Our hotel in Holland. In the lobby was the most awesome espresso maker you've seen.
On the drive to our house...
Monday, April 20, 2009
Be sure to take something away from every experience.
No matter how good or bad a race goes, you cannot leave the race without learning from it. I had a 16 hour drive to think about Saturday's race in Holland. I think part of being a good bike racer is learning from the race, but knowing how to leave it in the past, look forward to the next weekend.
Going into the race, I knew on a basic level what I needed to do. Stay close to the front during the neutral to avoid crashes and the cluster of the big field. The roads were narrow; be up front. The road becomes one lane, even more narrow, crosswinds. If you're not in the front thirty, you're probably going to get gapped and be in a chase group. I knew where I needed to be. But "knowing" doesn't get you very far.
I was really nervous going into the race. Maybe because of the field size, some of the best teams in the world were there, the course, the speed...
Here is a mindset that is not recommended: My last couple races in US and racing in Europe, I've been going into races doubting my ability to finish or do well. In some ways, I guess it provides an incentive to prove myself wrong.
I was talking with the director of the national team before the race. He said this is the deep end of the pool; this is the deepest field you'll be in. I lined up on the front line.
My legs felt fine, my head was out of the game. I still don't even know what to think about that. After we were through town and into the narrow roads, there was a bad crash in front of me. It was a cervelo girl who we had talked to a dinner the night before. When I went by, I really looked at her, crumpled underneath a couple bikes. And I could hear her moaning. That's the scary shit that you don't think about. It happens, it's bike racing...but I kept the picture of her on the ground in my mind. I wasn't mentally in the game in the first place, but was really out of it after that.
I don't mean any of that as an excuse for not finishing a race or not doing well. It's not. I might not have the finished the race had everything been going right for me. But sometimes, no matter how good your legs are, how much you've trained, prepared, if your head isn't in the right place, you're out.
After the race, I didn't know what to think. I needed to take something from it, but I didn't know what. Still don't have a really good idea. I kind of excused myself from the race, thinking that it was OK, because some of the best riders in the world were there. Because the course didn't really suit me. Because I should be satisfied with just being there.
None of those are valid reasons to excuse myself from a race and I have yet to come up with one.
Bad days on the bike happen, bad races happen, or maybe a bad season. But if you take something out of it, learn something, it was worth it.
Going into the race, I knew on a basic level what I needed to do. Stay close to the front during the neutral to avoid crashes and the cluster of the big field. The roads were narrow; be up front. The road becomes one lane, even more narrow, crosswinds. If you're not in the front thirty, you're probably going to get gapped and be in a chase group. I knew where I needed to be. But "knowing" doesn't get you very far.
I was really nervous going into the race. Maybe because of the field size, some of the best teams in the world were there, the course, the speed...
Here is a mindset that is not recommended: My last couple races in US and racing in Europe, I've been going into races doubting my ability to finish or do well. In some ways, I guess it provides an incentive to prove myself wrong.
I was talking with the director of the national team before the race. He said this is the deep end of the pool; this is the deepest field you'll be in. I lined up on the front line.
My legs felt fine, my head was out of the game. I still don't even know what to think about that. After we were through town and into the narrow roads, there was a bad crash in front of me. It was a cervelo girl who we had talked to a dinner the night before. When I went by, I really looked at her, crumpled underneath a couple bikes. And I could hear her moaning. That's the scary shit that you don't think about. It happens, it's bike racing...but I kept the picture of her on the ground in my mind. I wasn't mentally in the game in the first place, but was really out of it after that.
I don't mean any of that as an excuse for not finishing a race or not doing well. It's not. I might not have the finished the race had everything been going right for me. But sometimes, no matter how good your legs are, how much you've trained, prepared, if your head isn't in the right place, you're out.
After the race, I didn't know what to think. I needed to take something from it, but I didn't know what. Still don't have a really good idea. I kind of excused myself from the race, thinking that it was OK, because some of the best riders in the world were there. Because the course didn't really suit me. Because I should be satisfied with just being there.
None of those are valid reasons to excuse myself from a race and I have yet to come up with one.
