LANTERNE ROUGE Season III: Land of the Lost River

Season III of Rabid TURTLE would be incomplete without a visit to Evolution Cycling presented by Long & Foster Training Camp 2011. After a poor base effort last year, I had such great hopes this year. I dreamed of bouncing up climbs and screaming descents that would remind all would-be rabbits that TURTLE was back and on it . . .

Dreams, dreams, dreams . . . reality and the boogieman came and nightmares followed. I entered camp emailing my Coach Bill (Pyramid Training Systems) of me desire to just take a break and pause my bike(ROCK)star effort. I was doing my best to wimp out . . .

But the social aspect of the Team and my over zealous extrovert drive drew me in like the sound of a martini shaker calling me home. Weather (WX) reports indicated rain on Thursday and my mouth (fingers to keyboard) got the best of me as I proclaimed that if I could “race in the rain” (last weekend’s effort) that I could “train in the rain” . . .

Yet, I did succumb to peer pressure and grabed my trainer as I loaded the truck with breakfast grub for the Team. Arriving in formation with SHAGGIE (Jeff), CHEWIE (Luke), and Luis we unpacked the vehicles, checked the WX and headed out the door with Kent. The rain was a light mist and not bad at all. I was not going to eat my words . . . YES!!!

The first climb of the day reminded me that my love for cold malted beverages was a curse as the extra 10lbs I was carrying was not bouncing up the climb. It was more like a Jel-O roll jiggling from side to side through wet and mud covered roads full of pasture run off. I hope the visual is as ugly (stinky) as it felt. The crew was waiting at the top of the first small climb but I pushed through and up the second climb of 2890 ft. My sticks were smoldering. I am thankful that the light mist kept the fire from starting. I still had another 30 miles of riding to go on the ride and burnt legs were going to be no help . . .

After regrouping with the Team we bombed down a decent and I was more chicken (no offense to teammate Chris Huhn) than TURTLE and feathered the breaks a great deal on the wet gravel roads. The Team was long gone as I reached the bottom. Once again I was alone and unafraid on the back roads of West Virginia. I kept an ear and an eye open wide looking to avoid any scene from “Deliverance” . . .

About 20 miles from camp the sky opened and rain came down in buckets. I was eating my words and mouthfuls or crap from every farm I passed. NOT NICE, NOT HAPPY!!! About 5 miles from camp I was crushed. As headlights approached I began to pray for the calvary. The first 4 or 5 vehicles passed without a nod and the rain was increasing in intensity. This was sucking more and more and my fun meter was at an all time low. Just when I was about to really quit, CHEWIE saved the day and me. I slung my rig into SHAGGIE’s truck and let out a large laugh. I would cry in the shower as I tried to warm up from the hardest 60 miles I had ever done . . .

After a martini recovery (or two...then some shots with CHEWIE), I gained liquid courage and looked forward to a dryer Day 2. Did I mention the social aspect of camp? It took away all the suffering and I came alive. I was still ready to quit but it was not standing at the door as it had just hours before. I was considering continuing my bike(ROCK)star quest . . .

After loosing power in camp and having to drive into town for dinner (where I added a margarita to help further my recover), I was pumped for Day 2 and looking forward to a larger group ride . . .

Missing a turn on the ride out we were soon back on course and slugging through a few climbs. Despite my recovery attempts, my lower back was screaming and refusing to support the 10 lbs of Jel-O. My Brother Nate came to the rescue and slugged it out with me by keeping me company and helping to eliminate the despair. Snow flurries turned into full on effort that felt more like sleet on the final climb of the day. The tank was empty and fun was gone. As former teammate MA has often heard . . . “TURTLE TOAST” was in play. I don’t know how but along with Nate and T (Tyra) we finished another 60 miles . . .

Day 2 called for a larger number of recovery martinis and I finished the bottle of GOOSE. A very perceptive CHEWIE recognized this dilemma and took action upon himself to ensure I would not abandon camp. As TUTTIE (Brain) arrived Friday night, out of his bag came a bottle of GOOSE and a HAPPY TURTLE DANCE ensued. One day I may try to beat this addiction but it was not going to happen this night . . .

With some additional liquid courage I cornered Coach Bill and try to play my wimp cards. He was not going to hear it. His bike(ROCK)superstar wife Jenny (whom I did not recognize at first--blaming previous hangover here) joined in on the action. He explained how close I was and that I just needed to stick to it and not give up. I was listening and trying to argue against it all. I wanted to be a wimp. I wanted to turn in my EVO kit and go back to just having fun on my bike . . .

