Gent’s Race Ride Report

Last Saturday saw the second coming of the Gent’s Race here in the DSM.  5 person teams, 66 miles of gravel, and a bunch of fun. In theory.  My team consisted of myself (der) and 4 awesome gents known collectively as Team Careless Whispers and singularly as Steve Fuller, Mark Stevenson, Bob Moural, and David Cornelison, all men with deep ties to the biking scene (their names are linked to either their businesses or blogs, visit their sites)  I would be hard pressed to put together a better team for any ride of this type, those guys are golden and got me through a rough day of whining and sniveling.

Bob, David, Steve, Mark, and myself right before shit got real

I am not going to give you the play by play.  I honestly don’t want to think about it too much, it was painful but an incredibly good time.  This was probably the most challenging flat terrain gravel ride I have ever done due to a recent road resurfacing (and me not being able to gain any momentum whatsoever).  It was demoralizing at times, but we kept it together, no flats and no mechanicals.  The guys were riding strong and there were some amazing moments when it all came together and we were pinning it to the wall.  Ultimately my motor came up more on the Yugo side than it should have and I managed to be the anchor this year.  All good, the guys took turns babysitting me while I cussed my legs, my bike, mother nature, birds, pretty much everything along the way.

Thank you to the Careless Whispers for all the good times this year.  I can’t wait to return next year, maybe with a different team name.

CNB

 

Lords Of Chaos: CIRREM Ride Report.

Saturday, February 25 marked the 4th running of the gravel bulls known as CIRREM.  All weather leading up to the race (CIRREM is a 100k gravel race held in South Central Iowa, if  you didn’t know) was optimal.  The winter had been mild, the roads were a dry hardpack, almost like riding on pavement.  By all accounts it was going to be a super fast race to the finish line.  All of that changed on the Thursday prior.  Momma Nature decided to treat CIRREM like she treats most yearly sporting events in Iowa..by showing her best at being worst.  Wet snow fell, followed by a very sunny and mild Friday…a Friday which had participants frantically seeking out advice as to what tire would be proper for the unknown race conditions.  Amid all of the Facebook speculating I decided to talk a bunch of trash then follow up the trash talk with taking a ride out to the country on the Vaya for a first hand look at the course.  Wow.  Incredibly bad conditions ranging from ice-filled ruts to snow drifts over the road to pure peanut butter mud and more could be found all within one mile.  I turned back after a few short miles. Saturday was going to be rough.

I awoke early Saturday morning to finish race prep and found the Vaya with a flat rear tire.  DAMMIT.  This is a bad sign, but I got things changed out, finished cleaning and lubing the bike, packed my gear and headed towards the Cumming Tap.   I drove part of the course, just to check the conditions…they were even worse.  During the course of Friday it looked as thought the county had decided to plow the wet snow into large sheets of ice.  Sweet.  The Tap was alive with racers picking up packets, chatting, and grabbing a bite from Bob’s breakfast spread (btw, those mini bagels saved my butt out there).  One of the things I really love about racing, and cycling in general, is the friendships forged with people of the same mind.  It’s a great community and I am very happy/proud to be a part of the whole thing.

