fast brad

The PA State Championships were last week followed by the final race in the PACX series. And today concluded the last weekend of the local cross season with Phillipsburg Riverfront Cyclocross. While everyone else raced P-burg, I stayed home to get caught up on my growing list of things to do. I am fried. It’s been a long year full of ups and downs. I didn’t really accomplish any of my goals, but I did have some memorable races.

Now it’s time to regroup, set a course for next year, and enjoy some fun rides between now and then. I’ll also be spending time on a project that’s been brewing for the past few weeks—embrocation. Yes, that sticky, gooey, slimy, oily, waxy, smelly, hot stuff cyclists put on their legs. I’ve been cycling most of my life, but only started using embro a couple years ago. Now I look for excuses to use it.

The thing with embro is that it never seems to perform exactly the same, some days burning from the moment you put it on—other days waiting ’til the post ride shower to light up your legs. So, as I pondered the possible reasons for this, I began to develop theories why, which in turn got me thinking I could make my own.

As it turns out I can. I am in fact making my own embrocation. Some of my friends are already testing it and I’ve been getting some really good feedback. Right now I’m working on the performance issue, trying to get the burn started earlier and tone down the shower firestorm. I’m also developing some complimentary products designed to enhance the “embro” experience—so far with good results. There are four different products in the pipe and three of them are close to ready.

Watch for them in the coming month.

I’ve been busy, plain and simple. Busy racing, busy at work and busy with a new project.

The long story…

Almost two weeks ago was the Mercer Cup USGP cross race. I spent the week prior getting the camper ready for two consecutive days of racing. A week out the weather looked great, until a little mid-week hiccup of rain lasted three days.

Mud, that’s all you need to know. Day one: I wasn’t feeling too peppy and didn’t register early enough so I started from the back. I actually had a pretty good first lap and by the end pushed my way into the low twenties—not where I had hoped to be, but it wasn’t a bad ride. Day two: It actually stated to dry out a little. By a little I mean it was thickening up in places and a line was starting to wear in. I had roughly the same start position, but I was able to get a good first lap. And then I kept my momentum up, passing people right up to the finish. Twentieth, if I had registered earlier and started a couple rows up, I might have made the top ten.

We camped at the venue with Ryan of Flanders and company, so the rest of the weekend was spent heckling riders. Ryan Trebon has the misfortune of a name close enough to “Rusty Trombone” that heckling him became a whole other form of sport. Add some beer and you’ve got non-stop hilarity—what more could you want? Apparently the answer to that question is “a midget, a racist grade school teacher and a coke dealing prostitute on probation.” Again, that’s all you need to know.

The week prior to that was race number four in the PACX series: Spring Mountain. I got the call up and a front row start which was perfect. An easy start slotting fourth at the first turn. The race went well and I controlled things as best I could. A few guys passed me up in one of the fast sections, but then I snaked some inside lines in the tight turns, put some power to the pedals and put some distance on them. I ended up third which I was pretty happy with.

I took this past weekend off racing. Saturday off the bike altogether, and Sunday rode out to the derby for sixty miles. Crap, the derby wrecked me. The longest ride I had done for the last three weeks was a little less than thirty miles. No rest for the weary, though… I got home and finished up the yard work for the season, picking up all the leaves. Which brings me to my new project.

I’ve spent a lot of time doing research the past couple of weeks. The end result after a couple hours work on Sunday night? A proto-type product that I’m not quite ready to share with the world yet. I’m pretty excited about it though. It seems to work pretty well and I think people will want to but it. In a couple weeks I should be ready to unveil it here. So check back, if you’re a cyclist training this winter, you might be interested.

Suffering²

Everything in South Jersey is sandy, and with the recent rain it was packed down pretty hard. So, the course was fast, really fast. I went in thinking this was a good thing—I’ve been improving steadily this season and I rode the last couple of Derbys really well, so I’m feeling a little confident about really rolling it. I wasn’t feeling too great, but that isn’t necesarily an indicator of how well you’ll perform.

Doubling up again in the Elite Masters and the Elite races, I was hoping to crack the top ten in the Masters if I had a good day. At the start they called up the first two rows and I managed to snake my way pretty far up as riders were called. With a good spot on the grid, all I had to do was get by maybe fifteen people to make it to the top ten.

I wasn’t expecting what my legs gave me, which was nothing. Usually I get a pretty good hole shot, passing a lot of guys off the start. Not today.

