MUTUAL OF ENUMCLAW STAGE RACE

Enumclaw stage race this past weekend. Mutual of Enumclaw Stage Race, actually, which reminds me of the old TV show, "Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom" wherein the host, Marlin Perkins, would safely crouch behind a giant boulder whilst Jim would approach the rabid wildebeest to yank a thorn from its paw. But I digress.

Fanatik's Celio Guifarro, as you can see in the top photo, wins the Cat 4 Crit. Way to go, Celio!

I won the Masters C/D Crit with an epic push over the final three laps -- no, wait, that's not true at all. I got yanked, a whistle blown at me (how rude) and the off-with-his-head motion made, after 18 minutes of the 30-minute Crit. Voted off the island, as it were. But at least I really hated the experience and will probably never ever do another Crit as long as I live.

Time Trial was kinda cool. Rode 6 miles in 16 minutes and 2 seconds. (Which just sounds fast, doesn't it?) Good for 33rd out of 57 Masters C/D riders. However, had I done Cat 5, where there seemed to be a dearth of aero helmets, disk wheels, and time trial bikes (just like me), I would've been 8th. Which sounds better than thirty-frickin'-third, don't you think? So next time I think I'll ... anybody? ... that's right, I'll do Cat 5.

Woke up Sunday. Felt crummy. Skipped the road race. Drove home. Watched The Sopranos that night. Two episodes left.

I think Tony's going down.

First Time Up the Mountain

Did a double Mount Baker Hill Climb ride on Tuesday (asterisk attached), but before I get to that, let me tell you about the two Golden Retrievers we saw on the way up. Only they weren't Golden Retrievers.

I was riding with Stewart Bowmer (of Fanatik Bike Co. fame), his wife Mary Margaret, and their friend Shannon. Anyway, Stewart and I went ahead, then Stewart went ahead of me, and at one point I round a bend and see Stewart and a pickup truck stopped to let these two dogs cross the road. Thing is, nobody lives near here; the closest house is 10 miles away. So they're not dogs, but black bears. But young ones, and cinnamon in color, unlike any I've seen before. They mosied, took their time, and finally scampered down off the side of the road.

Quite a thrill. The only disappointment was that I chickened out on getting a photo. Just to be on the safe side, Stewart wanted to pedal past the bears right behind the pickup (so we'd be somewhat shielded in case they turned into grizzlies) which sounded like a capital idea to me. So I put away the camera and quickly latched on to Stewart and the pickup.

As for the riding, it couldn't have been better. Warmish, sunny, no wind and the road is plowed only to the upper ski area lodge so we didn't have to ride all the way to Artist Point. As for the giant asterisk alluded to earlier, we started about three miles before the D.O.T. shed so there was no Nooksack Falls (Powerhouse) hill. Each repeat was 2,200 feet of climbing over about 7 miles. It was enough for me to get them done.

Stewart, on the other hand, turned it into a prescribed workout, muscling out some miles in a high gear and low cadence. Other times he sprinted as hard as he could--"Until I blow up," he said--then climbed steadily until his heartrate dropped back down to 150. At which point, he'd stand and sprint as hard as he could until explosion time. On and on all the way to the lodge.

I'll leave that for next time.

Or the time after that.

BIRTH OF A LAMINATION

Friends with saws help McQuaides go get elaminated!

(BELLINGHAM)--In a surprise move that stunned as many as a few, the McQuaides decided to get rid of the horrible carpet and redo the floor in Jen's computer room-guest area place where Mike's sister Kath sleeps when she comes to visit. It all started when friend Deb Robbins stopped by for a de-cluttering session. Mike, who's first impulse was to find something else to do that night, actually found himself quite taken by Deb's ideas and encouragement.

Decluttering lead to carpet removal which led to painting which led to Costco and 10 boxes of wood flooring. Friends with saws, they being Deb and the oft-mention cyclist-runner John Clark, stepped in and let the McQuaides have at it. Five days and not much more than $500 later, voila (or however you spell it) a new room was theirs. (And sis Kath's when she comes to visit.) Because the room will house Jen's computer, a TV and stereo (remember stereos?), Deb has named it the Media Room, which the McQuaides find quite charming.

"Sounds like a place where we'll be holding press conferences or something," said Mike, thinking he was being absolutely hilarious.

THE BLUR'S THE THING

Needed some photos for a trail-running story I wrote and some friends were kind enough to let me shoot them, as it were. (Thanks Carol Beebe, Polly Favinger--fresh off the Boston Marathon, Glenn Gervais, Paul Ricci, Scott Young, and John Clark.) Headed to Whatcom Falls Park, a place I haven't been for a while. Even though I've lived here almost 20 years, I'm still amazed at how beautiful it is.

Friends were very patient as I had them run back and forth, back and forth about a hundred times. And then look what I end up shooting, I bet they're thinking, a bunch of blurry shots and their backs. Oh, but it's so much more than that. Only John Clark was a temperamental diva about the whole thing but I kinda expected that from him.