Nine am rolled around and I decided it was time to get geared up and check out the bike.  Suited up, Camelback on, hopped on the Vaya and checked the shifting, made some small adjustments then waited for the start…or for the urge to drink some of that Four Loko I had stashed in the van…mmmm.   9:55 and everyone was in formation ready for our LEAD OUT?  New for this year was a lead out start around the initial 1.5 miles.  What?  No holeshot?  Okay, we wound our way south then up to cross G14 (where an SUV almost took out a few cyclists.  I can understand how hard it was to see 100 people on bikes crossing the road.  thanks for honking) and we were released to go north on 30th.  Things were a little sketch on the north side of the hills, and when we came to the “wheel eating bridge” (come on, they are 10″ planks…just pick a line and ride it) many of the front of the pack stopped and walked, effectively inch worming the entire field and almost causing a few accidents in the middle of the pack.  The turn to go west on Adams was icy, and I saw the first of many wrecks at the intersection.  People were sliding out and crashing each other.  Awesome.  I rode on trying to get further up front to find a fast group to ride with.  Mile 6…I went down pretty hard.  FUCK!  This is where the real cursing began as I realized my rear tire was a little to “used” for the conditions (and I had a brand new set sitting at the shop waiting for me).  I was riding in BarMitts, which kept me from freeing myself from the bike.  I went down elbow, shoulder, head.  I got back up, dusted off and continued on with some sharp pains in my left elbow and knee.  It’s okay, still in the “warm up” section of the race, everything will loosen up in a while.  The ice was making it difficult to climb hills, I had to get all the way down in “easy peasy” to get any traction to spin up.  Then, thanks to my gift of economical downhill gravity use I was in danger of smashing through other racers whom were insistent on braking all the way down the descents.  This is a hard reality for me, I am just okay at climbing, good enough to get up the hills…but downhill I have a distinct advantage.  If the road is clogged shoulder to shoulder with people braking I cannot take advantage of the momentum while going up the next hill.  This is also a symptom of riding alone almost all the time.  If I rode/trained with other people, I would have known what group to get in with at the starting line instead of searching out from the back of the pack.  I will work on this racing error in the future.

I got in with the Mables for a few miles, they were riding a conservative pace in a group of about 5 or 6.  I sat back and rode off the back of their group, not to draft, but for pacing.  Dave went down, then a we saw a few more crashes.  My knee and elbow were feeling sore, and my goddamn camelback feed tube was a little iced up (whoops, my bad again) so I decided to stop and have a little snackiepoo.  Goodbye Mable group, but I figured I would catch up with them somewhere on Old Portland road and this hydration issue would become a real problem in the next 10 miles if not attended to.  Hopping back on the bike, I felt refreshed and totally jacked up on the Caff thanks to a power gel.  THEN GUESS WHAT HAPPENED?

I had been having trouble with the icy road conditions all day, but was holding a 14mpg avg with stopping, etc.  I felt that it was a good start and could be improved upon in the time when the sun softened up the top layer of permafrost and the roads became peanut butter.  Then it happened…Mile 17 I went down like a _______(enter your own joke there).  Hands caught in my Mitts, I took the spill at about 21 mph on my left side, landing “chicken wing” style with my arm tucked into my ribs.  I bounced on the ice and felt a snap in my rib cage.  NOT GOOD.  I got up, “focused” my bike, aka threw it into the snowy ditch, and checked myself over.  Yep, all there…and the rib thing didn’t seem to hurt, not any more than my knee.  I pulled the Vaya out of the ditch, straightened out the stem, apologized for the abuse, and took of again.  I felt like I was getting so far behind, and also thanks to the gel, that my adrenaline was rushing and I felt little pain.  It was a pretty easy 5 or 6 miles to the first really bad hills, and I was hell bent on making some time before the climbs.  I made the right onto OPR, blazed down Cemetary Hill aka “The Wall” (thanks for not making us ride up that this year) and hit my top speed of 41.3 mph.  I passed a few folks and headed towards the first of many bullshit climbs…then it happened.  at mile 21.85 I got out of the saddle to climb and almost fell off my bike.  Ribs decided to let themselves be known, and I stopped.  If I couldn’t climb out of the saddle then the race was over for me.  I stopped, took stock of the situation, almost cried (the thought of breaking ribs just two months away from TIV8 was a bit too much to think of) and decided since I didn’t know the extent of the damage that I would drop out, get a sag, then go get examined to make sure I wasn’t putting myself in danger of collapsing a lung or further injuring myself.  The rest of the field that was left passed me by as I made the call back the the Tap.  Nick Larson stopped and gave me some ibuprofen.  This race was over.

Mile 22, the end of my CIRREM.

Hector from the Tap found me perched atop Cemetary Hill (I got bored and walked a little), scooped me up and drove backwards looking for anyone else in trouble.  Not one rider was left behind me.  Nice job.  We got back to the bar and found the others who had gotten injured and were forced to drop.  That ice was a real MF out there.  Took down a good amount of racers.

I ate some BBQ, then decided to just hang out with some friends from out of town that I never get to see.  These ribs would make it a few more hours on their own, and every beer helped nurse the pain.  Actually, seeing good friends is what really nursed the pain.

