This is my race report for Cascade. It is really, really long. I won’t be offended if you don’t read it, I just want you to know what you’re getting into. I’d recommend you do yourself a favor and either just check cyclingnews, where you can read about people who actually did cool stuff in this race(as opposed to just suffering), or read the report from the Webcor Womens team. They laid the smack down on women’s pro cycling and I guarantee their report will be more uplifting than mine.
Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Stage One: Smith Rock Road Race.
The first stage was a “flat” 71 mile road race. I guess it was pretty much flat, save for one daunting(for me) climb and then the miles of false flat headwind that followed it. It got up to about 98 degrees for our race and the tempo matched the temperature.
But let me back up for a minute. I managed to miss registration, along with every other amateur cyclist from 3 states that I spoke with. I went to reg one day and there were 90 spots open, but I was late for dinner. When I came back two days later the 150 man field was full. I got on the waiting list with Fabrice, but they let in a couple of pro teams before us bringing the total field to 188. When I called two days before the race they told me not to even bother, but I’ve been planning to do this race all year so I was committed. Fredo and I did the 6hr drive from Boise and went straight to reg. They told us they couldn’t do a thing for us until reg officially closed at 8:30. So we unpacked our bags, took a little spin and then went back at 7:50. They told us it might actually happen, but we needed to be back at 8:30 on the nose. Just enough time to grab a burrito and make it back in time to hear that we were in! I worked late into the night getting my Giant into pristine condition and mounting my frame number in such a way as to comply with Rand’s high standards.
In the end I was up so late taping and trimming that damn number that I almost missed the start. We still had to swap cassettes and such before the race and when all was said and done we only got to the start with 15 minutes to go. That is not enough time for your average cyclist to get dressed, mix bottles, pump tires, load up with Powerbars and still have time to sign in and then find a bush, but this was not my first Rodeo. I had everything done in time to chill at the starting line and test my Spanish as Oscar Sevilla et al bantered back and forth.
The race was fast. Very fast. People were attacking from the gun and I spent the first 40k trying to find the front of the race. We’d be flying along at 35mph and then the whole field would slam on the brakes, make a 90 degree turn and then sprint back up to 35 as fast as possible. I may have feared for my life once or twice, but I am not a professional; no one is paying me to be fearless and I have to scrub my own wounds.
A break did finally form at about 40k, or just before I got up front. This is not a coincidence. When a break does go, things will slow. It’s a rule. I saw some BMC rider wind up for a bridge attempt and I figured I’d give it a go. I tried to get on his wheel, but he was strategically ramping up to a full launch timed to slip him past the field right before a huge RV clogged most of the left lane. Like I said, he’s a professional and I am not. I braked, he flew. I think he was one of the few people who got up to the move. I tried a little attack after that, but it was all for show and I settled back into the pack.
And not a moment too soon. The climb, which was actually substantial in my book, was fewer than 5 miles out and I would not have recovered had I been trying to bridge. Steve Reaney of CalGiant attacked after me, and that effort cost him. He hit the climb right after his effort and couldn’t hold the pace. I did my best to stay up front and keep out of the red, but towards the top I started going backwards. Not tragically backwards, just sort of drifting back as lighter riders (and really, who isn’t lighter than me?) floated past. I stayed with the group, albeit towards the back, and then we were all strung out and flying through the feed zone.
Why do major races insist on putting feed zones on flat ground when they know the pack is going to be screaming through at over 30mph? I don’t know, but if you find out will you tell me? Some guy from the Cole Sports team was right in front of me and knocked every neutral bottle he reached for to the ground. A perfect 3 for 3. I almost nabbed the last one out of the air as he bobbled it (that’s how badly I wanted that water), but I was already cooking on the bike and couldn’t ninja it. I used my last bit of energy to shake my head at him as I came around.
The next part of the race was pretty vicious. Garmin or some team had missed the break (I think cal Giant missed out too) and they were leaving pieces of themselves and the field all over the road as they drove a mad pace over a false flat into a strong head/crosswind. The whole field was strung out single file, save for a few brave (or stupid) riders who were trying to move up. I was cooked from the climb, cooked from the brutal sun, and still simmering about the missed feed and it was all I could do to hang onto the wheel in front of me.
