Sweet Open Blog

Green Mountain Stage Race - Cat 3 Men

So, realizing I’m like a mile behind on reports and have already done two races since this one with at least one more notable event upcoming…

The TT: Up a hill and then very light, hard-pedaling descent. Last year I rode the hill really, really hard but couldn’t seem to get into the really big gears afterwards.  This year I took it easier on the climby part and still couldn’t turn the big gears—at max effort, my HR actually dropped. It’s kinda like every other TT in that I know where I’ll finish before I start.  Fortunately, Matt did much better, and Patrick was saving things up for the circuit race.

Circuit Race: I thought briefly about trying some KOM-y kinda move at the beginning of the day, but it was immediately apparent that I had the most irritating legs of all—good enough that getting over the climb presented no immediate challenge, but bad enough that I couldn’t do much in the way of making the race. I will refer to them henceforth as “cheese legs”.

Fortunately, Patrick was going to be all about the sprints today, and I was happy to be all about the leadouts. First lap, two riders went clear on the back of an almost break-away proof (at least at this level) course. I did a bit of work keeping a lid on other would-be moves, and was ready to put the hammer down pulling the dudes back, but Patrick told me to lay off and let some other people work.

Our only challenge at the sprint line (this is for 3rd place, mind you) seemed to be a two-man NEBC train, who we took care of pretty easily. Patrick took 3rd, NEBC dude 4th. I recovered well enough over the gentle grades after the sprint, but cheese legs prevented me from trying anything clever. Drank, fed, assessed supplies pre-feed zone and decided to stay out of that mess.

It occurred to me, as I watched faster people fly away from my cheese legs as I cheese-legged my way past people going all out to survive over the climb with a similar ease, that I hadn’t seen Patrick in a while. I slowed up and took a look back, and saw him clinging on at the back of the field.  The climb is followed by a big, fast descent, so he probably could have closed it on his own, but a little tow work from me wouldn’t hurt.

Sure enough, we rejoined, and with the day’s earlier move reeled back, it was a sprint in earnest for the line this lap. Matt came forward at around a KM to go, which was nice, but there was some miscommunication, leading me not to jump past him when Patrick wanted me to, and some Bikeman dude flew up the right side of the road. Making matters worse, Patrick was nipped for second by one of the two riders from the early break.

We conferred a bit after the sprint about improving things next time, but Patrick was wrestling mightily with blood sugar, and after I checked in with him again leading into the climb, it became clear that he’d be looking simply to finish today. I passed him a bottle and cheese-legged up back to the bulk of the group, made sure Matt wasn’t doing anything stupid, and did a little work keeping him out of the breeze.

A threatening GC group did manage to get free on the final lap, and the Yellow Jersey holder had to put in some serious wattage to keep them close enough that the sprinters and their teams would work to bring it all back. The group at the line was less than 50 riders, and as a result, it was a pretty safe sprint compared to last years’ carnage. Matt and I were both ST, and happy enough about that.

Road Race: This is a great course, made even more exciting by the addition of a moderate climb (the TT backwards, essentially) right at the gun. I was initially worried (ok—secretly hoping) that someone would attack it and all hell would break loose, but it was a pretty tame ascent and detour, with the first attacks going only as the group came through Warren Center.

There were a fair number of probing attacks along Rte 100, as sprinters/teammates tried to shuffle out a breakaway group that would be pleasing to all involved. As we began the long 1-2% climb at Granville Gulf, an NEBC rider drifted far enough clear that he might have soloed, but I decided that would be lame, and tempo’d the field back up to him.

Moments later, a group of four or five—including Patrick—got clear, and were joined a few seconds later by a similarly sized bunch, including Matt. I did the best I could to stay at the front and ride a false pace that would hopefully make the rest of the group think I really was trying to chase down my own sprinter and GC leader.

Somehow, probably with the assistance of the teammates of other breakaways, the ruse was successful. One or two other riders jumped away solo, but with the speed of the downhill leading into the sprint, if you weren’t there at the top, it’d take something miraculous to get there by the bottom.

