The Green Mountain Stage Race: Stage 2

GMSR Stage 2, Sept 1, 2007

The Moretown Circuit Race.
54 miles, 2.5 laps, a nice bit of climbing and some sprint points.
60 starters

1: SJ Spanbauer 2:10:34
4: Troy Kimbal +17
6: John Funk +17s
15: Paul Carbonara +17
17: Joe Straub +17
19: Michael Joseph +17
47: Tony Settel (Deno's) +17
49: John Tomlinson (Deno's) +17
52: Lee Mestres (Mambo's) +17
55: David Hudson (Mambo's) 11:28

After yesterday’s event I hoped this would be an easy flat race (relatively) with plenty of easy spinning and lots of recovery for tomorrow. Instead I worked almost as hard in this one as I had in yesterdays Prolog and came very close to being off at one point. The end turned out ok for me given how hard it was.

I took it really easy last night, ate a huge pizza with everything on it, got organized with food, drinks, numbers and clothing and was off to bed at 9:30 reading a little Bill Bryson (he is the funniest man I have ever read) before Morpheus came upon me at 10 pm. Up at 7 am and in for a nice breakfast cooked by the two doyennes of the Mad River Barn where I am staying, a combined age of 155 years between them.

Racing begins at 1pm today so I spend the morning at the Coffee store in town with the good WiFi coverage reading all sorts of fascinating things about Knowledge Management, the thing I do for a living.

11am I head over to the school in Duxbury for the sign in and start. I get there and park, sign in, head back to the van and, disaster strikes, while clipping on my Powertap the whole plastic mount cracks off and I have the PT in my hand. Damn….I can ride without it but boy will it be handy for later.

I get out and do about a 10 mile climbing warm up thinking I probably don’t even need to warm up for this one but just to be sure. Back at the lot I spy a roll of scotch tape on the official’s desk and jerry rig a taped up PT mount on my stem, looks ugly and amateurish, so what.

While in the lot I hear a powerful North Dublin accent yelling about something someone had done in some race somewhere. The voice is that of Ciaran Mangen warming up on his trainer. He is indeed an Irishman and is now racing for CCB and doing the 30+. We talk about the Sean Kelly Tour I did a few weeks back and promise to reconnect.

I find Lee Majestres of the Mambo’s and tell him that as today may well be his type of event, if he and Dave make any plans or need any help, I will be there for them as I am solo and happy to work with anyone. He seems completely uninterested; perhaps he knows something I don’t?

Line up and off, as Joe Straub later said to me: “neutral start? We left skid marks on the starting line” and indeed it was so. Someone went off alone the moment we crested the hill.

The course has one serious climb section, a set of four hills one after the other, all about 10% and about 150 vertical feet with no down until the fourth is conquered and then a rip roaring descent on great new road towards Interstate 89. We make a hard right before 89 and head East.

From here on it is just like a regular road race; crappy roads, bad tempered hillbillies in huge trucks armed with mirrors designed to take your head off and some very narrow bridges but, being Vermont, all this with astonishing views of the mountains and river valleys as we cross them.

We swing slowly South and then it hits us, that same damn wind we had yesterday. This time it comes at us from 2pm (if 12 is directly ahead) and we are all strung out across the road, each trying to get into the cover of the rider to his right. The first break for the sprint goes here.

First troy and then Tony take off, all for those 3 places on the line. We speed up but don’t honestly chase. Moments later the points were taken and now this group with a good lead were smart enough not to slow up. We give chase and the pace goes up to the point where I am seriously working.

I pop a Gel as we have been riding very fast for 30 minutes and now it is getting crazy hard. I look down the road and see Joe Straub up the front and working like maniac to bring them back, normally I am the sort of rider who, riding alone would go up there and help but not today.

I see John Funk up there also from my mid pack vantage point and I see another rider so huge that when he gets up on the pedals he towers over everyone at the front. For a moment I reminded of that image from the opening of the Lord of the Rings where we see Sauron in armor, a giant figure on the battlefield slaying men by the dozen.

Slayed we are being, my legs are starting to burn and I am just hanging on. We surge around a right hander and begin the climbing section again. Here John Funk lets it rip with a vengeance. Up in the lead and standing, he is floating up and down at 120 rpm in an astonishing flurry of pedal strokes aimed squarely at pulling back Troy and company who still have at least 300 yards on us.

This is where I almost lose it, I feel the burn at the front of my quads, I drop gears trying to keep spinning as much as I can but the hill mounts and I hurt. I am in first now and spinning wildly while slowly dropping back. I see Lee go backwards, then John T then I see Paul’s wheel just ahead and I instinctively latch on to it.

My HR is at 166 but this is a false HR. It is fatigued and depressed from yesterdays climb and I know from how I feel it would normally be showing 171-172, putting me right on the edge of failure. The slower heart means I have to breathe that much more heavily to compensate and the respiratory effort is enormous.

I know Paul will never let this bunch get away from him and so I his wheel. I am blind with sweat again, wheezing like a steam train and feel like something is about to pop. We are pulling 23 mph up this damned hill and I am dying. There is a short break at the top then the next one starts, it is a little easier and I stand up, desperate to stay on this wheel.