With maybe ten miles to go those teams realized that the race was up the road never to return and things finally slowed down. I was begging for water at that point and a few kind souls obliged. I managed to get back into the caravan for some neutral water, but at that point there were only about 4 miles left. Oh well. As we were coming into the finish some hometown heroes were getting ready to sprint for 25th place. There was no small bit of derision flung their way by real professionals, until Freddy Rodrigues went up front to give it a whirl. Funny, no one gave him any crap for sprinting for 25th, but that’s the way it goes. If you’re an amateur you get crapped on, and you only really deserve it 95% of the time. That’s just the way it is. I rolled it in with the main field for a very pleasing 115th. Ben JM won the stage in style with clean wheels and dedicated the win to Chris Hipp. Class all the way.
It turns out the wheel that I thought was “out of true” had a broken spoke and my brakes had been rubbing for who knows how long. After realizing that I didn’t feel so bad about rolling in with the pack. P.S. Winners avg speed was just shy of 30mph. Yikes.
Stage 2 : Three Creeks Road Race.
This stage was more of the same, except the climb didn’t come until the end of the stage and it was roughly a thousand times harder. That’s an estimate, and I’m not great with math, but you get the picture. I had gone to a local shop the day before to get the spoke fixed and try to figure out why I couldn’t shift into my 11. Seth, the wrench there, was about he nicest guy you could hope to find, but after about an hour and a half of work, changing out the cables and housing, 4 test rides and every other trick in the book he still couldn’t figure it out. He ended up charging me 5 bucks for the wheel and everything and wishing me well. When you’ve got one of the biggest races on your calendar the next morning you’re kind of at the mercy of the shop and they can really bend (haha that’s a pun!) you over. Having someone do his best to help you, and when that doesn’t work cut you some slack and let you off with a small bill and best wishes is like a blessing.
I showed up super early for stage 2 to let the pros at Shimano Neutral Support give it a whirl. I’d leave the bike with them, put on some kit and come back for a test ride, then sign in, then test ride, then mix bottles, then test ride. With about 7 minutes before the start the head honcho finally figured out it was a bad chain. Turns out a bad chain can keep you blocked out of the 11. Who knew? With no warmup and that same ultra-rushed feeling I rolled backwards on the course to the front of the pack and sat for less than two minutes before we were off.
Like I said, more of the same: a furious pace punctuated with heartstopping fits of braking and all out sprints back up to speed. This kept up for like 30 miles until we came to the feed zone. Let me tell you one nice thing about having a team and a car in the caravan. If you’re smart, you can get all the food and drink you need from the car and you never have to worry about the utter shitshow that is the 30mph feedzone. Not so for me, lone wolf that I am. I am at the mercy of the neutral feed, and often left to beg, borrow or steal a few drops of water to keep the legs turning.
Now Garmin is one of those teams with a follow car full of lots of tasty and refreshing treats. They decided to get all their feeding done before the feedzone and then attack the hell out of the pack as the rest of us poor devils were trying to get a drink. Again, the neutral feed was totally useless, and it was only a bit of luck and the good will of an ex-Webcor rider that saved the day. That’s right, Australia’s own Jono Coulter (now the swany for Bissell) looked up at just the right moment to see the look of despair on my face. Not a word was exchanged between us in that fraction of a moment. Our eyes met, I nodded, pleading and he whipped a bottle up slick as you please to save my race. It was maybe the smoothest handup I’ve ever gotten and all this at over 30 while the field was ripping itself apart. Jono, you’ve always been my friend. On that day you were my hero.
I was so happy to have a bottle that I almost missed the fact that the pack was splitting. I was a little too far back, having been futilely looking for a neutral feed and when the course made a 90 left it went form a headwind to a nasty cross and Garmin echeloned their whole team and started riding like there was some big, argyle lemonade stand just up the road. I was on a pro wheel (I won’t say form what team) and we were just a few feet off the back of the front group, so close we could have poked them with a long stick. But we were going hard out and not making up ground so he pulled off, leaving me to flail like ragdoll, killing myself and still unable to get across. I gave what I had but had to pull off too, only to see a group of 7 pros sprint across the gap.
The next 20 minutes or so were pure desperation. I got back in line with a group of maybe 20 or so guys who had been split off and we tried to keep cool, take pulls and catch back on, but it was a bit disorganized and the guys in the front group were not slowing. We finally caught back on, but we caught back on to the tail end of a strung out field and as we were trying to catch our breath the guys at the front were accelerating again. So that’s how it went for a while. It would get strung out, gaps would open that I’d try to jump around, and then it would slow down enough for me to rest for a sec, then they’d be attacking again and it would string out once more. That sucked.