Okay, so it wasn’t the end of the world, it just meant I had to keep my head in it and the pressure on. There was some guy on a mountain bike with wide handle bars that I just couldn’t seem to get around. If I moved right, he did. If I moved left, he did. I was getting pissed, but the real issue was that my legs just weren’t going all that well.

Each lap the course goes down on the sandy beach, which they’ve softened with a tiller, for about fifty yards. I ride in without hitting the brakes, dismount at full speed and hoist my bike running. I pass mountain bike guy and a couple others. Okay, now we’re rolling, if I keep it up maybe I can salvage the day.

For two laps I reel guys in and pass them, mostly on the technical sections. There is a short sandy hill with one packed down line on the right where I can ride to the left in the loose sand and pass. The run up is through an amphitheatre with five steps about thirty inches high and fifteen feet apart. I know the rythym I need to hit and pass two guys there.

When I start to feel like I need to recover I decide to let the guy on my wheel take a pull only to learn the last four guys I passed have been sitting back there. Okay, we can work together. I drift to the back and try to keep an eye on things, make sure gaps don’t open up in the middle. The thing is, the only gaps start opening right in front of me. I just don’t have any top end today and three of the guys get away. I’m pushing as hard as I can, and I watch them slowly roll away.

For a couple more laps I fight for my place with a few guys. Some I catch and some that catch me. On the last lap I pass Fat Marc by the pits and wonder what happened to him today. I’m hoping he’ll jump on my wheel and push me a bit, but it seems like he’s already resigned with his lot for the day.

Twenty seventh, that’s where I ended up for the day. Not anywhere near where I wanted to be. Yozell won again, with a well timed attack just before the finish—congrats to him, he’s flying. Now to decide whether to go home or race the Elite. Who am I kidding, I know I’m going to race it, I’m just conflicted about sucking for another hour.

So, I’m sitting at the back in the Elite staging area trying not to look like too much of a fool when I get a call up. What?! You’ve got to be kidding me, might as well call the guy blabbing on the microphone up too… Normally with a good start, from the back, I can ride into the group a bit and hide in there for a little while. But this far up guys will be running me down—which is pretty much what happens. By the first turn I’m the last guy. I hang on for a bit, but by half a lap in I’m all by myself. I ride as hard as I can, and actually, riding really well—just not fast. I have all the lines dialed in, which will happen if you run enough laps I guess. The two leaders lap me with one to go, finally ending my suffering. I can’t help thinking “what took you so friggin’ long?”

Thanks to my brother Eric, who showed up to watch me suck wind. It had been a while, so it was good to see him regardless. Thanks to all my friends who cheered for me on the course, while I probably don’t look too happy, it does help me keep my head together. They say you’ll have good days and bad days. I think someone owes me a good day.

The Morning After

I woke up this morning stiff and sore, knowing yesterday wasn’t over yet. Yesterday was still packed up in my truck. Getting home at 7 last night, I had just enough time to shower, eat and take care of the bikes before I went to bed. It had rained for three days leading up to Granogue, yesterday was a long, wet, cold, muddy day.

Breakfast first. Four eggs, scrambled with cheese, a banana and a granola bar. I know—granola?! It was either that or cookies, and I’m trying to make better decisions. As I’ve gotten older I’ve learned that all that stuff that never mattered, matters now. So, breakfast is followed by stretching… and then it’s out to the truck.

Cycling bag, spare wheels, tools, water bottles and a twenty pound garbage bag full of dirty cycling kit. I start on the clothing first since it’s the only thing with the potential to be ruined by putting off. Our South Mountain Cycles team kit is bright orange and blue, and the bight orange is, well, bright. It doesn’t mix well with mud and I’ve discoverd that it won’t stain, if you wash it right. That entails rinsing all the mud out by hand until the water runs mostly clear, then laying it out flat in the tub and gently scrubbing with a soft bristled brush. Fun, huh? I’ve got to talk to them about a cross kit: brown and blue.

I doubled up again, and that means two sets of dirty kit, or about 30 minutes of clean-up. They had shoulder numbers yesterday, so six numbers to un-pin. Yahoo, that takes about five minutes alone. I hate dealing with pinned on numbers for road, track and cross, they’re just such a pain in the ass. I have to look into that 3M spray glue product I’ve heard about…

Once the clothing is done, the rest is pretty easy. Take the race day supplies out of the cycling bag, wash out the bottles, tools and wheels go in the shop and a quick look over the bikes to make sure I didn’t miss anything last night. Everything looks good, except the brake pads which are gone—I’ll need to replace them before the weekend. The pit bike was fine because I didn’t even need to use it.

