Jake Stephens took the picture of the finish of the Wondelgem Kermess that he attended with my roomates and cousin, to watch me suffer.Jake Stephens
Back from Abroad
PULASKI BIKE JAM. SATURDAY.Mostly I just couldn't believe how slow it was. I'd spent the entire morning kicking around the house, trying to talk myself into and out of doing the 123 race, which today was Before the 3/4, and I wanted to Win the 3/4. But just 20 miles? I mean, that's not even and hour. Finally I'd forced myself to stall leaving the house for Baltimore long enough to keep myself from being able change my mind later and register for the 123. Fat chance I'd be able to beat my teammates in that race anyways, so better save it. But after all that, here we are. Going like 3 mph around a swooping asphalt loop, with no corners except for some contrived wire bender affair that robbed the course of what could have been it's coolest feature -- a grand sweeping turn left, then high speed counter-swerve right. Anyways, we're going slow. We've got a full six-man squad though. Jon Hansen is the designated sprinter, Steve Soltes the back up, or lead out man if Jon has it. I'm going to try to breakaway. The 3 juniors are going to control the pace and cover attacks as necessary. They all trade some work, and I have them floor it a couple times to string things out. Anyways, I wait until I see both of the other breakaway threats at the front, Nick Johnson and Brian Butts, and then I attack, figuring they'll come with me, and then we'll have a strong 3-man break. Zoom, I'm off the front. Way off the front. Doo-do-dooo. Still off the front. Nobody coming across. Ah well, all the slowness and a poor warm up, so I decide to open the legs a little bit. I roll a mile lap with the HR at about 182 -- pushing a bit, but not trashing myself. Meanwhile Nick and Brian are swinging pulls on the front and the field is strung out like a chopped pasta noodle. I'm not soloing, so I chill a bit and roll back a bit after the prime bell rings "A new pair SOCKS!!" Woo-hoo. As they catch me I look at them and smile, and say "A really nice pair of socks!!" and attack again (softly, a false attack to fire it up and intimidate). The field gets fired again, instead of resting like it wanted to, and then I put the juniors back on the front. People need to suffer a little. This slow roll to a sprint shit doesn't cut it. Steve gets on and drives a bit too -- getting other people to do it when he can, intelligent-like -- and just being there. I sit about ten back, and after Belgium this is like a friggin' pleasure cruise. No problem. I've got some gear left. I can lead it out Hard for my boy Jon. (I've got some heavy wheels on, and accelerating on the uphill finish doesn't seem likely; plus my sprint is trashed anyways after not using it Ever in Belgium.) Right about then, Jon rolls up and says his legs are flat. The juniors look pretty spent. Steve has been on the front. Three laps to go, nobody is coming to the front for the lead out, and I start thinking -- but not too much avail. Finally, 1-lap-to-go. Exactly then Patrick Gellineau and Aubrey Gordon roll up to the front. Gordon won last year, and so they are the sprint threat. Over 50, but still a threat. A soft lead out by them starts, sweeping up the stragglers off-the-front, and then they slow up to let the field play for a while before starting the lead out. The field surges out of the stupid-corner, and then everything pauses. Gellineau's not going to lead it out from here. They're waiting for the stupid guy, or the other organized team (none) to start driving it. Nobody comes through. A big hesitation.I see the opportunity and react instinctively. By the time I have the gap in, I know this is it. I may not have a shotgun sprint at the moment, but I've still got jump, and I put 30 meters in before they even know what hit them. By then I'm pushing the 53x14 up the hill gradient, pouring it on, legs hurting -- don't look yet -- still hurting.... At the 200m mark I look back, in mid-stroke, still carrying the big gear, and I barely even see them coming. I'm so happy I almost laugh. Me, who has never soloed off anything, out way in front of the field, cruising in easy over the line. 1st place.Gordon won the sprint, and my boy Steve takes ~5th. Party on Wayne
Back from Abroad
PULASKI BIKE JAM. SATURDAY.Mostly I just couldn't believe how slow it was. I'd spent the entire morning kicking around the house, trying to talk myself into and out of doing the 123 race, which today was Before the 3/4, and I wanted to Win the 3/4. But just 20 miles? I mean, that's not even and hour. Finally I'd forced myself to stall leaving the house for Baltimore long enough to keep myself from being able change my mind later and register for the 123. Fat chance I'd be able to beat my teammates in that race anyways, so better save it. But after all that, here we are. Going like 3 mph around a swooping asphalt loop, with no corners except for some contrived wire bender affair that robbed the course of what could have been it's coolest feature -- a grand sweeping turn left, then high speed counter-swerve right. Anyways, we're going slow. We've got a full six-man squad though. Jon Hansen is the designated sprinter, Steve Soltes the back up, or lead out man if Jon has it. I'm going to try to breakaway. The 3 juniors are going to control the pace and cover attacks as necessary. They all trade some work, and I have them floor it a couple times to string things out. Anyways, I wait until I see both of the other breakaway threats at the front, Nick Johnson and Brian Butts, and then I attack, figuring they'll come with me, and then we'll have a strong 3-man break. Zoom, I'm off the front. Way off the front. Doo-do-dooo. Still off the front. Nobody coming across. Ah well, all the slowness and a poor warm up, so I decide to open the legs a little bit. I roll a mile lap with the HR at about 182 -- pushing a bit, but not trashing myself. Meanwhile Nick and Brian are swinging pulls on the front and the field is strung out like a chopped pasta noodle. I'm not soloing, so I chill a bit and roll back a bit after the prime bell rings "A new pair SOCKS!!" Woo-hoo. As they catch me I look at them and smile, and say "A really nice pair of socks!!" and attack again (softly, a false attack to fire it up and intimidate). The field gets fired again, instead of resting like it wanted to, and then I put the juniors back on the front. People need to suffer a little. This slow roll to a sprint shit doesn't cut it. Steve gets on and drives a bit too -- getting other people to do it when he can, intelligent-like -- and just being there. I sit about ten back, and after Belgium this is like a friggin' pleasure cruise. No problem. I've got some gear left. I can lead it out Hard for my boy Jon. (I've got some heavy wheels on, and accelerating on the uphill finish doesn't seem likely; plus my sprint is trashed anyways after not using it Ever in Belgium.) Right about then, Jon rolls up and says his legs are flat. The juniors look pretty spent. Steve has been on the front. Three laps to go, nobody is coming to the front for the lead out, and I start thinking -- but not too much avail. Finally, 1-lap-to-go. Exactly then Patrick Gellineau and Aubrey Gordon roll up to the front. Gordon won last year, and so they are the sprint threat. Over 50, but still a threat. A soft lead out by them starts, sweeping up the stragglers off-the-front, and then they slow up to let the field play for a while before starting the lead out. The field surges out of the stupid-corner, and then everything pauses. Gellineau's not going to lead it out from here. They're waiting for the stupid guy, or the other organized team (none) to start driving it. Nobody comes through. A big hesitation.I see the opportunity and react instinctively. By the time I have the gap in, I know this is it. I may not have a shotgun sprint at the moment, but I've still got jump, and I put 30 meters in before they even know what hit them. By then I'm pushing the 53x14 up the hill gradient, pouring it on, legs hurting -- don't look yet -- still hurting.... At the 200m mark I look back, in mid-stroke, still carrying the big gear, and I barely even see them coming. I'm so happy I almost laugh. Me, who has never soloed off anything, out way in front of the field, cruising in easy over the line. 1st place.Gordon won the sprint, and my boy Steve takes ~5th. Party on Wayne
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