LANTERNE ROUGE Season IV: Bringing TURTLE Back

Oh how I remember this time last year. Racing season was just starting with “practice” criteriums at SNOWCONE and SNOWBALL. And I was ALL IN and convincing Susanne that it was truly KOOL ‘n da GANG to hang out with me and my crazy friends in an industrial park. I truly miss those times . . .

But as it was, LANTERNE ROUGE Season III was kicked over by Mrs. O'Leary's Cow and my season, much like my home town of Chicago, went up in flames. Visiting Stan the Afghan from March through July does not a good bikeROCKstar make.

Although I worked my backside off during my deployment to return light, lean and eager to ride, I failed to capitalize on the increase in strength and the drop in weight as I spent the summer preparing to move across the Atlantic in September.

A TURTLE I am and my move, originally scheduled for early September, did not occur until December. The delay and ROCKSTAR (without bike) lifestyle brought back the 20 lbs lost in Afghanistan. Refusing to once again buy “fat-boy pants” . . . in October I told myself, “I can rebuild TURTLE. I have the technology. I have the capability to make the world's greatest Cyclist. TURTLE will be that clean-leg shaved man. Better than he was before. Better...stronger...faster.”

Well, with great plans and desires comes much adversity. I finally moved to Germany in December (just before Christmas) and a stretch of bitter cold--temps at 0 F (almost -20 C) I failed to mount a bike, I failed to go to the gym, I failed to do anything but eat and drink and add to the extra 20 lbs of pure goodness on my frame. Technology failed, capability was wasted . . . I was worse...weaker...slower.

But I was laughing and enjoying time with great friends and My Monsters. It was a break from reality and off the chain!!! Repeats are needed . . . maybe.

But all great dynasties must some day end and so does my days of utter decadence and neglect for my rig. So on 3 March I ended the drought with my first ride since November 2011. Returning to my bikeROCKstar quest may have to wait until Season V to truly gain ground, but the quest is on . . . I’m back!!!

Here was the set up for Saturday . . .

WHO: TURTLE Wilson
WHAT: 55 KM loop with stop at Ritter Sport Cafe at the end
WHEN: 0900, Saturday, 4 March 2012
WHERE: http://www.mapmyride.com/routes/view/71716206
WHY: Well, that's a long story . . . see NOTES, WARNINGS, and CAUTIONS below

NOTES, WARNINGS, and CAUTIONS:

• Visit to see Stan the Afghan is delayed and I'm getting way to PHAT!
• Have not ridden since Nov 11 and can no longer make excuses for the 7 bikes in my basement...spent the evening unpacking my tools to ensure my bike is road worthy
• Ride is a pure ZONE 2 ride for both heart rate (HR) and power (going to geek out and ride with a Power-meter) . . . if you hammer off the front you will find yourself riding alone!
• Start and finish is Das TURTLE Haus in Waldenbuch . . . a stop at the Ritter Sport Cafe will occur as we re-enter Waldenbuch--riding for a kick a** hot chocolate I am!!! I will buy the first round
• If you have a better route . . . share it! I am just learning this area.
• Email or text my mobile (number below) if I am to expect you . . . It's time to get my bikeROCKstar status back! Will even shave my legs Friday night to get mentally in the game . . .

To my surprise I was joined by 4 others to include former VA FAT FROGS great, Jay Davis. At 19 years my senior, Jay is a bikeROCKstar and then some. But more on that later . . .

As three of the faithful Stuttgart Local Area bi-Cycle Riders (SLACRs) descended on my home (Jay, Will, and SLACR newbie Abi) I was crushed that SMILEY (Jeff Call, a SLARC plank holder) was called into work at 0500 on a Saturday and unable to join me on this intro spin.

Although I felt like a large bratwurst stuffed into my Evolution Cycling Club kit, laughter and “bike talk” entered my home for the first time since moving here. We all rallied in my under construction bikeroom to ready Abi’s bike for the ride.

