Providence Day 2: The Sound of Silence.

Another beautiful hot day in Roger Williams Park.  Masters' riders out on course.

One of the amateur mens' fields being staged, a lengthy and complicated process with huge fields. 

At 4am, I woke up.  And stayed awake.  I didn't sleep well.  I had realized some things about our uh, hotel.  We ran out of toilet paper in the middle of the night.  My midnight search for toilet paper throughout the room turned up nothing but a spider.  The bed lacked a fitted sheet.  The splashboard in the bathroom had peeled slightly away from the wall.  Bob said when he lifted the toilet lid, it sort of...fell off.  After you flushed the toilet, it kept making an "I just flushed" noise until you pried up the tank lid and tweaked the chain inside.  I'm a light sleeper, and I didn't discover these problems until late, very late, in the evening.  But you'll receive that level of service for over a hundred dollars a night.  Don't ever stay at the America's Best Value Inn in North Kingstown, RI.  Management has since informed us they want to give us a 40% discount off our next stay, because "there is never an excuse for providing a valued guest, such as you with anything less than a perfect experience."  I informed management that nothing will convince me their service is "high quality" but a full refund might convince me they have a sense of decency.

When Bob got up we went out to hunt for breakfast.  We found a place called the Breakfast Nook.  First the waitress didn't like our travel mugs coming in with us.  "No outside food or drink allowed."  We told her the mugs were empty.  She said she'd have to charge us for coffee refills after our first cup.  Fine, we said.  Then the coffee, slow to arrive, felt lukewarm and tasted slightly of gasoline.  So we turned down the not-free refill.  The waitress got my order wrong.  I wanted the vegetable omelette but with regular eggs, NOT whites and with cheddar cheese.  The omelette came made with whites only and with some tiny specks of orange that may have been cheese-if the cook had added a half teaspoon of it.  In the absence of hot sauce (where was it?) I doused my tasteless omelette in ketchup, salt and pepper.  We ate quickly and left to find better coffee down the road-we'd seen a promising bakery the night before.  If I had to race on half a night's poor sleep, I wanted something stronger than lukewarm weak gasoline.  I needed the caffeinated equivalent of rocket fuel because at that point only the waitress at the Breakfast Nook moved more slowly than I did.  Down the road about a mile we found Felicia's, a super-hip bakery and coffeehouse featuring items like gluten-free pumpkin muffins and French vanilla coffee with real ground vanilla bean added during brewing.  They also had more enlightened attitudes toward travel mugs.  Felicia herself chatted with us for a few minutes.  Up side:  best French vanilla coffee ever.  Fly in the ointment:  Bob ordered the house blend but got hazelnut.  Sigh.  He found out while we were already en route to the park.

Bad hotel rooms and botched breakfasts aside, Bob and I had a fairly relaxed morning at the race venue. First I wandered aimlessly and rubbernecked all around the bike expo, coffee in hand, and found a brand-new Mavic bike computer I just couldn't pass up for such a low price.   A lot of girls shop for fashion accessories.  Then, some would rather shop for bike parts.  And ogle bicycles.

Raleigh makes cross bikes.  Who knew?  These are very easy on the eye.

Be still, my heart.   I can't breathe.  It wasn't even my size.  But I could look at it forever.

A few friends from our neck of the woods:
Tim Leonard (NYCross.com) and
Dana Cooreman (Mission in Motion)

Richard Sachs came over to talk to Bob and I.  Our retro-style wool Stan's NoTubes sweaters acted as conversation-starters, and we introduced ourselves and chatted for a few minutes.  Then Bob stayed at the tent working on his bike and helping various racers who came by to ask for tubeless tips.  I took the race bike to Shimano neutral support to check that front derailleur and my chain-watcher tool after my little chain-dropping incident the day before.  I waited in line with "The Girl with the Cowbell Tattoo." The Shimano mechanic agreed that better-pedigreed new bikes temperamentally demand near-constant fussing and tuning until they mellow into smooth efficiency. My bike basked in the attention as if it had never received a good wrenching before (shameless lying hussy) and he gave it back to me shifting snappy both back and front, the back wheel newly trued, the front and rear brakes centered on the rims. I pedaled around, ran through all the gears, tested the brakes, and felt ready to go.  I returned it to the tent and took the pit bike out on course for a few laps to make sure it worked well.  I didn't get to ride consecutive laps, but maybe one to two in between races.  It went like this:  after the end of every race, about a hundred people jumped under the tape and got onto the course.  We'd all ride half a lap and then the officials would stop us just past the pits, and we piled up on top of each other, unclipped, stood waiting.  Then about 45 seconds later they'd turn us loose.  We'd ride the rest of the lap and then get kicked off the course while they staged the next race at the start.  I'd go back to the tent, sit down, drink water, wait, get back on the course, ride another lap, go back to the tent, and so on.