Two Muddy Races

Driving down to the race, I was figuring on getting there 2 hours before my race. I was only semi-motivated since I’ve felt like I was getting sick all week. And with three days of rain I’ve been off the bike since Wednesday. I didn’t even bother to bring my trainer, I just wanted to race and come home, keep it simple.

It occurred to me that they would have call-ups based on series points, then order of registration. Damn, I don’t have any points and I waited until the last day to register, which means I’ll start at the back. That won’t be an issue in the UCI Elite race for two reasons, there are only thirty five guys registered and I don’t really expect or hope to do more than hang on and finish. In the Elite Masters, though, I’m screwed. With a good ride I might actually be able to make the top ten, but there are ninety guys registered. I’ll have to get by eighty guys to get into the top ten. Crap.

When I arrive it’s still raining lightly, and it looks like the Master Me 35+ are finishing up. The course is a slimy brown stripe in the grass and guys are running, sliding and falling. I find the registration tent and inside the mud is two inches deep. Well, it looks like cross season is really here now.

I get changed and put a rain jacket on and head out on the road for twenty minutes or so. With a good coat of embrocation on my legs I’m pretty comfortable. They were calling for temps in the mid thirties, but it’s in the mid forties which is totally bearable. I get back to the truck, strip off the jacket and heavy gloves and head to starting grid, conveniently enough just yards from my truck. Call-ups are going pretty much as expected. Then I get the thought, “what if they suddenly say, ‘and everyone else’?”, so I move up a little—just before they do.

Good. So, I’m not in the last row, but just ahead of it… every inch counts though. I make a point to register for Mercer Cup when I get home. When the gun goes off we have about 200 meters of pavement before we hit the grass, err, mud. I make my way through a lot of guys, but can’t tell how far up until the course turns a bit… Maybe I’m up to thirty five?

The course isn’t too bad. Really muddy, but most of the guys are sticking to “the line” which is usually the worst place to ride when it gets muddy. I ride the opposite side from the line and try to cross it in the turns, this gets me by a couple of guys either going in or coming out. At one point way too many guys fight for the messy rutted line and maybe ten of them get tangled up and stop, bonus for me.

It goes like that pretty much the whole first lap and I think I’m inside the top twenty, but it’s hard to tell now. The whole race is broken up already, so I just ride as clean as I can chasing who ever is in front of me. The bike works flawlessly, it has tons of clearance and the mixture of grass and mud has virtually no effect on it. A lot of guys get things jammed up and have to pit and there are more than a couple broken derailleurs.

The running is killing me, but I do it any time the mud is too gummy to ride through quickly. It seems like a lot of running, but in reality it’s just a twenty five meter run up and a shorter, steeper run up, plus a couple short odd spots. There are people cheering for me here and there, as well as the folks trying to goad you into the bad line on the descents. By three laps in I’m pretty much where I’m going to finish, I just need to keep it together.

I finish up just two places behind Joe P, he confirms we’re around the top twenty. I would have liked to be a bit higher, but okay, I’m happy with that. Now I’m thinking clean-up and go home—and bail on the Elite race. The reason I’ve been doubling up is to get more practice on my starts and get more time racing. There is no substitute for the intensity of racing, well there is, but I’d rather just race. Anyway, with the course this muddy I won’t really be riding at that intensity, the challenge becomes not quitting. It’s a different type of training.

It takes about forty five minutes to wash off the bike, clean up, get dry and warm. Still mulling over racing the Elite, I walk up to check on the results but they’re not posted yet. It seems like they’re having difficulty sorting out the muddy numbers. Sooo… since I’ll have to wait for results and I paid my entry, I might as well kit up.

I have nothing to lose, even though it won’t be the training I was hoping for, but I figure I’ll get lapped and pulled a little more than halfway through. When I report to the staging grid I just head to the back, with no points, no ranking and no hope, there will be no call up. There are only about 40 guys in this race so navigating the start will be easier than the last race, although faster. I shift to the big ring and a gear I can spin up quickly, then wait for the gun.

When the gun goes all hell breaks loose. I quickly run down the cogs just hanging on, but click one more gear and pull into the group, passing a few guys just before we hit the mud. A quick glance to be sure I’m not last and I pick my line to set up for the first series of turns. Having already run a full race, at least I feel dialed in on the course. Gaps open up, but on the next downhill section I close them up. Then we hit the steep run up and I’ve got nothin’. My legs are exhausted, and as long as I’m pedaling I can kind of fake it. But the running, is so, slow.

