long time and nearly represents the entire length of what I would consider my evolution as a cyclist who will occasionally races his bikes.

 

It's something I hadn't really though about until all the TI V5 riders gathered near the graveyard at the start-line.  Mark said I couple of things I didn't quite catch so I looked at MW to ask what I missed and he replied, "Nothing you haven't heard four times before."  

With that little nugget nestled in the back of my brain, the race started, we all turned pedals and off we went.  The first 40 miles were a cruise and I assume that was largely due to what I assume had to be a nice tailwind.  At one point, I was up front with BJ Bass (finisher!), who I finished TI V3 with.  We exchanged hellos and thoughts about being at the sharp end but then pulled off and let someone else carry on.  Cooler heads, etc.  Most of the forty was spent thinking "is this too much?"  However, it was obvious my heart-rate was good, the legs were fine and that soon enough reality would raise up in the form those winds not hitting me square in the back.

The only snag was EB flatting just shy of Checkpoint One.  I pulled off with him, enjoyed a quick natural break and looked back to see Eric with a strange look on his face.  He'd just discovered the flat but what he hadn't discovered was the fact his tubes weren't the right type.  I set back off telling him I would soft pedal and we would work together to rejoin the group.  It wasn't until miles later I'd learned of the issue with his tubes.  

After a small detour just after the first checkpoint, Corey and I started rolling with a small gaggle riders and that lovely tailwind was now pressing against us and we organized cue sheets and started leg two.  Fairly quickly, I fell back and started riding at my own pace.  In hindsight, I probably should have just held a wheel for a while as it seemed to take forever before the group miniaturized and vanished from sight.

Perhaps five years of Iowa has jaded me, but that entire section would have to work hard to become more boring.  North two miles, East one, North three miles, West two, etc, etc.  After a bit, Eric came by on a mission to rejoin Corey's group and that was it for a while.  I rode solo and thought a lot about things outside of cycling.  Keeping half an eye on route and half an eye glazed over at the landscape.

Someone will have to help me with the town we hit somewhere around the 75 or 80 mile mark, but it was sometime after that town that my ride went sideways.  Nothing dramatic happened, it was just a gradual decent into mediocrity and, as sad as it sounds, all I could think about was how I would write about the fact that I was failing at another TransIowa.  Instead though, I fired off the post below and moved on.

Around what I think was the century mark, I saw a host of riders leaving a convenience store near the interstate, I thought about bridging but opted to stop for a Drumstick instead.  At the time, I thought that was likely some second chase group, that I should just keep to myself and see how things went.  Plus, I wasn't giving up the goodness of the Original Sundae Cone.

The great thing about the Drumstick is that it is ice cream you can ride with.  I remounted and headed up the road.  Immediately upon hitting gravel I saw two dogs in the rode with a couple of riders going past.  The dogs didn't really bug anyone but from a distance looked like they were just hanging out.  Once I finally got close, I saw one had a stick in his mouth and was ready for play.  He got in front of me and zigged to my zag so well that I couldn't get by him.  Then, I did the dumbest thing I have ever done in all of my miles of Iowa gravel, I tossed him the last of my drumstick.  You know, the chocolate part in the bottom?  Gone forever.  Fuck me...

Shortly after, I bridged to George, who I had seen then missed earlier, and Jeremy.  It was nice to have someone to ride with but it was also tough as we all seem to ride different styles.  With all the short climbs I tended to yo-yo around them in what I felt was likely an incredibly annoying thing to watch.  

At one point we found Dennis who both confirmed we actually weren't that fair back and the fact I am the village idiot for thinking we were sitting in the middle of the pack, then promptly rode away from us.  That guy is strong.  He just needs to get Murphy's Law off his back.