Improving things immeasurably, our field was neutralized to let the Masters 40+ pass after the sprint line, leading to a massive pee break in which I went ass-over-tea-kettle underestimating the depth of the grass in a ditch at the side of the road while rolling to a stop. Further interference with the Masters field, and it was a fat four minutes up to Matt/Patrick by the time we started heading up Midd Gap in earnest.

Sadly, the legs didn’t realize how awesome this situation was. Despite being well-fed and watered, they weren’t really with it when Midd began.  I averaged 170 on the climb—not exactly redlining it. But that was all I could get out of them—a full-on, excruciating, lactate-filled effort to hold wheels from the waist down, while whistling Dixie up top.

On the descent it became clear that things would not get better as the day rolled on. A flat portion near Breadloaf—albeit into a stiff headwind—almost killed me when I had to close a gap. Team wise, we didn’t catch Patrick until about the Ripton Death Spiral, which was reassuring—Matt must be way up the road—though it did lead to the revelation that he’d been forced to settle for second in the sprint.

Turning back onto regular roads in Middlebury, my legs felt decidedly starchy, like none of the lactic acid had drained or been catalyzed, but had simply cooled off, and was waiting for the slightest bit of friction from muscle contraction to whip back into boiling frenzy. Worse still, we caught Matt on a roller before even reaching the exciting part of the race. He’d taken a few KOM points, but been shelled from the leaders due to cramping. Bummer, especially considering the break was still well up the road.

Between Midd and App Gap and all-too-frequently overlooked are two short, leg-wrecking, gap-forming climbs, bookending a few sections of totally awesome dirt. My approach has always been to shred the first climb and get a good spot on the dirt, and hope maybe something race-deciding happens on this brief bit of classics-style riding.  My legs were so busted, though, that while I made it up the climb ok, I couldn’t find the watts to hold position on the dirt.

Sitting in a not-great spot (20 riders down?) on the dirt I’d used to cause so much mayhem over the past few years was slightly karmic, I suppose. But other than battling sheer terror, the urge to brake, and the occasional *WHAM* of and out-of-nowhere pothole, it was also kind of fun. I saw one rider who simply did not have the mass to keep his tires on the ground miraculously pedal out of two rear-wheel slides that took him a good 30 degrees out of line with the rest of the group.

The second short, steep climb was scratched from this years course due to road work, and while Gary Kessler, the Race Director, said it would “not spare [us] from having a good climb into Bristol”, it was pretty tame.  What was not tame, however, was the moving-right-along chase that followed along Route 116. Seems there was some GC meat up the road, and those left behind were driving it to keep the gap small.

As Route 17 turned off toward App Gap, I was feeling far more miserable than a man who’s had three bottles, three bars, a goo and a caffeine pill has any right to feel. Getting over Baby Gap—all 3.9% of it—was a serious investment of will power on my part. Even cruising along at 165 BPM was a massive ask from my shattered legs, and after the descent to the foot of App Gap, there was just nothing there.

Still, I managed to loose only 4:35 on the climb, finishing 42nd and even managing to beat one other rider who’d made it to the bottom of the climb with the bunch.

Criterium: Nothing to say here except I don’t like the way this stage is run. It’s one of the greatest crit courses in New England, but neutralizing the first two corners really ruins it. The faux-neutral start lets dudes without watts/handling skills get into the middle of the bunch instead of getting strung out to the back in the sprint off the line.

It also makes it so that the field takes up the full width of the road as the race goes live—into a series of downhill, 90-degree corners. Maybe the guys running this show have forgotten/never experienced, but a Cat 3 crit is terrifying enough when people are riding single file. Even good riders can only negotiate so many brake-humping, line-switching, non-pedaling doofers—and close the gaps they form—before running out of steam.

If the organizers think there’s too little space to spread out the field with the short uphill before the first corner, I think they should move the start line back down the hill a bit so the race can string out before the hole shot. Watch a ‘cross race sometime and it will become evident what I mean.

Anyway, I was 47th overall, and Patrick took our second Lanterne Rouge of the season (after my disaster at Catskills) in 65th—still an accomplishment, considering that 19% of the field failed to finish.