Speaking of Clark, we rode the Donut Ride Saturday morning, a B'ham institution since the mid-'80s. Up to Ferndale, where a macho hill-climb battle ensued then on to Birch Bay, where John and I peeled off and headed to Lynden and points north. Rode that road along the border where the Minutemen were on patrol: a beautiful sunny day and they're sitting on their arses in their stuffy cars, on the lookout for Canadian geese sneaking into Sumas.

Riding through Ferndale, John broke a spoke on his back wheel. His second broken spoke on (two different sets of wheels) in about six months. His wast 10 miles were qwite the wobble. Nooksack River was very high (rain and snowmelt in the mountains) and near the Lummi Reservation, we had to pedal through about 4 inches of the Red River which was covering Ferndale Road.

Seventy-one miles in all. A great ride.

TOUR OF WALLA WALLA

As I found out this past weekend, there's a point in a criterium bike race when you know you've fallen off the pack. It's when the volunteers start letting people cross the street during the ever-widening gulf of both time and space that's opened up between you and everyone else. You know you've really fallen off when the people crossing don't even have to run. They glance up, see that they've got plenty of time and just kinda saunter, enjoying a leisurely walk.

Such was my fate Sunday morning in the Southeast Washington town of Walla Walla. But it was the only bummer in what was a truly great experience: my first real bike racing event, wherein I had to use my license and pin my numbers on my back and bike in specified ways and otherwise follow the rules and whims of bike racing official types.

It was an omnium, meaning it was three races: a time trial and road race on Saturday, followed by the (dreaded) crit on Sunday. I've done plenty of triathlons before but never a straight time trial. This was 7 (or 7.5? I'm not really sure) miles, all-out, as fast as you can, each rider leaving at 30-second intervals. No time for real thought, no worries about strategy. Just go! My only thought, I guess, was that I didn't want to be passed by wave upon wave of riders, all of whom started after me.

I was lucky because about a half-mile into it, I'd gained quite a bit on the guy who started before me and passed him not long after. It was a huge confidence boost. (Says a lot about me doesn't it, that my self-image improves at the shortcomings of others.) It was slightly uphill on the way out and at the turnaround point, the guy who started a minute ahead of me looked to be within reach. Being slightly downhill, the way back was much faster (up to 34 mph for me) but I couldn't quite make up the distance. He finished just a few seconds ahead of me, but I was pleased with my ride: 18: 49, 1:31 behind the winner; good for 12th out of 45 Category 5 riders.

Three-and-a-half hours later was the road race, definitely one of the most intense (and fun) sporting experiences I've ever had. The focus and concentration required--rows and rows of riders three abreast, riding within inches of each other front to back--was unlike anything I've known. An Ironman Triathlon, a 50K, etc., you just kind of get in a mode and try to hang on. Your mind can wander, it can spiral into how much you hate/love the activity, how you're never going to do anything like this again, etc. Not so on this road race. I could barely look down at my bike computer for fear of missing something and being dropped. The one time I tried drinking from my bottle, there was mass slowing of the pack and in grabbing my brakes I dropped the bottle. (Luckily, it shot off to the side of the road so nobody ran over it. But I had nothing to drink for most of the race.) My race was only 38 miles, about 2 hours. I can't imagine keeping up this level of focus for 95 miles the way the Pros, Cat 1 and 2 riders had to.

In my race, most of the 45 or so riders rode en masse for about the first 25 miles. Then the pace picked way up, a longish hill broke up the pack and with about 10 miles to go, a group of eight got ahead of the amorphous blob of riders that I was in. We got the paceline going a few times, which was cool--luckily I had some experience doing this with the Fanatik team--but never could reel in the lead pack.

The road race ended with a 3K climb, which feels really good after you've been hammering for close to two hours. But I fancy myself kind of a climber guy so I figured this could maybe be to my advantage. Or reveal my pathetically inflated idea of my skills. Turns out, it went OK. I finished second among guys in my group, 10th overall. (The race was won by a 21-year-old. Just thought I'd throw that in.) Really cool was that after the first two events I'd moved up to 9th overall. Top 10, baby!

Then came the next morning's criterium. Before the race, almost nothing appealed to me about a criterium. Way too dangerous--riders bunched together riding way too fast, in and out of tight corners--the chance of crashing onto pavement is way too high, the constant sprinting to catch back up seems pointlessly painful. Ugh. Did I mention too that it was drizzling, thus making the city streets super slick?

My race was 25 minutes plus a lap; after about 10 or 12 minutes, I was ready for it to be over. I couldn't hang on to anyone's wheel. Partly because I was scared, partly because I was tired as hell from the previous day's two races, but also criteriums don't seem to play to whatever strengths I might have as a cyclist. I rode the last 10 minutes by myself (great workout) and am pretty sure that anyone who was behind me got pulled from the course for being too far behind; I was the last guy to finish. Woo hoo! (It reminded of the one year I was the last runner to finish Ski to Sea.)

I haven't seen the results but I venture to say that after my criterium, I was no longer in 9th place. (PS: Results came in--I only dropped two spots! I finished 11th overall.)

But the Tour of Walla Walla was blast. A great event and now, I'm officially a bike racer. I can shave my legs with knowing pride.