Riding an early warm-up lap, in my rather big jersey.

Then I had less than two hours before my race.  My bike waited, ready.  I changed my uniform, refilled water bottle, got ready to go.  Pit bike to the bits.  I went to the trainer tent for about 20 minutes, pedaling while sucking on cough drops for the sore throat I'd badly aggravated the day before.  Bob hung out with the Saris rep there talking shop.   After trainer time I planned to spend the last half hour riding the course before we got called to staging. Today I didn't feel jittery.  No more than normal jitters, anyway.  Maybe fewer than normal.  I felt pretty tired.
Richard Fries called us to staging with his trademark dramatic flair.  We received another no-beer-handup warning, but as on Saturday, the officials okayed water handups in the pit due to the heat, on any lap except for the first or last. Third row today for me.  Two minutes to start.  I shifted into the big chain ring in front since the opening road section was longer today, and flat.  I tightened my shoe buckles, tightened and knotted the drawstring on my shorts (I suddenly remembered snagging them on my saddle during a remount Saturday-I don't have a skin suit yet for cross).  My mind wiped itself absolutely blank.  Dead silence inside.  No thought, no emotion, nothing.

Waiting for the whistle.  

Thirty-second warning.  Dead quiet as we waited.  The whistle came five seconds later.  I don't remember clipping in.   I must have shifted up several gears.  But I had a great start for once.  I started moving right past people, kept moving.  The field turned it full on.  I kept moving up.  Not so many people in front today.  At least not in this moment.  Curving around, the pavement.  Narrowing.  Narrowing.  The pavement goes on forever and I advance.  In the front of this group, stretched to near-single file-I glimpse purple shorts, white series leader jersey.  Laura van Gilder.  Green and black.  Mary McConneloug.  This is the front pack.  Time slows and the line of riders swing to the left to set up for the right hander up the curb.  I shift down to the small ring in front.  Mary and Laura and the next five or six come around into the 180 curve and shortly before I hit the curb they're coming back at me, flash past me.  Mo Bruno Roy in white skinsuit.  Follow the train.  Watch the bodies in front, curve around with them.  No brakes?  Who the hell is riding my bike?  Small gaps opening.  Hang on. Hang on.  Descent.  Wind back up the corners, downhill, then uphill and around, work around back to the pits.  Bob yelling something.  I can't hold this speed, in spite of cornering better than I ever have in my life.  Like someone else.  It doesn't last, and the boxcar slowly detaches from the bullet train.  I can't stay with that.  I don't have the engine or the power steering and the women who do start passing me.  Demoralizing, yes, but only slightly, because eventually you find yourself with the people of your own ability level and then your own little race within the race begins.  And that's how it goes.  Meanwhile Richard Fries narrated the epic ongoing battle between Laura Van Gilder and Mary McConneloug, who came out loaded for bear today and looking to even the score.  I heard brief snippets of this drama enacted on the same course.

The course rode faster today with fewer technical bits but the same number of dismount points.    I had a more consistent and faster ride than Saturday because I stepped up my cornering game noticeably.  No dropped chain and no slowing down today.   I came through the stairs and barriers faster and more smoothly.  The race passed in a blur.  I felt ready to puke but still thought "What? Already?" when they rang us into the bell lap.  Again Jenny Ives and I ended up nearly together at the end of the race.  Jenny still beat me.  Sigh.  One of these days, Jenny.  One of these days.

Mary avenged herself and took the win.  And yes, she
felt pretty good about it.

After the race, Bob and I talked to Mary and Mike Broderick a little, and congratulated Mary on her win.  She was THRILLED.  Then we packed up the van and headed down the road directly into the sunset for the six-hour haul back to Newfield, and back to real life and our respective offices on Monday.  Boring.