Hands were getting dirty as I swapped ties on her CROSS-DRESS for a pair of slicks I had just laying around. It was awesome! It got better as the phone rang with words that SMILEY had just gotten home and was headed down the hill (he lives 10 min away) to meet us. SCORE!!! Happy TURTLE Dance!!! Well maybe not . . . I did look like an overstuffed bratwurst in my kit . . .

We scrapped the route I planned and followed SMILEY’s lead on a run down a valley as fog covered the hill tops. My legs started to remember the feeling of my pedals. My ears remembered the sound of gears shifting as my fingers clicked through my drive train.

The sun began to break through the fog and we all began to drop a layer of gear as we rounded a turn for the one gradual climb back over to Waldenbuch. Here Jay,THE GOD-FATHER, began his assent leaving us all to ponder. And of course I had to ask Will why he was letting Jay do that to him and off Will went as I hung back with Abi and SMILEY.

Soon I found my rhythm and in my zone I went as I closed the gap on Will. I turned a corner just behind Jay and it was the last I saw of him. I blew through my ZONE 2 ride following THE GOD-FATHER He spun up the climb like it was a parking lot and was out of sight. I thought to myself . . . one day, I will be just like Jay--but TURTLE will be “better...stronger...faster.”

We rallied for coffee, pretzels, and a Berliner for SMILEY (laughing as powder suger covered his face and he had to step outside to eat the thing) at the top of the hill and continued with more “bike talk.” We hung along a ridge line for most of the remainder of the 55km ride before dropping down for one last little climb . . .

As my backside began to speak (it had been a long time since I sat on a saddle), Abi reminded me that I promised the ride would end with Chocolate. I would make good on my word as we started a slight rise into Waldenbuch. Here I felt spunky and took off for the city marker out of the saddle. I was going to end my first ride in many months with style . . . I would be the first to enter my town.

NOT! Meters before victory THE GOD-FATHER pimped me. Jay spun past me still in the saddle reminding me that I need to up my game if I want to truly ride with the big dawgs and be a bikeROCKstar.

Hot chocolate from the Ritter Sport Cafe is heaven in a cup!

I’m back . . . I will be a bikeROCKstar!!!

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!!!

Lanterne Rouge Season III: I still wanna be a Bike(ROCK)Star!!!

Well, I’m a few days late and behind the pack but words are needed to clear the brain and make room for much needed self-talk on my quest for bike(ROCK)star status...

Last weekend I broke the winter seal on my still rather thin legs and attempted two training races over two days. SNOWCONE CRIT#1 in Richmond, VA and SNOWBALL CRIT#1 in Chesapeake, VA. Felt it was time to test my winter training effort . . .

You would think that in my 3rd year of racing and after 20+ years of military service, I would have race prep locked in to a science. NOT!!! I failed to loosen the legs Friday night and had to get up early to weed-wack the hair of my sticks...I know, a waste of time to some but I needed to feel like a bike racer and this was part of the mental game. I wanted to be pretty as much as I wanted to be fast . . .

The wind was howling all night and into the early morning as Susanne and I headed out the door. She was determined to support me on this first effort. However, after 2+ hrs in the car to an industrial park in the middle of nowhere Henrico County, VA she made the comment, “...I hope you don’t expect me to hang out in industrial parks every Saturday morning.” Well, that answers that lingering question . . .

Anyway , although we were early, I had no pump, no tires, no tools, or anything extra. The year off the bike has taken me back to being a rookie racer boy. I executed another poor judgement call and found a local bike shop to get a pump and some other crap I did not really need. Bad planning leads to bad results . . . I should have put my still chucky-TURTLE self on the bike and started to warm up instead of “shopping” . . .

Temps for SNOWCONE #1 were great. The sun was out and I even got my tan lines started . . . YES!!! But did I mention the wind was howling? I got 25 min of warmup time and the gusts were almost pushing me off the trainer. Falling off the trainer in a public parking lot will not score any KOOL ‘n da GANG points . . .

I knew I had to find some wheel (READ: Some big massive dude) to hang on and stay out of the wind if I was going to survive the day. It looked like a few cats made multiple trips to the feed line this winter (I was no different) so the pickings were ripe. I would have multiple places to hide . . . or so I thought.

