The Green Mountain Stage Race: Stage 3

GMSR Stage 3, Sept 2, 2007

The Appalachian Gap

65 miles, two massive climbs and KOM points.

60 starters

1: Claude Samson 2:59:51
2: Joe Straub +11
4: John Funk +2:37
6: Troy Kimbal +3:11
33: Michael Joseph +6:29
53: Lee Mestres (Mambo's) +20:55
54: Paul Carbonara +21:45
55: Tony Settel (Deno's) +21:45
57: John Tomlinson (Deno's) +25:08
59: David Hudson (Mambo's) 34:56

This is the major event of the weekend, it is the leg burner, the heart splitter, the ultimate race of truth, in short, it is the one day everyone dreads, climber, sprinter, old and young, this one is tears, agony and anguish for all, even the very best among us, and we have the very best among us, will be pushed to their limit and beyond.

The race starts with a long neutral downhill calculated to cool the warmed up legs right off before racing begins on route 100.

After that it is a fast and mostly flat road race with sprint points at 19 miles, then a while later into the Middlebury gap, a feed zone and then a series of ever higher climbs taking us over the ancient Appalachian mountain chain topped by KOM (King of the Mountain) points and rapidly down to start a long Northern run up it’s Western flank that ends only when we swing East again and climb first, the Baby gap, merely the foothills and then the mighty Appalachian gap with 5km of climbing, the last 3 being at about 12%, the very last one being the meanest with a final pitch to 20% right at the end to the top and the finish line. This is a race of attrition.

And so, after a reasonably successful day yesterday, I had again taken the rest of the day pretty lightly, the only entertainment being to stop in at the wonderful craft fair that had set up at Kenyon’s field and was closing down as I rolled up. I chatted for a while with an Irish/Jewish stone artist whose work was displayed around her stall on various forms of robust but clearly groaning easel. Her work was simple and involved etching rock with sand blasting and then polishing, too heavy to carry home though.

I retired after that to Jay’s restaurant in Waitsfield and demolished all sorts of fine things from the menu. This is one of those times when you can eat as much as you like at any time of day, it will all be burnt off anyway. Also good to note here, having had a massage, I was careful to spend as little time on my feet as possible so as to gie the legs the rest they need for tomorrow.

Up at 6;45, up to Mt Ellen ski resort and ready for the start. I look for Ciaran Mangen but cannot find him. We are off at 9:00 am and rolling for some 4 miles before we hit Route 100 south. Once we do things pick up nicely and there is no time for chat before the attacks come. Again, knowing who is doing the attacking can make all the difference.

Troy and Tony make a break again only to be caught within minutes. Then another three go up the road and this one looks real. There is a sprint point at 19 miles and this is obviously where they are headed. For a while we do little other than match their tempo and let them hang out there in the wind. Then we slow right down for no good reason though my guess is because Troy’s two team mates have gone to the front and are trying to hold us back.

The trio are now a quarter mile away and their lead is widening, they are not slowing down for anything. We are just rolling along at 15 mph when suddenly, with a flick of it’s helmeted mane, a cacophony of gear shifts and the rumble of suddenly engaged tires, the whole damn mess accelerates like a roller coaster and is instantly flying along at 35 mph in hot pursuit.

This comes just as we dive into the gorges and canyons on route 100, perhaps one of the nicest bits of road to ride down anywhere. This stretch has everyone in top gear and lying flat as can be while swooping through the curves at close to 50 mph.

For some reason fear has left me, now I am steadily passing others who are more cautious here and, sitting higher, have engaged air braking with their bodies. Not me, flat as I can be, elbows as close as I can get them, saddle in my stomach and chin on the stem I am passing them one by one. Before I realize it I am up with the three who escaped, they are now caught and another three come down with me.

I see now I have reached the maximum echelons of kinetic energy of this pack at this moment. Right here is here the action is as the six sprinters and I jockey for a good position at 45mph while the rest of the field hangs back. What the hell am I doing here? I wonder; the answer comes back sure and simple, having fun, what else.

We round the last bend of tree, all keenly looking for the sprint marker and suddenly there it is; a huge red banner on the right hand side of the road with a tripod and a camera. Their off, John leads out Tony, Troy jumps on his wheel and two others take a different line. I accelerate while keeping back so I don’t have to stand and I stay placed right behind them. Then they let it all go and the big men go flying off the lead outs, Tony, Troy, two more, it is mano e mano on wheels, each man working his legs, back neck and elbows, mouth in a rictus of power and anger bombing for the line. Troy takes it by a pencil width and it is over. Suddenly we are all friends again and rolling along chatting about what just happened like it was walking the dog.