But even to hang on behind the front group of this amazing race for half a lap taught me something.  That half a lap took a lot out of me and I'm sure it cost me something because I nearly didn't recover, but well, wow.  I learned a few things about the level of speed and skill required to mix it up here and where exactly I stood at the bottom of the food chain.  If I can ride half a lap like that front pack rode the entire race, then maybe I can learn to ride like that a little more, a little longer, and so on...small steps in the right direction.  I'm not sure riding into the moment at the edge of control is the best way to learn, but certain it's the most thrilling.  And then you continue to process the experience afterwards.  And the entire time the voices in my head shut up completely.  Outside, the screaming spectators, announcer, and cowbells all blared as loudly as they ever had on Saturday, but for that half lap at the beginning of my race, inside I heard nothing but the sound of silence.

Read about Mary's win here on VeloNews.
Complete results for Day 2 here, also on VeloNews.

Richard Sachs heads back to his car.

Providence Day 1. 84 Degrees. Hot 'Cross Buns.

What you see here is what we got all weekend:  hot sun and hard-packed dirt.
The concrete "temple" in the background served as the podium.

Providence.  

Let's say this weekend's experience wrote the first page of an entire new chapter in my understanding of 'cross.  

Bob and I left Newfield at 5:00 am on the dot Saturday morning and drove straight to Roger Williams Park in Providence.  I still hadn't fought off what had now become sinus congestion plus slight continued sore throat.  When we finally arrived, I just looked and looked at the course, and at the masters riders flying up, down, around and everywhere.  Amazing twists, turns, ups and downs, swooped all over the place.  Four forced dismounts each sat at the top or bottom of short hills:  concrete stairs, temporary wood stairs, traditional barriers, temporary wood stairs again.  Instead of this year's Kirkland or Ommegang mud pits, this course mixed hard-packed dark brown dirt with thin short grass, small patches of sandy soil, a short road section (start/finish), and two or three curb-hops assisted by carefully placed boards.  I felt a sudden chill realizing how fast this course would ride.  

 Bob and I set up the Stan's NoTubes tent and got out the bikes.  Mary McConneloug rolled by and came over for a quick visit.  I confessed to having a few jitters.  Actually more like a truckload.  Mary laughed and said it was all part of the game, that you have to just go with it all and that usually once you're off you can just focus on the race, it's all about riding in the moment.  Funny-Margaret said the exact same thing to me earlier in the week.  Mary looked great-last time Bob and I saw her, we'd all been at Windham and she had struggled with as-yet-undiagnosed Lyme disease.


I was jittery mostly because I didn't know what to expect.  But then again I did. I expected an experience I'd never had before and come on, who wouldn't be excited about that?  Sure, you can say that I did an "elite" women's cross race down at Whitmore's Super Cross Cup last November.  Yes. With all of eleven competitors.  Fine.  Let's try a field of 40 and see how it shakes out...




In addition to a few jitters, I also got a *bit wound up.  This probably had to do with the atmosphere at the race.  Did I mention the atmosphere?  Spectators and racers everywhere, in the beer garden, roaming the bike expo and sale, buying food.  Tiny children wubbling around on Skuuts.  Small children riding the tiniest little Redlines I'd ever seen.  Cowbells, cowbells, cowbells. 

Mary McConneloug stops over to visit. Yes I look funny
 in my jersey.  Club fit medium is rather large.

We had more pre-race prep than usual:  get two bikes ready instead of one, sign in, draw a number for starting grid position since I had no UCI points, pick up a pit pass for Bob, get oriented with the pit and stake out a box, RIDE THE COURSE.  I stood sandwiched between Arly Kemmerer and Laura Van Gilder in the check-in line, feeling distinctly out of place.  Mo Bruno-Roy rolled by.  Sans plastic license, I handed over my printed authorization to ride.  I drew a number from the box.  Twenty-four.  Good or bad number? I asked.  "I don't know," was the answer.  "It depends on what the other riders pull."

Time flew by.  I warmed up on one of 20 trainers provided by Saris under a tent and still had time for a few last laps before the announcer called us.  While on the trainer I cheered for Peter Ozolins since he came from our neck of the woods. He flipped me the bird.  Next time he came around I yelled that he'd ride faster if he stopped flipping people off. 

All weekend, the famous Richard Fries provided the announcing.    This guy got me wound up just listening to him, forget racing. 