With about 30-40 cats on the line, we had a neutral start and that was indeed KOOL ‘n da GANG. Race would go 40min + 5 laps. So off we went . . .

The first 20 - 30 min were intense. Great short tail wind sections but they were short. One turn through a parking lot placed you in a wind so strong that you felt like our brakes were on. I worked hard to get into position at every turn and away from cats hitting their brakes to turn. However, after 30 min the painted over and spackled cracks in my shell began to show and I started to slip through the pack . . .

Got gapped on a wind-tunnel section and I felt like a drag shoot opened on my back. Perhaps it was the rather large portion of my backside catching just the right amount of wind. Regardless, I was not the first to get popped and most certainly not the last. At this point we had a few stragglers limping around the course. I tried to get us organized and it seem to work until a wind gust just about took all of us down. The little group of orphans splintered and I was in no man’s land . . . one again, alone and unafraid as the pack caught me.

I attempted to hang on as a sea of multi-color madness rolled by. The attempt was futile. The tank was dry and hamsters on a habit trail put out more power than my little TURTLE sticks. I was putting everything into my legs and it was just not enough....200 Watts of TURTLE <>

However, I was determined to finish and slay this wind-tunnel demon. I continued to push through and when I heard 5 to go, I dug as deep as I could. I did not hit rock bottom but I was close. I could see China in the hole I was in. I pedaled harder but the lightbulb continued to fade . . . finished one lap down on the pack.

I hung my cranium low, packed up the truck, and faded out of the industrial park to SNOWBALL CRIT#1 I went seeking redemption at everry mile marker . . .

The next day in Chesapeake I was met by a number of Brothers from Evolution Cycling Club p/b Long & Foster. NICE!!! Mental support was on deck. And after watching Kent Lee finish 10th in his first CAT 5 race, I knew I had to up my game . . .

We had 5 cats in the CAT 3/4 race and should have developed a plan. My plan was simple, survive to finish with the group. I needed this so I could stop my therapy sessions. I was paying out the nose for them and I could put that cash into more bike stuff. Or something else as laying on the couch in “mamby pamby land” as a “crybaby” was not making me faster . . .

I had a great warm-up on the trainer next to my Coastie Brother and Teammate Brian Meadowcroft and pre-rode the course for a few laps before the start. At the word “GO” I felt my confidence returning. I marked a few cats in the pack and stayed with them for about 15 - 20 min. We were averaging over 40kph. The TURTLE legs had an average power output of 225 Watts and I felt great. The key there is “felt” . . .

At the 20 min mark I started to drift back in the pack. It only took a few laps and I found myself at the very back with my teammate Tods telling (yelling at) me to get back up in there. Tods made it look so easy hanging on...youth in action. I was not as fortunate and after turing to head toward the line at the back of the pack during a sprint for a prime, the wheels came off the bus again and out the back I went . . .

Once I was able to pick up a few stragglers and work fairly well together. I actually dropped a few of them . . . HONEST!!! It did happen. However, the pack was in heat and on the short course I was lapped more than once. I tried to get on the back after each passing and once again failed. Either the tank was running on fumes or I mentally checked out of class . . . I think it was more the latter. However, like Saturday, I kept pushing.

I finished about 2 or three laps down (it was hard to keep count with my chest exploding) I also saw one of my teammates get caught up in a crash . . . which sucks BIG TIME!!! I was so happy to finish and get off the course. I wanted to run and hide but opted for Mexican food and a beer with my teammates. It was the camaraderie I needed. The cracks in the TURTLE shell have already been repaired . . .

I will repeat this epic trip the first week of March to get four races in before I head to Afghanistan for 3 months. I am out for a little SNOWCONE / SNOWBALL payback. I know others will come hungry after this season opener, I will just have to be hungrier . . .

The Rabid TURTLE will be a bike(ROCK)star some day . . .

Lanterne Rouge Season III: Kicking the SNOT out of a TURTLE

Well, that’s one way to get a season started . . . NOT!!!