So I awoke on Day 3 and calling “Dibs on Fun” and found 5 others (T, Christina, Jeffrey Ritter, Kent and Ryan) to join me in a “fun” ride. Temps were already in the 50s and it was going to be an awesome day. We hung out together, laughed, and pushed up the climbs. My legs were coming back and my lower back was told to just shut up and it did. After the big climb of the day we left layers in the sag wagon (Michelle Seymour ROCKS!!!), snapped a pic and started to bomb down the descent that left me off the back on Thursday . . .

Halfway down, Jeffrey Ritter passed me yelling, “I got my legs.” An so he did. He passed everyone on the descent and shot to the front of our little group. I watched him turn onto the flat valley floor and he kept going and going. We had to form a chase group to bring him back. Oh yeah, fun was retuning . . .

After we caught the THE SPORTY KNIGHT (Ritter is “Knight” in German), we formed a rotating paceline and began to have more fun. The stronger Brothers of Ryan and Kent took it easy on the rest of us and the fun factor began to increase. About 20 miles out we picked up Ed O’Neal and as he and Kent went off to play, Christina, Ryan and I took turns rotating to keep a steady pace to bring T and Jeffrey home. It was awesome and I was rediscovering the joy of this sport . . .

As we approached Lost City I joked w/ Christina that a Dirty Martini was the prize for winning the sprint to the town sign. She jumped and smoked me! As I caught up to her she reminded me she liked it “dirty” and I swear my laugh echoed down the valley. Joy was at a high as we fault the headwind down the finial stretch and into camp to complete another 60 miles . . .

I bailed on the last day of camp as I wanted to leave on a high note. I had three days of about 60 miles each under my legs and that was enough to propel me to spend time with Stan the Afghan with a smile. While my Brothers and Sisters of spandex greatness put one more assault on the roads and climbs of Virginia and West Virginia, I packed my bags and began to try and copy cycling DVDs to my iPod. I will continue my bike(ROCK)star quest, I am not going to wimp out, I will return leaner and ready for competitive battle . . .

I found “fun” at Lost River . . .

LANTERNE ROUGE Season III: Using The Force

After a week I wanted to forget for reasons that are beyond blog worthy, I used a bit of Jedi magic on Susanne and told her, “…this is not the Industrial Park you were looking for…” and off to SNOWCONE CRIT #3 we rolled. SLACR great and IRONMAN Brother Marty should be impressed by my use of The Force . . .

However, my legs were just not under me. I know what most of you are thinking… that rare and often seen image of my rather thin sticks trying to support an overzealous attitude (trash talking mouth) is well understood and known. The significant counter balance of ego and mouth favors me falling to the ground while causing much laughter from my friends and teammates. But I am digressing . . .

Dr-Coach-$-Bill or Pyramid Training Systems (http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Pyramid-Training-Systems-Coaching-Services/174835679228599 or pyramidtrainingsystems@yahoo.com) had a full week of prep on the books as a good coach should. However, I drifted to the Darkside of The Force as I recovered from a weekend of family and friends in Chicago. This remains an effort that I must routinely repeat but it also brings public math. Over 40, there is a 4-to-1 ratio for putting on a serious “hang” . . .

Four days of non-stop will take a minimum of 16 days to recover. I was at about 4 . . .

I then added to my training deficit with a few late nights having to pay da (TAX)Man. I got no more than one light 1+30 spin and some YOGA HELL in during the week. Far from a bike(ROCK)star training program. I had fallen off the training wagon and was having problems getting up. Where’s that “Life Alert” when you need one . . .

But determined to race I was. Judgment and rational thought is most certainly in short demand within my brain. Besides, I needed redemption from the effort two weeks ago in which the roads were covered in pieces of crushed TURTLE shell . . .

Up early, fed, and out the door I went for the 2+ hour drive to Richmond. Grabbed more food on the way and arrived with time to spare . . .

I started my warm up a full hour before my race with my Evolution Cycling Club p/b Long & Foster Brother and US Coast Guard great, Brian Meadowcroft at my side. We cranked through our routines and discussed a possible strategy while listening to DISTURBED and ROB ZOOMBIE . . .

With redemption on my less-than-stable-mind (I will not blame the music), I told B that my goal was to not loose contact with the main group and if I was in it near the end I would roll up to the front and burry myself. Ah, how great are plans? One day I will make a plan w/ my team and violently execute it to perfection. That day will come, it will come. Yet, this day it was not to be . . .