Finally I see the top and ease off, I know I can descend fast enough to close the gap here and I really hurt so badly. Just as I do, the whole field eases up and I see why, we have caught Troy et al and now we can all breathe easy, at least for now.

John in his rage has really hurt the field; we are at least 10 men down, just 50 left.

The run down the hill sees me pick up a lot of speed and wheedle my way back to the middle of the pack as we spend the next 4 miles averaging 35 mph with a fantastic view of the mountains ahead.

I have learned a few truths about this sport. One truth; it is a sport of economics.

The careful measuring and spending of finite resources such that they are best used in the allotted time to achieve maximum results.

For me, a racer usually way below par in these events, every calorie spent is a calorie I won’t have when I really need it, either to avoid being blown out the back in a particularly hard moment or, the calorie I will need to secure a reasonable place at the end. So I am not riding at the front, I am riding in the middle.

I am not contesting sprints, I am not attempting breakaways and I am keeping my head (literally) down as low as possible at all times to conserve effort and reduce wind. Additionally I now stop pedaling as much as I can because even though the spinning is good for keeping the legs clear, it costs.

Now with the first sprint points taken, the first break pulled back, we are back to the road race section and I see someone else has gone off, brave soul. The pace picks up again although this time there seems to be still a great weariness in the pack after that horrible charge up the hills.

We cross the bridge and again I see Tony take off with Troy on his wheel. We let them get 100 yards up the road before turning up the heat and they are brought back right after the sprint is done. I recall how when I need a mantra in a TT, it always comes back as “None Shall Pass”, so here I think “No One Here gets out Alive” and so it is. This pack will not let anyone escape.

It is always puzzling how the pace of a race gets set, we round the corner for the last run into the hills and this time the pace is easy, we crest the last hill at about 18 mph, at least 5 mph slower than the last time and then head down into that lovely long descent, yes, this is how I recall it felt when I enjoyed just cycling, this is like one of those lovely ambling MAFW rides through gorgeous Sussex county, good company, easy pace, the air was sweet with farm yard things and not curdled with the stink of aggression, ambition and treachery.

Just as we hit the bottom, six men break away again in an act of unprovoked aggression and we are in chase at full power. I can’t see who is in it but I can guess the usual suspects are at work. Sure enough, Joe’s black and white jersey is missing from this bunch so he must be up there; he is one hell of an aggressive rider and always in a break.

This final attack takes about 15 minutes to pull back and when we do it is on a small climb that tells of a finish line just a few miles up this long and fast stretch of highway. We ease up here and, just as the speed comes down, two guys make a launch for it and fly off up the road. I don’t know who it is but am more concerned that no one is reacting, amazing!

These two are going for the finish and we are doing nothing about it.

Another truth I have learned is that this sport is all about people. If you know the people, you may well be able to predict what will happen. The guys who went up the road are not GC contenders, Troy, Joe, John et al are all still in the pack so no chase.

We continue rolling at no more than 20 mph. The pack bunches up, it starts getting gnarly tight, a guy rides into my ass with his handlebar, no harm done.

Suddenly another guy goes, there is a moments surge then nothing, I start to work my way up the inside getting a good few spots forward before losing the way. Then John comes up on my right and I hop on his wheel knowing if I can keep it I have a chance of placing top 10.

One more thing I have learned is, I am very risk averse. My natural tendency when things get tight is to slide backwards instead of holding my ground. I think this is sound in terms of safety but not so in terms of placing. The bunch is very tight now and though I am well placed I have lost John’s wheel, it was getting too hard to hold.

We are down to the last mile, at some point ahead I know we are allowed use the whole road for the sprint but I don’t know when that will be and I only hope it is soon.

I watch the cagey body language up front, no one is willing to start the sprint, they are all looking at the other guy.

First, Second and Third place have all gone up the road and we are here playing cat and mouse. I am looking for an opening and about to jump when it happens for me, the whole front twenty suddenly drop the coy acting and charge for the line. At the same time a wave of riders now across the yellow center line come pounding down on the left, damn, that's where I should have been..

I pick my way through the sit-up guys and take one wheel after another forward in the mash of wheels and elbows, I pull myself up up up and then with 100 yards to go I jump off a CRCA wheel and sprint for the line.

I am startled by what happens next. The body; tortured for two plus hours, the legs burning and screaming for rest, suddenly find that last frantic kick and I take off like a rocket leaving most of the field behind. Of course so do the sprinters around me and when they go, they really go. It really is incredible how you can just switch that frenzy on and jam out 1200 watts for a few moments, even after all that pain.

I hold my own here and come in 19th overall, an astonishingly mediocre result but then, I am a mediocre racer overall so this is just fine, I am consistent.

I ride home with Joe, arriving exactly in time for my massage and then, eat, rest, read and bed, ready to dream about tomorrow.

We rode 53 miles at about 24.5 mph, last year I did this same race 10 minutes slower, it sure felt harder than that but the field was almost twice as big providing lots of cover.