One day I may learn that I’m a wannabe “roadie” bike(ROCK)star and I should leave the dirt and mud to those crazy cyclecross(dressers) and the mad mountainbike sigletrack(mind) crew. But, smarts has never been in the TURTLE toolkit so to SNOTCYCLE I went . . .

After my first MTB training ride with CHICKEN and two course preview rides with my Caribbean blood brother Omesh and his MTB crew, I was as good as I could get for the event.

Despite a feeble training week in which I fell off the "no drinking during the week" wagon and into a few martini glasses while traveling for work (stuck in Tampa FL while snow fell in DC was not such a bad thing. READ: Martinis in the sun taste better) I was ready to go. Coach Dr-$-Bill even sent encouraging words that ended with “have fun” . . .

TURTLE knows how to party and fun with a few sprinkles of pain it would be . . .

A late post indicated the course was going to be tough. I took the words to heart as I finished off my second beer while I prepped my bike, packed lots of clothes, and got my martini recovery kit ready for the day. Shaker, glasses, olives, and the Goose . . . again, TURTLE knows how to party.

For some crazy reason I decided to race the Sport Class (Cat 2) and complete two laps of the course. Again, smart was never in my toolkit. One 8 mile loop took almost an hour during the pre-ride. This was going to be the longest race I have ever done. Yet I still wanted it . . .

Met at my place by Susanne, we headed to the Farm to get my race on. We were met by a line of vehicles and had to work to get my 2-wheel truck into a parking area. Reason and rational thought began to set in . . . lots of snow here with vehicles stuck everywhere. I wonder . . .

But my little brain failed to continue the calculations. I saw my EVO brothers BIG MARK and PB&J as well as team newbie Raphael. I loaned Raph an extra team jacket so he could race in colors.

I picked up my race packet, borrowed a shovel and made a place to set my MTB up on a trainer. The pre-rides taught me that a warm TURTLE fairs much better than a cold one and I wanted to give this a good effort . . .

The CAT 2 start was delayed a bit and I started to get cold waiting. However, off we went for about 50 meters down a plowed road. As we turned to hit the single track off the bikes we all came as the snow was to soft and deep to ride through.

I grabbed my rig in my best CX look and started running. I just needed to make it to the woods where I would remount and pedal to glory . . . NOT!!!

Ride worthy sections did not come. I kept telling myself that over the next rise, around the next bend, beyond this section a path would emerge. WRONG!!!

I attempted to mount my rig a few times and only managed to get 5 or 6 pedal strokes; was even passed by a guy running once. Talk about a crushing shell blow. This was not working and I could not see myself doing 18+ miles (8 mile laps extended to get around a fallen tree) of this. 40 min had passed and we had gone just 2 miles. The little group I was with all stated we would bail at the pre-briefed 4 mile bail out mark . . .

That point could not come any sooner. As we approached it, a race organizer stated the section on the back side of the course was ride worthy. I considered going for it. But that would mean I would still have to walk through this section on lap 2. I bailed . . .

Hitting the plowed road I spun up to the finish after over an hour and half and less than 7 km of riding. It was the longest time going the shortest distance I have ever been with a bike . . .

I turned in my chip, rode to my truck and made myself a dirty martini recover drink. Frozen feet and hands gone. I watched a few folks roll in and saw that the officials had cut the laps down to one for all groups. UGH!!! I could have made that (maybe). But I think that was the Grey Goose starting to kick in; the olive was a good treat too . . .YUM!!!

Turns out that Raphael completed his one-lap race. HARD CORE he is as he carried and pushed his bike for 95% of the 9 mile loop. He has more heart than this TURTLE for sure . . .

Eyes now turn toward the 20 Feb CRIT in Chesapeake and my wannabe “roadie” bike(ROCK)star quest. I may leave the singletrack to my brothas and siztas of mud but I will give this a try again next year . . .

Lanterne Rouge Season II: The UN-Fabulous Five

Evolution Cycling Club p/b Long & Foster is on fire this season. My Brothers and Sisters of spandex greatness are making it happen and taking names. Mental toughness has combined with physical (more like freak of nature) strength to just dominate races . . .