I’m finally completely dropped, a couple of guys go by so I must be close to last. I buckle down, pick my lines, ride the mud as clean as I can keeping a steady tempo. There are a couple spots on the course I can really roll it out and I try to hold the momentum for as long as I can. Then on the long run up guys start shouting at me, what the hell are they saying? It finally connects they’re yelling “BIG MONEY!” and when I look over, they’re pointing at a dollar bill, pressed into the mud. I alter course and snatch it up.

I say “thanks” and “keep it coming” as I stuff it in my jersey—I feel so cheap and used. Somewhere after lap three Ryan Trebon laps me, so I’m counting on getting pulled. When I come through the start/finish I look for the officials, but don’t see them… WTF? I ride through looking back and I spot them, in the trailer, sheltered from the rain. Dammit. I don’t want a DNF, so I continue. Wicks, Frattini and someone else go by, I’m getting pulled for sure this time. Four more go buy, this should cement it. But, when I roll through again, nothing, they’re still in the trailer. Ok, another lap, whoops, there’s the bell—last lap? I hadn’t counted on it, but I got the whole hour in, albeit down one lap.

There is no line at the bike wash so clean up goes quicker this time. I get the pit bike, and despite my wrecked legs, jog back to the truck just to try and keep warm. Bikes and shoes go in the back, dirty kit and towels in a plastic bag, put warm clothes on and it’s time to eat. First a recovery drink, then a delicious donut from the Emmaus Bakery and a banana. And a Gatorade. Then it’s off to check on the results. Masters are finally posted: 18th, not too bad.

I check the other side of the board for the Elite results and they’re already up. I start at the bottom and work my way up—what? I finally see my name, 23rd? Can’t be right. I go into the tent to explain that I think there has been an error. They’re assuming I think I should be higher, but I explain that I’m pretty sure I was about last—that I was lapped by at least eight guys. They confer and indicate they have me at one lap down, lapped by eight guys. Hmmm, okaaay… and “Oh, how long will you be here? We have your prize money, but the protest period isn’t up.” Some discussion and we decide they can get it to my friend racing Sunday.

Wow. That was a surprise. I actually ended up doing ok. Thinking about it, it’s a high point for the season. A good day all around, the mud has always been good to me. Some other good things on Saturday: Laura Van Guilder gets second (and stitches, not good), caught up with old friend Racer Bert, met Gabe Llyod, Gui Nelesson and Fat Marc.

Almost a perfect weekend… Doubled up again at Iron Cross Lite, finishing 6th in elite masters and 5th in the elite race—that’s right 5th. It was a good thing there wasn’t one more entry, I would’ve been out of the money. At least I stayed on the same lap as the winner.

Sunday I opted for the derby. I was just going to sit in and spin, at least that was the plan. Once we hit Fleetwood guys were on and off the pace which pissed me off, mucking up the plan. At the bottom of Topton hill the pace was easing up so I pulled out and let my momentum carry me up. I could see five up the road and pissed as I was, burried it and tried to ride across to them. I was pretty surprised, I made it. The rest of the ride I was in the red, but at least it was steady. They dropped me gearing up for the sprint, but I didn’t mind, it was a good ride anyway.

Then it was back to the real world, after riding all weekend I actually had to get some work done around the house. The lawn hadn’t been touched in a while because the tractor has been giving me trouble. The hydrostatic transmission was just barely working and the hydraulic fluid keeps foaming up and overflowing. I was thinking maybe it was so low the pump was pumping air—it seemed a reasonable enough explanation.

So I added some new fluid, started it up and hopped on. Better, but still not right. Okay, maybe a little more fuild… I shut it off, add some more fluid and hear a faint noise. Sort of a drippy, running fluid noise. Looking under the tractor I find the source of the noise in the form of a growing puddle of hydraulic fluid. Great, $5 a quart and it’s pouring right through the trans.

So much for simple fixes. I remove some of the body work to find the hydraulic oil filter coverd in oil. But where is it coming from? I can’t see because there is a drive shaft and flex coupling in the way. In fact, the coupling is right over the filter. In fact, the flex coupling is touching the filter. Grabbing the coupling I find it is loose, really loose. So it’s been wobbling around smacking into the filter until it wore a hole right through.