Not withstanding this happy moment, two more guys leap off the front and we let them go. They are going for the KOM points up the Middlebury gap and no one seems to care.

We swing right into Middlebury and up past the feed zone. I have no food or water coming having packed two 16 oz bottles with Accelerade and a spare bottle of pure water in my jersey pocket. I have also packed a lot of Gel (4), two granola bars and about 4 inches of my secret fruit and nut biking loaf. I am sure this will be enough fuel and given the morning is cool I think I am in good shape for fluids though it will be close.

The real climbs of the Middlebury gap start right after the feed zone. Indeed no sooner have those last cheerful faces passed us by then the awful truth hits hard as riders leap to their feet to attack the surging hills now before us. Mid pack me; I start my inevitable drift backwards. I cannot help this and have to acknowledge that while my climbing is better than it has ever been, I am simply outclassed by these guys both in years of racing and their specialization.

For a while I am at the very back watching people slowly pull away from me but then a funny thing happens, and it always does. Those closest to me start coming back to me, a bit like a yo yo with one bounce. Now I am passing Lee, John T and others I have been riding with all week are next to me, head down, groaning and wheezing as they force the pedals around and I slowly pass them. A little up the road I see a guy in a Target training outfit, he is stopping to pee. I am impressed by his confidence that he can get back on after a stop like that.

I move on up the hills, I can still see the main group, they are strung out. John Funk is still with them so it is not too bad. A rider comes by me and I get on his wheel. He rides steadily and just at my limit so we ride up together wordlessly in the growing heat. I finally see the top, it is another 100M and so, as usual, I stand up and sprint to the top in an effort to make this part end sooner. As usual I surprise my self how much kick I can muster after 15 minutes of howling muscles but no matter, I am toasted at the top.

Two riders come by me then, they are the ones I just passed. We form a paceline and agree we have to haul ass now to get back on. We start 30 second pulls and we go like thunder down the other side of the gap into Ripton. Another rider joins us here, it is Mr target Training looking for a ride to the front. I get impatient. I can see riders ahead, we simply have to get to them, I fly past the current lead guy in the paceline and redline myself in an effort to close the gap. Sweat is pouring off me and spattering on my legs, the road is curvey and fast with a good surface.

Round the next corner we are into Ripton, there is traffic in the race here, the closest vehicle is the 40+ follow van and then some cars are between. Never mind that, I am completely fearless here again and simply race up to back of the van as it goes into a right hander. I hold off as I cannot see around the van and don’t want to take chance. Once the road opens up I take off and pass the van. Someone shouts at me, not sure what they say. I get down on the bars again and the road out of Ripton proves to be every bit as fast as I recall it to be.

Around the next corner I hit a bunch of bumps and I hear a crash behind me, damn, my spare water bottle has gone, bugger ! I keep going, the riders ahead are just within reach. A short uphill now and I pedal like a maniac and catch them and do. We slow up here for a few minutes before putting it back into gear again and pounding down the last stretch. All I can recall is my first ever GMSR and how, when I got dropped in Middlebury I could not get back on, that was not going to happen again.

Flat out gain through the bends with a tail of riders behind me we fly into the hard right hander that marks the end of the descent. Flags are being waved at us but I know this corner and I know I can take it fast.

We round the corner and there, lo and behold, Allah be praised, thanks be to god, there they are, and not just a small off-the-back group but the whole god damn pack!! It is a miracle. We all congratulate each other and join up with the rest of the field in time to eat and chat a bit before the pace picks up again, boy was that lucky.

The pace picks up as we head out towards Bristol, it comes and goes as various bodies try and break but nothing sticks. We round the bend up to the Bristol notch road, a short surly 20% climb, enough to wake everyone up here and then, onto the: Dirt Road…yes what a treat here in Vermont. 2 miles of hucks, yucks and shucks with pebbles, glass and washboard surfaces thrown in. What were they thinking of?

John Funk pounds through here at 26 mph and we all have to follow (he told me later) holding on for dear life as tires pop left and right, bottles fly out of cages and small bits of plastic whose purpose has never been ascertained fly off every bike that had one. All my bits thankfully stay attached, even my taped on Powertap and I stay attached to the bike though it is very hard at times. I will not need a massage tonight I inform the white-knuckled rider to my right.