The images of my teammates fighting back to the pack after a crash or blazing off the front of the peloton in a leg crushing attack forces advance math theory and proofs to run through my little TURTLE brain as I question my place on this team. My legs continue to come up short of filling the void created by my rather loud laugh and pre-race trash talking. No mater what I add to the equation, the empty set remains . . .

Such was the feeling on Saturday during the RGS Title Chantilly Criterium. This was our team race. The previous year I had done well racing twice CAT 5 and CAT 4/5 35+). Although I went into the day with 3 DNFs (Did Not Finish), I was confident of my ability to hang on a finish a race on the day. Add that teammate Jeff Smith offered me a Martini Prime for a first lap flyer off the front, I was motivated. I’ll do just about anything for a Grey Goose Dirty Martini, shaken, with two olives . . . YUM!!!

Signed up to race twice, I decided to concentrate on finishing my first race and go for Martini Madness in the second. I had a plan and was convinced I could execute it. As I warmed up I watched as the EVO/L&F ladies put down some heat. Sara jumped on an early break and I look at her Mike and told him she just raised the bar and he had to answer during his race . . .

Our CAT 5 Brothers brought even more heat to the field. Last year we worked well for rookies but this year the team looked like Pros. The leg crushing setup and 2,3,4 finishing was so impressive. Who needs RedBull (and vodka) when bike racing like this is going on?

Oh yes, the feeling of overconfidence. This was my day. Greatness would occur. Legs would perform and meet the trash spoken. It was on. How big was my little cranium swelling with air? Well, I had to loosen the straps of my helmet to get it on as I went to the line . . .

At the start I was way to far back. In CAT 5 fields last year this was never a problem as I usually started right on the line or just behind it and easily moved up. That was fields of 50. This field of 100 is different. That is such simple math but I failed to realize the level of effort needed to run the equation at 25+ mph.

I tried left, I tried right, I even tried to shoot up the middle. In all directions I failed to gain ground. Each battle was zapping the TURTLE sticks. Matches were flying out of the box. After 30 minutes, the wet ones were the only ones left when the truck that hit CA during the ladies CAT 4 race backed upped and rolled over my little legs.

Normally I am skinny enough to fit between the lines in a set of tires. Not today. I snapped off the back. I stood to catch the last wheel coming by and had nothing in the tank. I was once again in that alone and unafraid place I have seen a bit too much of this season . . .

Two laps into solo TURTLE time my calf sized up again from the effort I placed on the remaining nub-like legs. On the back side of the course I pedaled with one leg and tried to work out the muscle spasm. It worked!!! YEAH!!! I grabbed a gear and jumped back on it. I was going to finish this race and I was not going to get lapped. Recalled the over confidence . . . it was jaded a little but remained. Mental calculus revealed there was enough to get me through this race. I was going to use every little bit of it. Time to empty the stores and give it all I have plus a little more . . .

Well, that was until the motorcycle judge/ref pulled up and waved his hand across his throat. He then confirmed it vocally . . . “You’re done!”

If not for the head wind, the air expelled from the front of my over confidence cranium would have caused me to fall over backwards. I pedaled to the start/finish with my head hung below my handlebars, pulled off the course and started triage on my wounds . . .

DNF #4 . . .

I wanted to find a hole to hide in. However, the team was still at it and making it happen. Although I was crushed, I began to employ that vicarious living method through my EVO/L&F Brothers and Sisters. I AAR’d (sorry…After Action Report for you non-military types) my effort, made the decision not to try for the Martini Prime, and actually tried to wimp out of racing on Sunday . . .

No sooner they asking Coach-$-Dr Bill what I should do for a workout on Sunday if I don’t race, I got my answer from him, PHILBILLY, SHAGGY, and just about everyone else standing around . . . “You ARE racing tomorrow TURTLE!” Peer pressure trumps a crushed spirit every time . . .

So, after tearing down the RGS Title Chantilly Criterium course I headed home, fueled the broken body and made arrangements to ride w/ SHAGGY (Jeff Erler) to Carl Dolan Circuit Race . . .

