Le Cap

Up until this point in life, I've loosely abided by the old adage "It's better to regret something you did, than something you didn't do." About 80k into sunday's UCI B World Championship Road Race, I inched toward the front of the peleton, and as I normally do, I went with the first attack that went. It was at this precise moment when I questioned the underlying meaning of the above saying. The legs were mush. The mind, worse. This was the right decision?

"Better to regret something you did than something you didn't." A fine saying, but the cardinal flaw is this: it's impossible. If you do one thing, you'll always end up not doing the thing you would have otherwise done. Pardon the crude attempt at philosophy, but it's the only way to get the thought across. I went to Cape Town with the understanding that i'd be full of regret if I skipped it. At present, it is with great regret that I didn't spend the days from June 25th-July 4th in France, in the Ardeche, at home.

After a daunting 30+ hour travel session, I was back in the northern hemisphere late Wednesday night. I'm glad a few days have passed since the conclusion of the racing. Writing immediately after particularly stressful periods can sometimes result in unnecessarily aggressive writing and harsh tone. Being home again has been therapeutic, to say the least, and i'm settled enough to write a proper entry. Here goes...

I made it to Cape Town late Monday evening. I was greeted by crazy a crazy storm throwing buckets of rain all over the place. "Oh wait -it's WINTER here." I completely overlooked this bit...but no harm done. That monday evening was probably the worst night (weather wise) of the whole trip. I met with the Armenian coach and the rest of the team. Spirits and hopes were high. I was a bit surprised when informed that I'd be doing the 15k scratch race in 12 hours time. Not asked "hey, do you want to?", but simply told that i'd be doing it. I didn't object, and didn't really think much about it afterward.

-15k Scratch Race-

I'm happy to report that despite all the travel and the magnitude of whatever bug I had only 2 days prior, I felt okay. Woke up with decent energy levels and fresh legs. I put the borrowed track bike together and did a final check to make sure everything is in working order. It's a track bike, ain't too complex, not much that can go wrong. First, I did my usual check of the handlebars...SNAP. The stem broke with only a slight twist of the handlebars.

"Why did you break it?"

"Um...apologies, I do this with all my bikes after a build...to make sure they are in proper working order. I've never ever had that happen to one of my bikes...think something might be wrong with it?"

"No, nothing is wrong. That isn't a normal motion for track bikes, and that's why it broke. I've been around track bikes for 40 years."

He had been around track bikes for a long while, and I never doubted his credibility, but I'm a stubborn guy, and sought to figure out what the hell was wrong with it. A quick inspection revealed that one of the stem bolts clamping the handlebars only had 2 threads entering the stem, and the break occurred at this bolt. Scary. Another troubling bit: the fork was a road fork from a smaller bike, and the steer tube only made it half way up the stem. The top bolt on the stem clamped nothing. Also, the fork had no star-nut. Compression was achieved through a piece of metal super-glued to the top of the steer tube cylinder...meaning compression didn't go lower than midway up the stem, instead of well into the head tube. We borrowed a stem bolt from my road bike's stem, and I was given the green light. I did the living room test on the bars again, and though it didn't break, it felt like rubber -at best. Further, and of little concern but worth noting: the bike had road handlebars, stem, cranks and BB (which had some threads peeking out of the frame because it's longer than a track BB), and I had the distinction of being the only participant at the world championships NOT riding a disc wheel and deep V/5 spoke front.

Got to the track. Found a small window in which to ride the bike for the first time. Did 3 laps (750 meters). Got out of the saddle for a little bit and nearly crashed because of perceived wobbliness. I say "perceived" because I hadn't been on a track in 5 months, and perhaps I'd forgotten what track bikes are supposed to feel like? Or maybe my Bianchi is far-and-away the stiffest track bike around? In any case, I returned to our quarters in the infield, and announced that the bike didn't feel right (at all) when I gave it a go out of the saddle. "You don't need to get out of the saddle on the track, and besides, there is nothing wrong with that bike," he said. I pleaded: "Please, give it a go, see for yourself!" I am stubborn, and this time was a bit more vocal about it. I didn't want to be a liability. I didn't want to go to a South African hospital. I didn't want to jeopardize my participation in Sunday's Road Race. I didn't want to discredit the team (the country?) by causing a crash. I was serious but respectful in my tone. I was told that "Like a soldier, a true bike racer does everything his superior tells him to, and asks no questions with regard to consequence."

Click.

To avoid losing my cool, I took a time out, and sought to right things on my own. I went to neutral support. They checked the bike out and confirmed my earlier findings. They figured out a way to get proper compression and assured me that although the steertube was dangerously too short, it wouldn't result in catastrophic failure. Allright, thank you Shimano neutral support. Though I didn't get a chance to ride it on the track, it felt noticeably better in my hands. No play, and much more like the Bianchi.