Things loosened up out on the road and everyone from first place on down was covered in mud.  Awesome.

I think I made it home eventually?  Sunday I took a trip to the hospital where I was diagnosed as having bruised ribs.  BEST NEWS EVER as I was waiting to make the call on the next two upcoming races.  I am still able to ride and still in the game.

What did I learn from this year’s CIRREM?

  • Do a better job at choosing tires, in fact I am ordering some 38c studs for next winter… just in case

  • If it is anywhere near 32 degrees, put the feed tube warmer on the GD Camelback.  Duh.

  • Even if I can’t hang with the lead group, at least start with them so I am not stuck behind people.

  • Bar Mitts probably saved me from a broken wrist or collar bone.  If I had been able to get my hands of the bars faster it could have been a disaster.

  • Never forget your flask.  I forgot mine, it’s always good to have on hand in case you have to wait for a sag.

Other than the wrecking and positioning I had the proper nutrition before and during, and was dressed perfectly for the temperature.  I wasn’t riding a borrowed bike this year, which was a big plus, and had no major mechanical problems aside from a little shifting issue here and there.

Overall I would say it was a good run, and I wish that I had been able to finish the ride.  It was great to have the opportunity to see some good friends, I can’t wait until next year.

Until We Meet Again, CIRREM…

CNB

if you made it this far, go grab a brewski…you deserve it.

CIRREM III PRE RIDE WHINING

Despite being an avid cyclist, my ability to prepare for races is almost legendarily poor.  My race bike is down, my Camelbak that I had ordered (sorry, none of the model I wanted was in stock locally) has not arrived, I couldn’t find my helmet, the snowfall is going to require me to wear stretch jeans during the race to keep the powder spray from getting in through the tops of my Lake winter boots (an interesting design flaw), and the QT microwave breakfast burrito consumed at midnight is trying to fight its way out of my stomach like a fully gestated alien.  Yes, I am done now. 

With the help of a borrowed bike (thank you Steve Fuller), a good negotiating session with the contents of my digestive tract, and a messenger bag full of provisions I WILL be crossing the finish line, and with any luck will rise above my usual Bottom 3 finish.

See you in Cumming.

Really? Cyclocross?

Hey strangers, it has been a stretch since your interweb gateway doormat was soiled by an entry from yours truly. Well, at least something written about cycling, that is. Some of you may catch me at my regular, food related blog, and that’s very nice of you.

Thank you for your support.

Today marks a return to cycle-tensive writing and the end of my commuting-only riding problem.  It really stinks when you ride over a hundred miles a week, then realize there wasn’t one single mile of riding dedicated to just getting out there and feeling the breeze blow through your beard (or whatever other head-anchored hair apparatus you sport). I am not talking of the plight of the forever-training-roadie, but of the career commuting cyclist.  Between working, catering, lawn care, home upkeep, bike maintenance, and beer, the twice a week gravel ride and once a week bar run ride have gone by the wayside.  SHIT. This is why you haven’t seen any ride recaps here, which would go a little like this every day:

Got out of the shower today and donned my favorite fat-guy Mount Borah MTB jersey, place my beloved cell phone in a baggie, then placed the phone and baggie into my left jersey pocket.  I then looked at the heap of bikes that occupy what was probably used as a breakfast nook at some point before my arrival.  Hmmm….I chose _________ bike, checked the tire pressure and chain lube condition then the kitchen crapped me and my chosen steed out its back door and into the world. I hung a left at the end of the drive and rode Adams St. to the GWT, tood a right and started hammering towards Des Moines proper.  I encountered blah blah blah….