This was a CAT 3/4 Race and SHAGGY let me know it was going to be tough. I had not finished a CAT 4/5 or CAT 4 race yet and now I am upping the bar. I think I need professional help . . .

However, SHAGGY was da heat. Having won the event last year as a CAT 4, he offered some advice on where I should set up in the peloton and how I should set up before the one turn. I appreciated the words and after hooking up with Tom Donnelly, I was ready to put words into execution . . .

The first 4 laps after the start were hard but I was hanging in the pack. The sprints out of the one and only turn on the course were taxing but I was picking good wheels. I avoided two spin outs/almost crashes and tried to stay away from anyone hitting the brakes. That was the hardest part as everyone seem to do that at the back of the pack . . .

At one point I found SHAGGY and started to move up to him. A guy named Clint, whom we had raced with in our last two races, had parked next to us before the race and he was right on SAHGGY’s wheel. I tucked in right behind him and my confidence at finishing this CAT 3/4 event was off the charts. I would not have a DNF #5!!!

At the 30 min mark it happen again. My legs exploded and toothpicks littered the hill of the climb. I was moving backwards again. I screamed “NO!” to myself and dug as deep as I could. The tank said “E” and the warning lights began to blink as I became the little TURTLE engine that could not. I had nothing left. We were averaging close to 25 mph and I could no longer hang. Out the back I went . . .

As I did, I saw Tom Donnelly up the road with one other guy. I pushed to close the gap. Rider #3 did not want to work with us and speed off. Tom allowed me to recover and we began trading off leads. I was going to finish this race . . . I was going to finish! I had a Brother with me and Life was as good as it could get . . . off the back.

Up the climb to the Start/Finish I gapped Tom. I looked back and did not see him coming. I looked again, and again then decide to stand on the pedals and just go. I had to go. I had to finish . . .

With 4 laps to go the lead car pulled up next to me to confirm I was a lap down. I was directed to get to the right and did so. I was so happy that he did not pull me that I did a quick “HAPPY TURTLE DANCE” on the saddle and told myself that I would jump on the back of the group and not let go. I did just that . . .

Things were going well. I was back in the group (though a lap down). I could hide from the wind and I knew what lines to take. This was pure goodness.

Then I got the crushing blow . . .

The motorcycle judge kept blowing his whistle. I looked back (I was the last guy in the pack) and he told me that I could not be here. WHAT? Did he not know I was TURTLE? Did he not know that I was of very little threat? I’m NON-LETHAL . . . remember?

Yeah, I know there are rules and I recall the discussion on the email lists but again. This is TURTLE. Where’s my waiver form?

So I had to let the group go and suffer in the wind alone and again unafraid. I began to look at the positive side. I was not pulled and had less than 5 miles to go to the finish. I grabbed gears, put my head down and pedaled through the pain in my legs. My small calves were screaming for me to stop. I ignored them. I pedaled as hard as I could and . . .

I finished!!!

Lanterne Rouge Season II: Light, Lean and Non-Lethal

The bike racing beat down I suffered at Vint Hill served to motivate me. Most folks, including my coach, Bill Gros of Pyramid Training Systems, says that it take 3 - 5 years to develop as a bike racer. Well, I tried to do it in 3 weeks . . .

After giving up alcohol for Lent (I’m not Catholic...but need divine intervention to keep me away from the shaken and never stirred DIRTY Martinis that I just plain love!!!) I needed consistent training and diet habits. My coach and others all said the same thing Recall at Vint Hill I was a nice round soft shell TURTLE carrying 10lbs of bad stuff. I need to get serious . . .

So it was on. Both of them. I trained consistently. I even trained in the rain while visiting my family in Germany. The weight was falling off, confidence was soaring. I was growing light and lean. My legs felt great on the climbs around my village of Steinalben, Germany. Surly I was back . . .

Walkersville Road Race was the first test of the refurbished TURTLE shell. I hit the scale a full 10 lbs lighter than the line at Vint Hill. Yeah, 10 lbs in 3 weeks. Maybe I can sell this to Jenny Craig or The Biggest Looser. Either way, I was pumped . . .