We lined up for the race. 60 laps x 250 meters=15k. No warm up, my first pedal strokes in a track [race] since the 80s were the 1 lap neutral. The bike felt okay! I don't remember what happened. I had one teammate in the field, and even remember launching a couple attacks of my own (mainly because I felt that I wasn't getting a full draft effect in the bunch because of my own rust/ineptitude). My teammate was able to lap the field with 5 others. Solid!!! More than we could have hoped for, as both of us are mainly (entirely) road guys. I spent the last 5k last wheel, barely hanging on, determined to not get dropped and to finish. With 5-6 laps remaining, my teammate dropped back near me. Hm? I figured he was spent as well, after lapping the field and all. He didn't say a word to me while back there. He eventually finished 5th, out of the 5 that lapped, and I finished 12th. Very happy to have finished, and a bonus to not be last! After the race, I was in high spirits, and figured that all the tension would be lifted at this surprise 5th place track result, and that my bike had been solid. I approached the 5th place rider to congratulate him on the result: "Hey man, congratulations!!!" and was met with a stern stare and a cold "Where were you with 5-6 to go?".

Click.

A short while later, it was unanimously agreed upon amongst the Armenian contingent that I was the reason we didn't win the 15k scratch race. This is a bummer, man, but these things happen. Me? I was thrilled to have finished, and to have not ended up with bits of my blood on the concrete track. I thought about my olive plant in France and wondered whether Simon watered it this evening. I'd think about that olive plant lots in the days that followed.

-40k Points Race-

I did a couple of training rides in the two days that followed tuesday's Scratch. I desperately wanted to do the rides alone, and i'm glad my teammates understood that. Sometimes a bit of solitude does wonders for the CNS, which in turn, makes the legs work better. But I dunno, the mind was in a different state. An "irregular" state. I'd never faced circumstances like this. In any case. The points race: 160 laps. 160!! Far and away the longest track event I will have ever entered. I wondered how track guys go so hard for so long without hydrating? I ran into Emile Abraham of Priority Health during the warm up. It was comforting to find a familiar face in the bunch. We warmed up together and I got updated on the comings and goings of the NRC peleton. His teammate (Jacques-Maynes) has the NRC lead...crazy when you think of the big guns at Health-Net and Toyota. I asked him for advice regarding our upcoming points race: "don't get dropped!" hahh! Allright, will try!

I got dropped with 61 laps to go. The 80+ laps I stayed in there were among the most difficult of my life. On edge, the whole way, with no reprieve. The constellation of saddle sores were killing me. Does anyone still use a stitched/embroidered saddle? God, they hurt. Again, I found myself in last wheel near the end of my tenure in the race. I got gapped several times, but closed them. Eventually, I'd closed one too many gaps (again, opened because of my own ineptitude and eventually, fatigue) and the elastic broke. Rolled up to where the Armenian coach was standing, and apologetically and with full submission (as I assumed they'd want it) said that I gave it all I had, and was sincerely sorry. I was met with indifference...which was a stark contrast from the aggression/disappointment I was met with previously. But silence speaks volumes. At the team dinner that evening, I was scolded while eating dinner.

[What follows isn't verbatim, obviously. Most of what transpired was in Armenian, but translated, it is along these lines]

"You have the ability to win track races, yet you don't try. We bring you all this way, and..."


I politely interjected his diatribe of ridicule, and submissively (as is expected of me...) said:

"Look, I don't know where you got the idea that i'm some track superstar, but I am not. I'm a road sprinter, born and raised on SoCal crit juice. I have very very limited track time and experience. Please understand this. Prior to these two races, i'd done 3 omniums ever! I thought this was understood?"

"No. I've seen your resume. You've done tons of track races. If you want, I can show you when we go upstairs. You've been in several track races, and have done very well in a number of them. You weren't trying. You don't care enough."

Click.

This is the resume [section] he was referring to:

The perception was that the 2 track omiums were actually 8 separate races, and that the "Cat 4/5" column was of no significance. I tried to explain as simply as I could that what he perceived as "track superstarness" was really just 2 days of racing against others who were only just starting to race track as well. My success at those races was not due to tactical supremacy or cunning skill, but through sheer dumb power. I kept attacking until I was free from the bunch, and rode in by myself. I was a road cat 1 against road cat 4/5s. In any case, I was unable to explain that there had been a gross misunderstanding, and I remained ostracized. And that's fine, it's understandable. I dismissed it as the inevitable clash of my stubborn nature and their preconceived notions of what the entire realm of sporting discipline is like in the United States. Internally, I resented the statements concerning the latter, but kept my cool.

-160k Road Race-

Friday. 48 hours from Sunday's Road Race. The points race and the entire track session was both physically and emotionally taxing. It was a great relief to have it all behind me. Also, it was only 3 days 'till I saw France again. Energy levels were sporadic, and I was down. Not about the racing, but about the decision to come here. I gave myself a pep talk, and said, "cmon guy, bring the good legs on sunday, and rationalize this trip to yourself. it was a terribly long flight, and half my monthly stipend went to paying for [80 euro each F-in way] bike transport at the air terminal."