Crap. That means I spend the afternoon walking the yard with a push mower, not the best recovery. At least it’ll be an easy repair, assuming I can find the part, which I do on Monday, for $100. So, now the lawn is mowed and I have the rest of the week to think about recovery.

…CROSS SEASON!

Yes, it’s finally here. And for what it’s worth, I look forward to cross season more than any other. With the first official race come and gone, preparations are underway for own own little, underground, backyard, extreme, three month, night-time cross series: Fifth Street Cross. Our little race has finally grown up. This year it is an official USAC Non-Competitive Event, which means we’re insured—but doesn’t mean it’s ok to sue us now.

I say, “we, us, our” as if I have some ownership in it. In fact I don’t, the race is the brainchild of Bill and Beth Strickland who have been running it for the past four years. Fifth Street (FSX) has exploded in this time, outgrowing their bucolic backyard. With the possibility of losing our little race Bowman, Yozell, Ignosh and I have jumped in to help bear some of the burden of promoting a race series.

There is a lot to do to gear up for one event, but FSX has 11 days of racing. The biggest issue we faced was finding a new venue. I don’t know how he did it, but Bowman got the town’s blessing to hold it on municipal property. So FSX needs to be insured and the easiest way to go is to become a USAC permitted event—I handled the paperwork for that. Ignosh is getting the race numbers and providing some expertise in “real” race promotion, while Yozell, our local cross guru, will help design the course.

There is something about cross… it brings out the fun in cycling, it brings out the beer, the racers, the spectators and everyone in between. I think it is a unique combination of things, added up, that contribute to its ever-growing popularity. The races are short and hard, the courses are short and tight and require combined skills from nearly every other cycling discipline. The most interesting thing to me though is that cross seems to unify the cycling community.

Here at our own little cross series, the various segments of the cycling community have joined, blurring the lines between messenger/hipster/racer/weekend warrior/family guy/whatever. It has been a nice thing to see and makes the community stronger as a whole. I think you’ll see this at “real” cross races as well, with fellow racers and spectators shouting encouragement, hanging out to watch, sharing beer and food. Perhaps it’s just the right time of year to blow off steam and have a good time. But for three months we’ll ride in little loops together, doctors, lawyers, teachers, authors, editors, mechanics, firemen, photographers, and so on, with some of the best people we’ll ever meet—having some of the best times we’ll ever have.

Training/riding buddies have always been some of my best friends—some known only by a nickname. Many of my friends and I would never cross paths with were it not for riding together. Maybe that’s part of it, the thing about cross. Maybe it’s cross in more ways than one, maybe cyclo-cross draws a more diverse “cross” section of the populace. Maybe it’s more interesting and fun because the people are more different from one another? FSX has become a cornerstone of our cycling community drawing it all together under one roof. I think that’s why Bill and Beth looked for a way to keep it going. I think that’s why Bowman, Yozell, Ignosh and I stepped up to help keep it going, whether we realized it or not (well, maybe Bowman wanted another shot at winning it). It’s the right thing to do, for our cycling community.

Long live Fifth Street Cross!

The 2009 Van Dessel Gin and Trombones, in Belgian colors

So, race one is under my belt. I doubled up in the Masters A and UCI Elite and got a pretty good ass kicking all around. I was as prepared as I could be equipment-wise, but not up to speed yet in the legs department. Including this weekend’s race, I’ve only been on the cross bike three times so far this season. All in all though, things went ok, the course was great, I cleaned the barriers, made 7 of the 9 laps in UCI Elite before being pulled and the new bike was fantastic.

I had been waiting for the Van Dessel Gin and Trombones for a week, and just got it three days before the race. After collecting the parts for weeks in anticipation of its arrival I was eager to get it built for the first race. I stayed up late Thursday night to put the new bike together and it was beautiful, painted the colors of the Belgian flag with The Lion of Flanders on the seat tube.

This is G&T number two for me, having raced one the past two years. There are a few changes to the bike this year that make a great bike even better. Often I look at “improvements” with skepticism, thinking “now there’s something no one asked for and no one needs.” The new G&T has a couple and proves me wrong:

Tapered steerer tube: I never thought much of these 1 1/8″-1 1/2″ steerers, but the difference is notable. The larger bottom bearing allows for a beefier fork crown and the whole front end seems to feel more solid as a result. Planting your front wheel on a line is something you can do confidently, even under hard braking. On the subject of braking, there’s another thing: reduced lower fork stuttering—as in none. And while the whole front end looks huge, it feels light and lively. I might not have asked for it, but it’s a huge improvement.