This ends with a short sharp run up into Bristol and then on out route 125 towards the baby gap. This is uneventful and I feed on the fruit and nut roll with difficulty as it is very fast for no good reason I think until I see that two men are off and Kevin Haley, Joe Straub’s team mate is looking lonely. “Where’s Joe” I ask but I already know. Kevin nodded on down the road. Sure enough Joe has gone and gone hard, we are not even trying to catch him.

We reach the baby gap and begin to climb. This group is now down from 60 starters to about 45 and two are up the road. That means if I fall off here at the very back I will just make GC points, I need to do a bit better than that I realize. The baby gap starts out pretty soft, 4%, then 5%, then 6% then back to 5% and lots of meandering along the river, all well and good. The tempo is high though and, interestingly, we pick up speed as we go up the climbs and slow down on the flats. Riders start coming unglued; I see them drop back as I am again at the very back and just holding on comfortably, no panic yet.

We crest the baby gap and I look for that kind soul who gave me water in 2005 right around here and saved my life. The place is the turn off to Jerusalem incidentally. No such luck but a bunch of kids a bit further on look promising. As I come by they hold out a red can. I grab one, generic Diet coke…..I am disgusted and drop it, it pops and fizzes all over the road.

There could not be a more useless thing to give a parched rider than that, it does not even have any sugar in it…what are they thinking ! Oh well, serves you right for dropping your bottle.

The next 3 miles are fast down hill as we come off the baby gap and head into the App Gap west side proper. It is on us very suddenly and then I realize that the whole darn race is almost over and, I am here at the foot of the very worst part and still with the leaders, holy moley, who would have guessed it, I feel very pleased with myself.

Now the gaps start to open up in the field. John and cadre of hardcore anti-gravity agents simply start to float away up the climbs no matter how sharp they become. Me, I am struggling to turn my 39/25 and wished I had that 27 or 29 others had brought…no matter I will survive. I gulp down my very last Gel here.

I see riders ahead start to come back and suddenly I am passing the yellow Jersey. Suddenly I see Armstrong in that one year when he almost cracked on the Alp d’huez because he had miscalculated fluids. The Maillot Jeune is beside me and going backwards, racked (I would later learn as we lay side by side on the massage table) by muscle cramps and unable to make his legs work the way they should.

More riders come back but some of them have numbers that begin with ‘9’ and so must be from the citizen’s race that went out before us. The van pulls up and looks at me for a while as I groan and moan up the hills, I manage a smile and they move on revealing as they round the next corner a strange sight; it is me, two years ago, struggling up this same climb.

Well not really me but, a guy built like me then (a bit heavier) and riding a red bike and wearing a Colavita shirt with grey shorts, just what I used to wear. I am curious at this and surge up to this rider, he is in great pain and I simply smile at him as I pass. “great team” he gasps as he recognizes the like Jersey.

The last stretch of the App gap is like the Alp D’huez exactly. It is long, open, extremely steep (20%), you can see the top and there are people standing on the side cheering. There is also writing on the road and, on this occasion, a small child playing a bongo….not too sure why but he was.

I look back and see Kevin Haley. I had passed him earlier but he has staged a comeback and is slowly advancing on me. I am not in the least worried because Kevin does not know about my secret weapon, he has yet to see just how desperate I can be to get to the top of a hill and how hard I can make the legs work when I need them to…at least that's what I keep telling myself as I stare up the road and try to time the moment to spring.

The grinding is very slow now, I really do want to walk but it is just automatic. I hear the MC at the top announcing Joe Straub has taken second place..so they did not catch him, what a chancer he is.

Now it is time, there is 100M to go, I get up and, one more time, I command the legs to sprint, not this time they say, too much, it is not so much a sprint as it is a slow and steady surge that is draining away all my focus as I pick up a bit of extra speed and cruise, painfully over the finish line.

I have a most dreadful look on my face as reflected in the astonished expressions of the onlookers who do a double-take and move out of the way to get me off the road.

I look down and stop my watch. 3:08 it says, I cannot believe it, almost 30 minutes faster than I did it in 2005…Yoweeee…..that is something.

I congratulate Joe, David Friefelder, John Funk, hell I would congratulate anyone at all right now the relief I feel.

Off down for the 12:45 massage now.