One set of hot 'cross buns.

"ELITE. WOMEN. TO. STAGING.  

  ELITE. WOMEN. TO. STAGING.  

  ELITE. WOMEN. TO. STAGING."   


Man, I couldn't take this kind of excitement, couldn't wait to watch this race.  Oh, WAIT.   I was RACING.   Bob waited in the pits.  The officials called us up one by one, by number and name, and one of them checked our tire width and let us roll forward into the starting grid. They warned us that under UCI rules, taking a beer hand-up meant instant disqualification. Fourth row for me.  For future reference:  twenty-four is NOT a good number. 

More hot 'cross buns.

The start countdown began at two minutes, then one minute then the thirty-second warning. WHISTLE.  I didn't clip in that quickly. Got moving and stayed in position in the field, slowly crept forward a little in the tunnel of wind and noise and screams and cowbell, and then bumped up over an angled, board-covered curb into turn 1. Bam. First crash, right in front of me. Into the tape I went, but got around it. Barely. Everyone came out fighting and scrapping for position. I learned quickly you don't pass on the inside unless you do it FAST and be ready to defend your space. Riders here chopped you hard in the corners if you didn't move fast enough. It wasn't anything personal. When you play a new game it means different rules. I moved up two spots going a little faster around the outside. THWACK. Another rider went into a post. I got around her but the girl right behind her didn't. I dodged her back wheel too as it came up and sideways at me.

Coming down into the first dismount, going downhill into concrete stairs going up-clumsy dismount for me and a squawk behind me...uh yes, I WAS a little wild whipping that bike up quick in my eagerness to get up the stairs.    Then running on the concrete road again to remount.  Not the prettiest but I got the job done.  The internal self-critique had turned down to almost mute today.  I had no time to analyze everything I did or didn't do well.  I'd have time to reflect later.  The speed stayed high.  Daylight began to open between riders.  Two or three passed me and I tried to catch on and dig into a questionably sustainable pain level and focused, focused on the corners and focused on smooth, efficient on the stairs and barriers.  I thought most of the field, probably three quarters at least, was in front of me.  Time to try and pick off a few.  I worked on 3 or 4 over the next lap.  Nobody went backwards without fighting back.  Small passing battles developed.   I got onto a new wheel as we came through the curves to the pits, down past the pits, down into a right-hand turn from grass to gravel.  Determined to pass on the upcoming gravel straightaway, I came within inches of her back wheel through the corner.  She lost her front wheel and slammed down.  Hard. That had to hurt.  My veer to the left sent me into bad territory-deeper gravel mixed with grass and loose dirt and my front wheel started sliding.  I pedaled harder and found front traction again and the resulting extra jolt of adrenaline sped me through the straightaway. I worked on the next rider up in front.  I don't remember much from there to the middle of Lap 3.   Except the wall of screaming and cowbell at the barriers.  Beer cups.  Dollar bills held out at me.  Somebody behind me grabbed some.  The spectators went wild.


Lap 3.  Two to go.  I had one group and a couple individual riders behind me.  Downhill swoop curving to the left, fast, coming up to wood stairs.  Move those feet fast.  Running the stairs, riders almost onto me.  Up, keep running uphill a little way, back on the bike.  No resistance on the cranks,  still uphill, I lose momentum, forced off the bike.  Chain is off.  DAMN.  Brain-dead haze.  What do I do-what do I do.  Shift it. Pick it up, push the pedal.  It's on.  Riders passing, three four five six.  I'm bleeding positions, bleeding time.  Run. Roll the bike. Get on.  GO.  Another rider stops, steps under the tape, she's giving up.  Is it that bad? No it's not, it's not for me.  I'm going on.  I've lost my sense of pace, forgotten how I cornered before I stopped for the chain.  Ride another lap.  I pass Bob in the pits and tell him I dropped my chain.  He immediately thinks I need a bike change.  No, I'm fine.  Sort of.  I'm alone and without anyone around me to chase or run from, I'm backing off in the corners and starting to look at things.  Jenny Ives comes up on my tail.  Jenny passes me.  I pass Jenny.  And so Jenny and I generally give each a hard time for the rest of the race.  Thanks, Jenny.  She digs in and holds me well off at the line, though damn it, I'm trying with all I've got left.  That isn't much. 
And that's a wrap.  All I have to do, all I can do, is ride around slowly, keep pedaling.  I'm wheezing and it hurts to breathe.  My lungs have declared open war on me.  My voice has been replaced by that of a 70-year-old 3-pack-a-day smoker.  I finish most of another lap, slowly.  The hecklers at the barriers still go crazy for me.  "You guys are the best," I wheeze at them.  They swell visibly with pride and lift their beers in salute.