Bad days on the bike happen, bad races happen, or maybe a bad season. But if you take something out of it, learn something, it was worth it.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Finally got some internet...
A really bad picture from the backseat. Going through Belgium. In the rain.
Alison and Sinead, last Monday on a recovery ride. We don't really ride, we just put our chamois on and take pictures.
I think that's Limoux in the background.
We're in Holland now, and thanks to wikipedia, I now know that Holland is not a country in itself, it is a region of the Netherlands and is now separated into North Holland and South Holland.
It was a two day trek to get here. We left Thursday at noon, drove until 11 pm, stayed in the smallest hotel room you've ever seen. After a rain storm in Belgium and not seeing the Schleck brothers in Luxembourg, the Eurovan rolled into Apeldoorn, Holland, which smells like a cow farm. From what I had been told about the country, Holland has no hills, the winds replace the hills. Fortunately for me, we found a hill to race up. We went to pre ride that hill this afternoon. After riding a couple sections of the course with Chris, he went back to get the car and we were supposed to keep riding and meet him in a town on our way back to Apeldoorn. You can probably tell where this story is going...we were supposed to meet in a town that apparently exists on the map, but when asking directions from people on the street, does not exist. We reverted to circling roundabouts until Chris (a very worried Chris) found us. He told me I wouldn't understand until one day my kids didn't come home on the school bus.
The race is a UCI race, Ronde van Gelderland, with around 200 starters. I won't pretend that I meant to say that with no emotion. 200 STARTERS!!! There's lots of medians, roundabouts, places where the road narrows from several lanes to one lane...it's going to be a wild ride.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
When in Europe, hop curbs
"If you're passionate about it, you do real well, eh?"
That's what Chris Georgas, our director, said on the way home; he's from Canada, eh? I had a long drive home back to Limoux this afternoon in the middle seat of the front benchseat of the Eurovan. Chris talked about his wife, Fabian, who rides, but never did much racing.
"You see, she's an herbivore. You all, you're Carnivores, eh?"
My expectations of European racing: Like sitting in the top 10 at the end of an NRC race that is coming to a field sprint.
Today's race was a French cup, so aggressive, but a step down from next weekends UCI race in Holland.
Race report: Rolled out, went down a hill, someone attacked, we went hard, caught them. Someone countered, went hard again. Kept going hard, pace lulls. Attack (I think that was the one that stuck). I flatted, went hard, caught back on. Hopped a curb to avoid a crash. Then we sprinted up a hill.
I always find race reports redundant.
When I flatted, I rode on it a while, hoping to find one of the USA girls to ask them to tell Chris, because my radio wasn't working. I pulled over, didn't know where Chris was in the caravan (turns out he was way far back), got off, took my rear wheel off. Fortunately, before Chris got there, some other team car pulls over and the dude hops out with a wheel. He is trying to put the wheel on with the cassette on the wrong side. He didn't speak English, I was trying to tell him he might have to turn the wheel around in order for this to work. He was muttering in French because once the wheel was turned around, maybe he wasn't used to SRAM and he couldn't get the wheel on. I was laughing by now as he was giving me a push. I was off the caravan and put in a huge effort to make it to the caravan to move up.
About 5k from the start, there's a technical, narrow downhill. In a field of 130, I wanted to be top 10 going into the descent. It wasn't as aggressive at the start as I was expecting. I sat out in the wind for awhile before the descent to make sure I was one of the first to make the turn to the downhill. Better to sit in the wind than end up on the ground, eh?
My first European race, my main goal was to focus on positioning. I started on the front line...but didn't hold that long because when everybody started, I didn't know we were starting because the announcing was in French.
I felt really comfortable moving through the pack and sitting top ten. I sat on Jeannie Longo's wheel a lot. She's like a stealth bomb, a gladiator pulling everybody for miles.
I noticed her half aero helmet, French National champion skinsuit. She didn't fold her numbers like everybody else, they look more aero the way she did them. She pedals a really low cadence. She knows Chris really well, so knows we're here racing for him; she smiled at us on the start line.