Somewhere along the way, my right achilles decided to say hello in a pretty unfriendly way and my pace went down.  It was a strange sensation because it wasn't always clear when or why it would ache.  In fact, at times it felt better to just hammer than anything else.  The three of stuck together, waiting on someone through rough patches and cruising together when times were good.  After a while of silence nearing checkpoint two, he came up and asked, "How's Mr. Thirty-Revolutions-A-Minute Doing?"  I am not sure how wide I smiled, but it was hysterical.  

Jeremy, George and I rolled into Checkpoint Two around 15th place.  I grabbed some cue sheets, said hello to Oliver, our support guru and parked myself in the grass next to the War Wagon.  My achilles throbbed out some pain to the beat of my heart and I decided to grab some food to see if it would subside.  It didn't and I decided to stop.  

Some time a few years ago Jeff Avey made a point to say to both Corey and I that "just because you can go on, doesn't always mean you should."  It was that, Mrs. Snob's text messages asking me to be smart and having a few friends tell me how long it takes to recover from really damaging your achilles that combined for the decision to pull a Roberto Duran.  "No Mas."

I burned some anger and disappointment for a while.  Then stopped being a baby, rallied and starting walking around seeing if there was anyone I could do anything for.  Everyone was basically set, so I warned Oliver he had a sidekick and to expect a long night of putting up with my antics and bullshit.

Those things (Oh and there are many) will have to come in another post though.  This thing is long-winded enough.

Done!!

MG gets his first. MW chalks up a second. Respect!!!

M to the 2nd Power

The Matts are only a short while away from closing out a TI finish.

The rest of the crew pulled for various reasons so now it's all about
MW and MG.

Mile 95

Cramping. Walking Hills and generally failing

Ready to Roll

Too Many Chefs

PRSD- The Pre Race Shut Down

I have been the observer of and often aid in many race preparations for Skip. I have repeatedly observed and finally termed a phrase for the phenomena that rears its head as the race approaches. It is the Pre Race Shut Down. This occurs a few days prior to departure for any big race. Despite a good positive attitude earlier the week, something changes. The desire to go to the race, pack for the race, and generally be pleasant to be around disappears. Weeks of over analysis wasted. This is where I know I need to step in and not allow Skip to derail his own train. I takeover the little errands, make the trips for spare tubes and equipment, make sure all needed clothing is clean, and generally keep things moving in a positive direction. Usually by departure time, the phenomena has somewhat subsided, so that he will actually go to the race.

Who can explain this strange occurrence to me?

Mrs. Snob

Belgium Style Lunch

Whipped

On the way to sign in...

... and just after the finish.

Actually, what struck me more than seeing them together both immediately before and after the race was how thin the rider's leg looks in that first photo.  

That Short Little Race

While walking around the Netherlands isn't exactly the way to prep for ~330 miles of gravel, TransIowa doesn't wait and suddenly it looms this weekend.  

The bike is relatively clean, the gear is 38x16 and the mindset is to just tick off the miles and take it as it comes.  A few remaining details, such as putting my computer back on, and pinkie will be ready to roll.

As Butch pointed out, I just need to remember my jacket and things will be just fine.  (though the banana plastic does make a nice story.)

North American Scum

From the beginning of the Amstel Gold, I found myself wondering how Ryder Hesjedal was fairing.  The former mountain bike superstar turned road machine was near the front all day and went with what looked like a potential winning move near the end of the race.  That break didn't hold and he ended up around 35th on the day.

Apparently, Ryder also got the joy of peeing in a cup postrace.

The finish at the Amstel isn't all the way up the Cauberg so after crossing the line, the riders still have to climb another quarter mile to get to where their team buses are parked.  We saw Ryder shortly after he finished slowly spinning his way up toward his bus.  He looked completely tanked and that 'I just rode my ass off' expression marked his face.  Without any premeditation, I yelled out, "Good job, Ryder.  Way to work man!!"

Chalk it up to hearing North American English, but his head popped up and he looked over to give us a head nod and return my wave.  After weeks of what I would guess is hearing people yell in everything but his native tongue, it looked it he may have thought it nice just to hear something familiar.