Mary McConneloug took second to Laura Van Gilder.   Laura rode Mary's wheel and waited her chance then came around and jumped her.


We packed up, I changed, we strolled around the venue and looked at the bike expo.
People had all kinds of wonderful things to sell.  And plenty more we enjoyed just seeing.

Words failed me.  Please, if you think of a good caption, put it in the comments section on this post.

                                     Someone, somewhere, is going to meet this bike and fall in love.

Maureen "Mo" Bruno-Roy's pit bike.  Yes, you read that correctly.  This is her PIT BIKE.

Bob and I checked into our motel, then found a stellar dinner at the Crow's Nest in Warwick.  I ordered hot soothing New England clam chowder (the REAL stuff) for my throat and some amazing lobster salad.   I had a glass of port more than I should have (I shouldn't have had any).  But I had to calm down somehow, tired as I already felt.  Otherwise I wouldn't be able to sleep, thinking about riding through the incredible rush again on Day 2.  I realized that I could do better than 32nd out of 40, though I'm actually proud of that result.  Even without the fitness of the girls I raced, I felt I lacked experience more than anything else.  What else did I learn?  

Well...

1.  Conscious thought is useless and slow.  Don't even bother.  Only gets in the way.

2.  I can too corner.  If I don't think about it and I'm battling right and left to pass.  When I'm alone, cornering is scary so I slow down and look at everything.

3.  Even though I wasn't last, I'd rather be last in a UCI race than win another 3/4 ever again.  This is faster, this is more fun, this is INCREDIBLE.  

 I had one of the most thrilling races of my life. 

I couldn't wait for Round 2.

Results and write-up for Day 1 at CXMagazine.com (by Molly Hurford, "The Girl With the Cowbell Tattoo," whose acquaintance I made while she was writing on her laptop).

Next post:  Providence, Round 2.  Coming shortly.

I got nothing.

          On Saturday Corning/NoTubes Race Team hosted its inaugural NoTubes@Harris Hill CX race, which involved much more physical punishment than I expected.  Saturday dawned bleak, cold and misty, then developed into rainy with gusts of cold wind in the afternoon.  I woke with a sore throat but ignored it, preoccupied by the cold. For the first time this year I covered most of my legs, my arms and my hands with Mad Alchemy's Medium embrocation.  Reynaud's syndrome, while not exactly life-threatening, can temporarily make life truly miserable.  I plan to contact Mad Alchemy's manufacturer (it's a small company) and ask if he gives any discounts for buying in bulk.

The first racer to warm up heads out WAY early to scout the course.

          Only three open women signed up (Ruth, Sara, me), and we all rode for the home team.  But we started with the open men and didn't even have to wait thirty seconds, or a minute.  I chased the boys for an hour and seven minutes but didn't catch very many-which disappointed me a little.  I rode everywhere, all over the course, except for where I actually wanted my wheels to go.  The mud became enjoyably squishy late in the race.  I didn't see much of LiLynn, Ruth or Sara since we all bolted after crossing the finish line to find dry clothes.  Ruth said she slacked off on purpose so that she wouldn't have to ride an extra lap.   My eagerness to chase the boys earned me the extra lap.  What a great course, though!  It had everything a 'cross course should-sand pit, fast sections, grassy curves swooping up and down, even some running-and hopefully will draw a bigger crowd next year.   Steve Burdette, if you're reading this, you have a bright, bright future as a CX course designer.

          I wouldn't have thought racing for an hour and and change could do so much damage but afterwards I felt crushed-still nauseated and lightheaded even two and three hours afterward.  We (Bob, Katie, Garrett, me) went to lunch after helping take down the course.  I finished my hot tea but had to force-feed, pulled back and forth between hunger and nausea.  And the whole rigmarole of washing bikes, washing laundry, washing myself-SO much work.  I just wanted to nest somewhere in dry clothes and under a blanket.  As sick as I felt yesterday (Monday) and feel today (Tuesday), it was an obviously stupid choice to ignore it over the weekend.