BB30: I didn’t really have any opinions about these, except that cranks for this new standard are not cheap—in fact, quite the opposite. Aside from that, as I searched for the parts I found there seems to be a national shortage on BB30 bearings unless you’re forking over the cash for a crankset that includes them. The assembly was really simple and I didn’t need any special tools. Performance wise, I think the bottom end does seem stiffer, but not remarkably so. I should mention that I didn’t use a BB30 crank, I used an FSA K Force crank with Wheels Manufacturing BB30 adapters and BB30 bearings.

Larger diameter top-tube: The new top-tube feels more substantial when you grab it to run through the barriers, but ultimately it helps strengthen the front end. How much of the improved handling in the front end is attributable the top-tube and how much to the new fork is just a wild ass guess to me, but result of the two paired together is all that really matters.

Van Dessels sells complete bikes spec’d any way you like as well as frame sets. I got the frame set and built it up myself. If you are interested, check them out at www.vandesselsports.com
Here is my build:

Shifters: Campagnolo Chorus Carbon 10spd
Derailleurs: Campagnolo Veloce 10spd
Cranks: FSA K Force Carbon 34-46, w/ 24mm spindle
Bottom bracket: SRAM standard bearings with Wheels Manufacturing adapters
Brakes: TRP EuroX aluminum with Inplace Adjust pads
Handlebars: Ritchey Classic OS, 44cm
Handlebar tape: Cinelli cork
Cables: Gore Ride-On fully sealed brake and derailleur cables
Stem: FSA OS 190
Saddle: Ritchey WCS Streem V2
Seat post: FSA FR 230
Tires: Challenge Griffo 700×32 tubular
Wheels: Easton EA70 X tubular
Cassette: Campagnolo Chorus 11-25 10sp
Chain: Campagnolo Chorus 10sp

Overall, I couldn’t be more happy with the bike. It performed flawlessly in both races, now if I could just pedal it faster. I ended up 40th out of 70 in the Masters A, exactly 3 minutes out of first. Due to rider call-ups I ended up starting somewhere in the middle and that was pretty much where I stayed—I need to work on my starts. In the UCI Elite I started in the back row, but had a better start. I think I managed to get by 15 guys or so in the first kilometer… and in the course of the next 6 laps most of them passed me back. I think a few DNFd, and I was probably the last finisher. Which is ok for my first elite race—I’ll have to wait for results to be posted online to see where I ended up for sure, but DFL is better than DNF.

I know what I did. I just don’t know how stupid it is yet.

With track season still fresh in my mind, I put in for a Cyclo-Cross upgrade on my racing license this week. I just checked and it was approved, I’m a cat 2 in cross now. Not that I had such a great season last year, but I was coming around by the end of the season. I didn’t get the points but I still carry a cat 1 on my license from mountain biking, so that automatically qualifies me as a cat 2 for cross.

My thinking was something like this… If I want to get faster, I should race with guys who are faster, right? I’m putting way too much time and money and emphasis on this, I know. I have a new bike coming in any day so I’ll have a spare for the pits, I have enough money tied up in tubular tires and wheels to buy groceries for a few months—sounds pretty ridiculous when I put it that way—and I’ve written every race date on the calendar so Tracy knows not plan anything else.

So, I checked the pre-reg list for the first race, Nittany Lion Cross. It has a UCI elite field which means basically “international standard for really fast guys”—my class now if I race the cat 2 straight up. There are only 13 guys registered so far, the other classes have near 50. What the hell was I thinking? There will be no hiding in the field there… when I get dropped 2 laps in—if that—it’ll be pretty obvious how much I suck. No anonymity… “there goes Brad, right out the back.” The only saving grace is the wonderful, built in excuse I’ve got lined up already. I’m racing the master A class an hour earlier.

I know. I’m not just stupid, I’m really stupid. But I like a challenge, and I like races that are hard, and I like events that make you suffer. Somehow, in my warped world there is honor in that, it’s what makes you a better rider, a better person. Some people love winning, and they win a lot. I don’t think it makes them a better rider, I think it makes them more upset when they don’t win. And what’s the point winning when there is a whole class or two or three better than you anyway?

I’m forty three years old, that’s not old but it’s the wrong side of young—and on the rare occasion I win or do well it is because I manage to tough it out, not because I am better of faster. That’s what I take pride in. Stupid maybe, but I’m signing up for my lumps next week. One of these days it’ll pay off.