At the line I noticed the course was reversed from the wind tunnel race simulation of SNOWCONE CRIT #1. We were afforded a practice lap and the change of direction was awesome. This was going to be a fast race and I was ready . . .

At the word go we shot out the gate. I was determined to take turns at full speed on solid lines…words shared with me from my speedy Latin Brother and Teammate Luis Infante. It was working!!! My confidence was back. The bike(ROCK)star quest was back on track. Forget about my week, I was here to race and it was on. My legs were keeping up w/ my mouth . . .

I was in the upper third of the pack as cats were shot off the back in droves. My lungs were intact, my legs where responding (because my mouth was silent gasping for air). I executed Happy TURTLE dances on the pedals during the long straight aways. I was not going to lose contact with this group. I was going to finish with the pack. YES!!!

And then it happened to me . . .

Moving up to a clear line through turn 2 my right calf became a knot. My left hip followed. I tried to shake it off but failed. My matchsticks snapped in an intense spasm of pain. I couldn’t “fake it to make it” and dropped out of the main field. I spun a few times through the pain clinching my teeth. I hoped it would fade and a chase group would roll up behind me. It did not happen and I pulled myself from the race.

Limping to the side lines I cheered on B as he dropped the hammer and the field to bridge up to an NCVC guy with two laps to go. Although the pack caught him, he finished the day with a 6^th place finish . . . AWESOME!!!

Well, that plan did not come together and my Jedi magic was not as strong as I though it was. Who needs a plan anyway?

After congratulating B, I immediately began to shake off the race (helped by a Paulaner Hefe-Weizen on tap in Williamsburg) and look toward Sunday’s SNOWBALL CRIT#2 in Chesapeake.

We had great WX (weather) on Saturday but Sunday was wet and rainy. Being perhaps my last race of the season, I had to roll. I also wanted this one even more given my dismal effort on Saturday.

Gave myself plenty of time to get to the race and warm up. However the WX was causing havoc on the roads and three accidents w/in 7 miles of the race delayed my arrival and cut into my warm-up routine. Got about 30 min in and went to the line with a slight mist in the air and standing water being swept out of the turns. This was going to be oh sooooooooooooooooooooooooo much fun!!!

Recalling my 1^st CRIT in 2009 I lowered the pressure a bit on my tires and told myself that I can corner with skill and power. The self-talk list from my Teammate Hans “da HAMMER” Schenk was in full TURBO TURTLE mode . . .

The pace out the gate was fast but not furious. The flat course favored guys with tree trunk-legs and I found a few big boys to ride behind. I stayed close and noticed which ones cornered better and began following their wheels . . .

About 10 min into the race, two guys in front of me stood their bikes up in turn 2. Two others hit the ground right in front of me. I avoid the crash but a cat in front of me slammed on his breaks and I begin to slide out in the turn . . .

Somehow I was able to keep the bike up (that was luck rather than skill) but the effort caused a gap on the group into a section of headwind that was gusting up to 30 mph. At this point it was TURTLE vs about 8 sets of tree trunks. The matchsticks could not complete in mass, density, or pure power. I began to curse Isaac Newton and physics (and math too) as the kats rolled away. I hoped to catch a straggler or two . . . NOPE! These boys were on it and I was out . . .

These cats had really turned on the gas as within 10 min, the lead group of 4 lapped me. WOW!!! They were moving so fast I swear the road was starting to dry in their wake. The turbulence from the passing almost knocked me off my rig . . .

I tried to jump on and get me some of that. However they rode me off their wheel like I was not even present for duty. Hey! I was pedaling as hard as my twigs could make motion. Sometime later a second group of 3 came by and I hung for a few laps but they too rejected my desire to belong . . . I was sooooooooooooooooooo lonely.

With about 10 laps to go, Brian lapped me and I hung out with him for a few laps but the Force was strong with this Coast Guard Warrior and off he went on his own.

The bell lap was welcomed and no sooner than we finished, the heavens opened and a serious downpour began. It held off just long enough and now my reason season is complete and wash the broken TURTLE shell pieces down a gutter and out to sea through the bay . . .

Well, I will do my best to train while deployed to Theater and perhaps I’ll try a little CycloCross (dressing) in the Fall if I am back in Country. The lack of spirits in Theater will keep the Darkside of The Force at bay and I should return ready to do battle and one day declare victory over mind and body (and a pack of riders thinking they would catch me after I attacked) . . .

I will never give up this quest . . . bike(ROCK)star status will come!!!