You get the idea.  This is every day of the week for the most part and once in a while there will be some highlights such as the day I was passed and dropped by a guy wearing a broken leg boot (in my defense, I was carrying a ton of catering items in my bags). And the day the old guy in knee high tube socks and dirty tennis shoes on a semi-nice Specialized road bike rode right past me (I sometimes get irritated upon hearing the classic “on your left”).  And all of the days I ran into friends at the lean-to on the way to work and had to stop for a beer (one of the reasons I leave early for work).  And the numerous times I tried to ford the waters of the flooded George Flagg Parkway (if you ever see a bearded man carrying a bike through knee-deep flood waters while laughing hysterically, that’s me).  And that time this guy on a carbon road bike invited me to climb up Park Avenue from the trail, even though I was riding a track bike and explained I wouldn’t really be able to keep up, so he just dropped me, not by much, but never just slowed down for two minutes for me to catch up and continue the conversation we were having.  Or that time I saw a racoon hanging out with a small deer.  Or the time I was helmet-buzzed by a hawk. Ok, so there are some interesting times, but they all end with me in clogs chopping shit on a cutting board (or eating tacos), and the ride itself is monotonous after the last 9 months.

You should get it by now.  I ride every day, but long for the days when riding my bicycle was for used for fun, long rides to uncharted-by-me territory and not strictly for the old in and out (of town).  So today I actually had a little free time and went for a sorely needed gravel ride.  32 miles of Prime Central Iowa Gravel and a nice brutal Level B road thrown in (twice) for some spice.  It was a great time, and solo gravel riding is very conducive to introspection.  Visions of different bar/brake lever/shifter setups on a few of my bikes, what mtb shoes to buy, and other similar shopping thoughts dance through my head, then passed and settled into planning.  Planning and plotting ways to free up my schedule for more fun rides.  Then it came to me, like in that movie Total Recall, a faint memory of a late night conversation with my good friend Bob hit me like a ton of bricks.  He is convinced that I should race Cyclocross this year, and shit yeah I am in.  What could be more fun than getting muddy, drinking beer, and possibly getting slapped in the face with a Summer Sausage while riding, running, and slogging your heart out?  I think I just heard a cowbell in the distance!

Watch out, Iowa Cyclocross, you just got yourself a new last-place Cat 5 finisher!

This is what I call TRAINING!

Birthdays, Bikes, Tunnel Vision

Good evening, I hope those of you that participated in the Tunnel Ride Wednesday night had a great time and were as safe as possible.  I unfortunately did not make it down to the tunnels as I was serving sandwiches (and getting my party on) at the Cumming Tap.  Thank you to all of you who braved the one million degree heat and impending storm doom (and got to see some amazing lightning), hunkered down in your aero bars and made it all the way down to see Bob and get some good ole BBQ Braised Pork sandwiches.  An extra token of thanks to the brave souls who decided on the BBQ Tofu sandwich and to my buddy Joe for finally showing up, as he was the main reason for making the tofu.

I had the chance to meet and talk with quite a few new-to-me faces.  Everyone seemed to be having a blast despite the heat.  Again, thanks for making the night a great time.  So great, in fact, that yours truly didn’t even make it to the tunnel, which is about 1.5 miles from my house.

One more thing, a Super Huge Thanks to all of you for keeping the trail clean.  The only sign of the party was literally a sign…a “Happy Birthday” banner hanging above the tunnel entrance.

Sam

PHIGG 2 Ride Recap And Taco Time

Last Sunday was the riding of the official second installment of the Pink House Invitational Gravel Grinder. For those of you unable to be bothered to scroll down, the PHIGG is a Gravel FUN-ish ride from the Pink House (my residence) in Orelia to the Cumming Tap by way of some of Mid-Iowa’s most granular roads. The ride shoots for around 50 miles, although we have maxxxed out at about 24 so far (“Bagger Rules” apply, which means make-it-up-as-you-go). At the finish line of this little dandy of a grinder everyone is treated to a meal prepared by myself and Bob of the Cumming Tap.