I finished somewhere top 20-30. Devon made an attempt to bridge to the break, not making it, but stayed off the front to get 4th. I sat close to the front, followed a couple strong attacks, making sure that if anything went, I was in it, sitting on.
Racing in Europe seems so "right" if that makes any sense. It's the culture here, people all along the course cheering, not a blue tent ten minutes from the middle of nowhere.
That's what Chris Georgas, our director, said on the way home; he's from Canada, eh? I had a long drive home back to Limoux this afternoon in the middle seat of the front benchseat of the Eurovan. Chris talked about his wife, Fabian, who rides, but never did much racing.
"You see, she's an herbivore. You all, you're Carnivores, eh?"
My expectations of European racing: Like sitting in the top 10 at the end of an NRC race that is coming to a field sprint.
Today's race was a French cup, so aggressive, but a step down from next weekends UCI race in Holland.
Race report: Rolled out, went down a hill, someone attacked, we went hard, caught them. Someone countered, went hard again. Kept going hard, pace lulls. Attack (I think that was the one that stuck). I flatted, went hard, caught back on. Hopped a curb to avoid a crash. Then we sprinted up a hill.
I always find race reports redundant.
When I flatted, I rode on it a while, hoping to find one of the USA girls to ask them to tell Chris, because my radio wasn't working. I pulled over, didn't know where Chris was in the caravan (turns out he was way far back), got off, took my rear wheel off. Fortunately, before Chris got there, some other team car pulls over and the dude hops out with a wheel. He is trying to put the wheel on with the cassette on the wrong side. He didn't speak English, I was trying to tell him he might have to turn the wheel around in order for this to work. He was muttering in French because once the wheel was turned around, maybe he wasn't used to SRAM and he couldn't get the wheel on. I was laughing by now as he was giving me a push. I was off the caravan and put in a huge effort to make it to the caravan to move up.
About 5k from the start, there's a technical, narrow downhill. In a field of 130, I wanted to be top 10 going into the descent. It wasn't as aggressive at the start as I was expecting. I sat out in the wind for awhile before the descent to make sure I was one of the first to make the turn to the downhill. Better to sit in the wind than end up on the ground, eh?
My first European race, my main goal was to focus on positioning. I started on the front line...but didn't hold that long because when everybody started, I didn't know we were starting because the announcing was in French.
I felt really comfortable moving through the pack and sitting top ten. I sat on Jeannie Longo's wheel a lot. She's like a stealth bomb, a gladiator pulling everybody for miles.
I noticed her half aero helmet, French National champion skinsuit. She didn't fold her numbers like everybody else, they look more aero the way she did them. She pedals a really low cadence. She knows Chris really well, so knows we're here racing for him; she smiled at us on the start line.
I finished somewhere top 20-30. Devon made an attempt to bridge to the break, not making it, but stayed off the front to get 4th. I sat close to the front, followed a couple strong attacks, making sure that if anything went, I was in it, sitting on.
Racing in Europe seems so "right" if that makes any sense. It's the culture here, people all along the course cheering, not a blue tent ten minutes from the middle of nowhere.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Between Redlands and racing in Europe, I've been racing for different directors and having different teammates. One of the first questions that seems to be asked is "what kind of racer are you?" I’ve always thought this is a funny question as I would consider myself a bike racer. I read somewhere Ina Tuetenberg saying something to the effect that no one rider is just a sprinter, or just a climber. You might have a weakness, but it’s something to be worked on, not something to be considered an inability to accomplish.
The Easter bunny came this morning and we woke up to chocolate Easter bunnies.
We left this afternoon to drive to Pujols, about 2.5 hour away. We pre rode the course…in the rain. It is a 14 km circuit, 5 laps, uphill finish. I’ll let you know how it goes ;)
The Easter bunny came this morning and we woke up to chocolate Easter bunnies.
We left this afternoon to drive to Pujols, about 2.5 hour away. We pre rode the course…in the rain. It is a 14 km circuit, 5 laps, uphill finish. I’ll let you know how it goes ;)
Saturday, April 11, 2009
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