         Finally in the shower, maybe two or three hours after the race, I cranked up the hot water but still felt wretched, queasy, back aching, and chilled.  I put some shower gel on a body sponge and started scrubbing.  My previously embrocated skin burned blissfully.  That felt better.  I firmly believed I'd recover in time for CX@Ommegang Brewery the next day.  My throat still felt a little sore but usually is after racing, so I convinced myself again things were just fine. 

      Sunday morning Bob and I got up early, fed the kids, herded them into the car, got onto the road in pouring rain.  I am sorry to confess I ran over a raccoon on the way to Ommegang.  It ran across the road and threw itself under the front wheels.  As a newly licensed driver, I had never killed something on the road before and felt awful. Bob assured me I didn't do anything wrong-at 55 mph in pouring rain, slamming the brake too hard or swerving wouldn't have ended well.  I guess there was a tradeoff between a suicidal raccoon getting its wish and four people getting into a car accident.  But I felt horrible.  I know I'm great at beating myself up about things after the fact and maybe it's time to give that a rest for a while.

What I'm thinking here: "Clumsy.  Slow.  You need 
faster feet." (photo: Katie Nunnink)

          I'm also great at beating myself up about things DURING the fact.  Let's talk about why I titled today's post "I got nothing."  Because it goes through my head over and over in every cross race in a hundred ways for a hundred reasons.  I can't find that extra bit of strength to ride up that hill just a little faster.  I can't corner like I want to, I can't stick to that great line I finally found the third time around.  Why did I pause and look down at that patch of mud in the corner?  Looking down is useless!  Look up, look forward, GO!  Why do I even have time to think about this stuff while I'm racing?  Obviously because I'm not riding fast enough.            
      As always, I had a great time racing at Ommegang.  The course changed from last year's to accomodate increased sloppiness from the past weeks of rain.  The mud really changed the race this year.  When they sent off the women, I didn't really gain much of a gap very quickly, feeling tired (AND sick, I know now).  I also took myself out three times due to questionable decisions on what lines I took and how fast to take them. I can only say I'm proud of myself for finally erring ONCE on the side of "too fast" instead of "too slow." But I really gave myself hell over all these mistakes because each time I handed everyone behind an extra chance to get closer.   For all I knew they'd be on me in seconds.  Yes, Roseanne Van Dorn, I know I told you this, but I ran scared from you (and Margaret Thompson and everyone else) the whole race.

WAS that really the right line to take,  just because it was rideable?  I don't know.
(photo:  Katie Nunnink)

          I don't think JUST beating yourself up physically makes 'cross so tough or so fun. I think most people ask themselves at some point why they race cross and not necessarily on a conscious level.  Everyone has a different answer,  and even the timing of the question differs from one person to the next.
          So what do I really want while racing?  I just want silence. I want freedom from this constant internal stream of diarrheaic blather that goes on endlessly through every lap.  And I think I know where I have to go to find it.  I have to go to races where we take off so hard that my legs and lungs will drain every extra ounce of blood from the brain and there will be no thinking, just the outside noise of wind and tires on dirt and the inside noise of heart slamming into ribs and airways gasping.  There will be no decisions, only what the other riders and the course dictate.  Maybe in that short span of time I can live in temporary peace, and deal with all the crap and the second-guessing after they drag my carcass off the course.  So I'm heading off to look for that little bit of peace and quiet next weekend-during 2 days of UCI big-girl racing at Providence.  Just might find it there.  Or I might find something else entirely.  Regardless, I'm going to have a GREAT time on another wonderful road trip with Bob, if I can just shake this nasty virus that's gotten hold of me.  One thing I am certain of:  the big girls will tear me to little pieces.
           I can't wait.

A bunch of like-minded dirty women.  From left:  Tamara Lewis, Margaret Thompson, me, Roseanne Van Dorn, Angela Schnuerch, Anne August.  LiLynn, Ruth, and Sara, we missed you girls...
(photo courtesy Bob Nunnink)

          

Photos and results from NoTubes CX at Harris Hill here and on BikeReg.

Nice writeup from VeloChimp- right here where the author confesses Bob got the better of him in the men's Cat 3/4 race...
Results from Ommegang on BikeReg.