I was told thursday night that I will do a "long hard ride on friday" and that I should "be tired at the end of it." Odd. Normally, under regular circumstances not involving 24 hour travel days, or multiple max-effort track sessions, I take Fridays off (assuming race day on Sunday). I then do openers on Saturday, and race Sunday. It works. After years of trial and error, this is the algorithm that works best for me. I'm no Rick Crawford or Chris Carmichael, but can say with absolute certainty that I know my body better than either of those two super-coaches. So it goes without saying that this extends to the Armenian coach as well. So I was prescribed the hard ride. The weather was good, and despite the energy levels, I went off. The first 70k were mellow. We rode tempo up the climbs, but it was nowhere near as difficult for me as the track efforts were. After the 70k mark, things picked up. Tempo up the climbs sped up. I kept it at sane levels when I was at the front, but yeah. It spiraled into a hammer fest. East vs West. After an attack at the base of a moderate hill, I didn't even try. This was insanity. I dropped off. The van caught up with me and the coach asked "what's wrong? you're not out of breath." "No coach, i'm okay. I just don't need to go that fast right now." The requisite stern and angry face looked at me, paused for a bit for emphasis, and said "can you get back to the hotel?" "yep, sure can." I was relieved. Disappointed. Eh.

It rained the following day, so we each did roller sessions. This is good. My teammate did his workout in our room, doors/windows closed, and the place was sickening. I was last to use them. I thought i'd use the balcony, as riding a trainer indoors with no wind in stagnant air is a no-no in the western world. "No! You must not! You'll get sick if you open the window," warned my teammate. I shrugged. Didn't care to explain the problem with riding in stagnant (and, because of his workout, rank) air indoors and did the session indoors, doors closed. Okay.

Sunday came. Sadly, the main thought in my head was "hey hey. only two days 'till I go back to France." We started. I ran into former teammate Jock Boyer at the start. He's going well. Coaching and directing the Rwanda team. He's done wonders for them already. Good on them all. Saw Ivan Stevic at the start. Knew that we were racing for 2nd place. I mentioned that he'd win the race to my teammates. At this point I had as much credibility as the asphault we rode on, but eh....two days 'till I go back to France, right?

The race starts. Big nervous peleton. I just sat in, and rolled with it for the first half. 80k in, I went with that aforementioned attack. In hopes of getting the legs going, like a sort of catalyst. In all other circumstances, it would have been a beautiful course for me. No huge hills, very very windy, a gigantic peleton to hide and sag-climb in, and the most beautifully flat wide and straight finishing kilometer i've ever raced on. It just wasn't gonna happen. The attack was caught. I drifted back, out of juice, and justtt clung on to last wheel. I made it over the first of the 2 big climbs -both surprising and a bit reassuring. Some of the confidence came back. I've had some success in races which I've felt this poorly before...though not at this level. Bodies can be pretty amazing and unpredictable sometimes. Up until this point, i'd eaten a good bit, gone through 2 bottles, and was ready for the feed. The feed zone was situated on a climb at the 95k mark. The peleton was down to about 80-100 from the 150+ starters, so still plenty of room to sag-climb and make it over. I started the climb near the front, looking for a feed. The first feed guy said "i'm out! try the next guy." While slowly drifting back, I saw the second guy. "Nope, Coach is just over on the other side of the road. Drifted back further, and looked back to see there was no one left. Right on time, I found the Armenian coach, 2 bottles in hand. I don't know how he could have missed me. No eye contact was made. In any case, I rode by slowly, at this point slightly gapped, and tried to clutch a bottle from his hand. The bottle didn't move! Gah. This. Certainly unintentional, but in every respect, the culmination of the entire week. I was dropped for good on that climb. Didn't get a feed. Hopped from group to group until I was spent, and agonizingly drudged through the final 60k to finish 100th. Easily my worst classified result ever.

If you made it this far in this entry, thank you. I don't expect anyone to read this whole bit. The lack of photos will hopefully deter anyone from even skimming this entry, but I'm content with having written it. In the end, this blog is for me to look back at and entertain myself with in some distant (or not so distant) future when i'm no longer playing the bike racing game. My dismal performance over the last week is no one's fault but my own. Certainly, there were some factors which didn't help my situation, but the Armenian Cycling Federation gave me every opportunity to succeed, and I am thankful for their efforts and concern. It just didn't happen, and for that, I am sorry. I was unable to adapt to the stress properly, unable to stick to the routines I'd established, and allowed petty things to stress me out. C'est la vie. In any case, i'm glad it's behind me, and the one thing that I can salvage from all of this is that i've finally grown out of "It's better to regret something you did than something you didn't do."

Peace.