I huddled with my Evolution Cycling Club p/b Long & Foster Brothers to warm up. Awesome it was. Grouped together like we were just added the positive vibe. This was my day, this was my race. No excuses, none at all . . .

After the neutral roll out the race was on. I rode near the front and felt great. Former Teammate Kyle Jones had provided some great racing words of advice. I kept repeating them in my little TURTLE brain. it was simple math and I could hang without an extra pad of scratch paper or calculator. I was back . . .

Confidence was hitting new highs as we rounded the course. I was expected a lot harder course. The stories from last year were horrific in terms of the wind and stair-step climbs. Yet, I was the lighter, leaner TURTLE engine that could. And I was on it . . .

Well, until the start of lap 2 . . .

A calf spasm just about crippled me. It quickly shot up the rather thin TURTLE stick and I struggled to keep the bike upright. I tried to pedal through it and it got worse. I sat up and went from in the front 10 or so riders to the back and out at light speed . . .

I pulled over and begin to massage my leg. After a few seconds I could bend it so I turned the bike and started to head back. I then saw teammate, Dan “Da DIESEL” Bailey roll by. He yelled, I yelled and off he went on the course with me headed in the opposite direction . . .

For some crazy reason I turned my bike again and went after him. Yeah I know, this is perhaps against ALL the UCI rules but I wanted to ride.

I dug deep as I could as my calf pulsated. As skinny as my legs are I did think what little calf (about the size of a small potato) I had was just about ready to break off. But I pushed on. I caught up to Dan and we rolled through a lap together before pulling off the course. I needed it . . .

My second DNF in a row . . . that I did not need!!!

I went home licking my wounds and fueling my body with everything and anything I could fine on the list of stuff that folks say I was lacking in my system. I vowed that Tysons would be different. I arrived early and planned on getting a full warm up. Again, we grouped as a team and w/ Rammstein playing on my iPod, I was as ready as I could ever be . . .

The Tysons Corner Circuit race start was one that almost wasn’t as a few cats went down right in front of me and teammate Phil “UGH” Steinschneider. At 160, I weigh as must as UGH’s quad. As he moved over to avoid the wreck, I thought I would get crushed or bounce off him and to the ground myself. Yet I survived and off we were.

Like Walkersville, I felt great. I began the task of working my way through the field to stay near the front. It was working. Well, it was working for 25 minutes of a 60 minute race . . .

I began falling off on the climb. I pushed at the top to get back in the group and made it. My confidence spiked at the effort. The group would slow down (they did) and I would recover. I did . . . YES!!! This was going to work. Happy TURTLE dance on the saddle . . .

Well, that lasted about one or two more laps. This time I went backwards on the climb. I shifted, I mashed the pedals, I stood up, I continued to slide back. NO, NO, NO . . . this was not going to happen today. I was light and lean. There was no spasms or cramps. Where was my lethal power?

It was most certainly not in my legs. At the top of the climb they snapped off and out the back I went. On the backside of the course I met up with former Teammate Jamey Lees and another guy. I yelled if we work together we could get back on. As we rotated through, I could not hang with them. The matches were all gone. Even the wet one . . .

I pushed through a lap or two as the field caught me. I stood and tried to jump back on. Perhaps there was a left over match I could use. Nope . . . was not going to happen. As I came across the START/FINISH the officials waved me off. I was done.

DNF number 3!!!

Phil “PHILBILLY” Falconer yelled as I started to head to the parking lot . . . “You’re not done TURTLE...get going.” Being of such weak mind, I did three more non-lethal laps . . .

Post race I walked and chatted and then sought food therapy. I drove straight to FIVE GUYS for a take out order. At home, I left the bike on the truck, sat on the floor w/ my FIVE GUYS and a beer and put 5lbs back on as I fell asleep in a food comma that lasted until almost sunset . . .

I have three races this coming weekend . . . 2 at our race in Chantilly and Carl Dolan. I will finish ALL three. I may be not have lethal legs (yet) but I am persistent. One day I will surprise the field in an attack and cats will say, “That’s TURTLE, he wont go far . . .” I will indeed go far . . . right to the finish.

I’m in this for life . . .