Back to the ride…

About 10:30 there was a knock on the door. The first riders had arrived and I was only five bites deep into my bowl of Cheerios®! Two hoods were hanging on the front porch, Brian “Squirrel” Pottorff and “Quick” Rick Blackford. The ride turned drinky immediately, and I finally got to experience the brunch delicacy “Cheerios With Pabst.” A short skip down the timeline later, Bob Moural showed his shining face (it was really hot and everything had a bit of a shine to it), completing the official ride roster. Not a bad turn out for a 100 degree gravel ride on wet roads.
The four of us embarked on what would turn out to be quite an adventure which was meant to be a ride to The Rondevouz in Adel, IA then back to the Tap (I am pondering the creation of a new sport, “Adventure Drinking,” which would be regular Adventure Racing with the addition of beer. Kind of a fast moving endurance bagger party).
We spotted a big snapping turtle unwisely crossing the hot gravel road at about mile 2 which Rick and Bob decided to bunny hop-much to Mr. Turtles chagrin. Two miles later Blackford had enough of our slow moving shenanigans and dropped to head home. Ok, he actually thought the ride started earlier and had a tight time-constraint. Thank you for coming along, Rick.
Shortly after mile 5, my legs gave out. There have been many excuses thrown out there, but it was really just poor nutrition and lack of sleep. My bad. The slowed pace allowed for Pie-Crazed Brian to hunt for wild blackberries. Close to the Booneville turnoff we ran into the wonderful Terri, Brian’s wife, who was out doing her own gravel ride (major you-go-girl props) we had a nice social for a few minutes then parted ways with Terri…for the time being. We passed the turn for Booneville and headed down “half-pipe hill” towards Old Portland Road and our goal of Adel. At the top of the next hill, right next to the rooster/lamb barn, I picked up my first flat of the day. Yes. The FIRST. Flat got changed, then I made an important decision: Fשk Adel, we are going to Booneville.
The Booneville Waveland Tap sucked us in for a good time. Jerky, a few beers with good friends, a motorcyle poker-run, and the return of Terri (how many laps did you do that afternoon?) were some highlights of our stay. One of my favorite moments is the part of the movie where I asked our bartender if I could order some potato skins just to have her say “they don’t do those til night” and walk away. I watched my chance for nutrition crash and burn! Hilarious! After giving the Tap about $70 in business we all decided it was time to head towards Cumming and the Braised Pork Tacos and Jalapeno Corn that were waiting on our arrival. We grabbed some to-go’s and hit the road. The roads were still pretty saturated, not muddy, but soft and sandy, from the last two weeks’ rains and rode slow slow slow. Brian and Bob were way off the front around the time we made the turn onto Adams, or maybe I was just way off the rear. I picked up flat #2. Such bullshit! There was no riding on the rim in these conditions and I was out of tubes, so it was time for a walk. The guys saw me walking a short while later and turned back to help. We stopped at a farmer’s house to chill in the shade (the sun was brutal) and deal with this stinking flat tire. Moments later an older gentleman rolled up on a MTB. It was the man of the house, who was out getting a in few “around the block” miles. The guys chatted with him (I have forgotten his name) as I ate a pork chop and changed the tube. A few miles down the road we came to the turnoff for 30th street (mostly gravel road that connects Adams and G14) but decided to just hop the GWT to Cumming. I think we had all had enough at this point.
Upon our arrival at the Cumming Tap it was discovered that my lovely life-partner Julie had not dropped of the food that I had prepared and was still in Des Moines. Shit. This food thing was just not working out at all today. Brian decided it was time to get home, as I did shortly after. The tacos would have to wait until Tuesday.
Despite the technical and taco problems and extreme heat the ride was a success. Rolling down the back roads with friends is a great way to spend time. Thank you to Rick, Bob, Brian, and Terri for being part of the ride.

PHIGG will not be held in July as there are already enough cycling events going on. Hope to see more of you in August for PHIGG 3. It will be my birthday party, and you might want to be there!

There are pictures, but my phone insists they don’t exist. I will post some in an update as soon as I can.

Sam

Pink House Invitational Gravel Grind (PHIGG)

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This Sunday, May 2nd will mark the innaugural Pink House Invitational Gravel Grind fun ride. It will begin noon-ish at the Pink House (2184 Adams St., Cumming IA 50061) which is one intersection south of Bambino’s in Orelia on the Great Western Trail. We will be riding 30-50 miles depending on road conditions (and my condition) at a friendly pace then landing at the Cumming Tap around 6/7 pm for some expertly prepared food.

Coolers are advised and the ride is BYOB. Bring some cash for the bar afterwards.

The rider roster will be very limited for this first outing (which will be held monthly)

Contact me at centralcyclist@gmail.com to get in on the action.