I think a break finally got off and things let up. We actually chilled up the mid-course KOM (a true blessing) and then as we rolled into the town of Three Sisters things got nuts again. They had us do a totally loony series of 90 degree turns (maybe a dozen in all) that had the pack going like the slinky from hell. After 60 miles of kicking my own ass just to stay in the group the last thing I needed was a dozen hard our accelerations. I did make it through that chaos and was solidly in the group (quite an accomplishment at that point) when some knuckleheads crossed wheels and a ton of people hit the deck in front of me. I had to come almost to a complete stop to get around and as I tried to sprint back onto the tail end of the field I knew my day was done. I could see the final climb of the day looming in front of me and I figured then was as good a time as any to start riding my own pace. So that’s what I did.
The last climb was nothing if not painful. I can’t imagine what it was like up front, but at least they got it out of the way quickly, right? I was doing what I could to keep a good pace, ever wary of the time cut. I managed to beg some water off friends in the caravan as they came speeding by (you guys from Bobs-Bicycles were awesome and I thank you!). It was so hot that it felt like the skin on my arms was being cooked. I was swerving back and forth across the road to find shade. Truly brutal. I actually caught some people on the climb and made it with plenty of time to spare. I drank just about everything I could see and then begged a ride back to town with some kindly Z-Team folk.
Ouch.
Stage 3: Skyliners Time Trial.
This was perhaps the lamest race of my life. After my ride at the first stage of Nature Valley I’ve been trying to convince myself that I’m actually a decent time trialist, but I hadn’t really been on the TT bike since then it was a tough argument to make with myself. I awoke feeling sick and totally drained form the day before. It was hard to eat and I was not feeling better as the start time drew nearer. I was all by myself for this one and had to do all those little things that need doing before the start without even a little bit of camaraderie to lighten the mood. I was not moving fast enough given how I felt and I ended up getting a less than stellar warmup.
I made it to the start gate on time and away I went chasing Ozzie Olmos from Cal Giant. I knew right away that it wasn’t going to be pretty. Then Jesse Seargent of Livestrong passed me about a minute into my TT. He passed me like I was standing still. That was a small psychological blow to accompany the physical pain I was already feeling. The course is just an out and back that goes up and up and up on the way out and then comes screaming back. I was just trying to keep a rhythm and stay close to Ozzie.
Then things started getting tough. I was feeling all sorts of bumps in the road, but when I looked down the tires looked fine and there were definitely bad sports in the pavement. I made it to the turnaround and something was definitely not right. However, instead of stopping and checking stuff out I just put my head down and flogged myself. I guess it sounds crazy to keep going when something is out of whack, but who stops to check out their rig in the middle of a TT? I got maybe a k down the road and realized that my front tire was dead flat. The only neutral was at the turnaround so I had to flip it and go backwards on the course, limping along and screaming for service. They got to me, got me a change in pretty good time, but after doubling back already I was in pretty deep trouble and I knew it.
I gave it everything I had. I flogged myself down that hill spinning away in the 56x11 and passed maybe 5 or 6 guys. It was awesome. I’ve never gone that fast in a TT and it was a rush. Alas, it was all for naught. I caught and passed F-Rod with less than a K to go, but that got me to thinking. Freddie had started a minute and a half behind me and he is not exactly known for his time trialing.
I kept up hope, but in the end I was pretty far gone. Freddie ended up getting time cut himself and I was almost a minute and a half behind him so you get the picture. That’s right, I got time cut for flatting in a TT. I actually emailed the race director and showed up early before the next stage (having done my race prep just in case) to argue my case with the officials, but they didn’t care. And like that, my race was done.
I was in a bit of a funk. Okay, I was heartbroken, but it never does any good to just sit around bumming out. Huxley once wrote that, “rolling in the muck is not the best way of getting clean,” and I try to remember that when I’m feeling down. So instead of pouting I floated the river on a beautiful Bend afternoon, drank a few beers, made some new friends and ate well. Turns out that’s exactly what I needed. Since then I’ve been doing some solid resting and some good training and just generally trying to get ready for Elite Nationals, which start this Thursday.
If you’ve actually read this far you are the true hero of the day. In fact, I should probably pay you as this writing has been wonderfully cathartic. I only hope that Webcor can rally and send a big team up here to wreck house next year. Oh wait! Webcor already crushed this race into tiny little pieces. Big props to the Webcor Women who dominated this race from start to finish and left everyone else asking for the plates of the big green semi that rolled through town and left utter destruction in its wake. Yes, they were that awesome.
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