Yellow Springs Oh-HIGH-Oh

I know what you’re thinking, but that’s not Chairman Fred at the start of Friday night’s criterium.

We met in Yellow Springs, Ohio for the 2 day stage race and the turnout of World of Pain riders was woeful. The flat 4-corner crit found only Cadillac George and me teeing it up. Of course when you do a masters race there is the possibility of racing everyone from Frankie Andreau to Gus Comstock. We had a Cat. 2 from Ft. Wayne and a couple of Team Dayton guys born in the 1940s. After a couple of Cheech-N-Chong Antioch tokes we were off. The Cat. 2 guy goes off the front and the Dayton geezers off the back (we lapped them a coupla times during the race). Work and worked some more to bring the Cat. 2 dude back and we go round-n-round. He takes a couple more flyers to test the corners, but is always reeled back in. Last lap, and of course he goes again, Conti does the hard work getting me back up on his wheel and I come around a few folks for 3rd. I’m not complaining, except now I’ve got the munchies...

The combined 2/3/4 race was a nice field with our own Farmer John opening up his crit season. Ask him when you see him how he did. I hear he missed the 3 man break, but won the pack sprint for 4th. Mighty fine result after he hit on the Bob Marley cigarette that was passed in the wheel pit.

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So we figure that Saturday’s race will be better attended by our team, knowing that the Antioch gold was freely distributed. And we heard the winner was promised a free piercing!

What! It’s only Conti and me again. This time for a 44 mile road race that included 4 times up ‘Devil’s Backbone.’ We were in another Masters field (no Cat. 2 but we had Tym on the starting line). First time up and its gruppo compacto. Can’t say the same for the 2nd time. Tym turns the screws and we are off the back. George and I chased for an entire lap, but had to give up the ghost. OK, we worked some more, climb, fight wind, turn for home and Conti cramps up, I take 5th and we politely decline to eat the mushrooms the guy is offering in the parking lot.....

Fausto and Me

I was born January 2, 1960
the very day that Fausto Coppi died
coincidence?

what do you think?

Granville...Fred is back

Saturday (end of April) and we are racing in 85 degree temperatures. What? Yes eighty plus five! And this is ONLY the third time I’ve ridden without knee warmers so far this year...

short recap for the attention deficit out there:
Chairman Fred is back racing
Fred is off the back
ok, he’s back on
Fred tells us he’s dropping out in the penultimate lap
we convince him to ride on
Fred is down (minor road rash)
ok, he’s back on
Fred is off the back
ok, he’s back on
...AND THEN HE KILLS US ALL IN THE SPRINT!

Longer version: We swoop down on the annual Granville race around the rain, farm fertilizer and manure, and potholes only to find the hottest April day in history with winds blowing a steady 18 mph, gusting to Wizard of Oz force. I find Cadillac George has arrived early and ‘who’s the scholar’ Andy Will has also arrived without a jersey, shorts and socks, Diaper Dan Tinderholt, DJ T-Will, Mighty Scott Young, and Chairman Fred have arrived. Rumors circulate about Rea-Rea upgrading to 3.o and reuniting with team jellyroll (somebody say it ain’t so).

It is a scheduled 5 laps or 35 miles, no problem I’ve got two bottles. The masters race is joined by Tym and we spin out hitting the wind at the start finnish, bam...this is gonna hurt. No problem with the wind at our backs we do an easy 35 mph until we have to make that inevitable turn back into the breeze. We make the mistake of cooperation and everyone pulls through, enough turns at Tym’s speeds and a few of us are no longer there. Damn, I find myself riding in a three man break with Tym and Scott. Again I make the mistake of trading turns with the former pro and bye-bye break. Scott hangs a little longer but soon he is popped too. I roll a half lap alone waiting for a nice chat with the remains of the peloton but find only George and Fred motoring behind me. The 30 mph on the back is coupled with the 10 mph front. And it kinda wears a man down. Chairman Fred is struggling, we wait up and pull him along. His grandchildren pass us bottles to drink and dump on out heads (yeah, in April!) and we ride on.

The crash happens when the sweaty one moves left at 8 mph to blow his Roman nose, I swerve and Fred does the wheel scrape before he hit the deck. Not moving we roll back to check on him...road rash and cramping he’s OK, and we tow Fred around for another lap and a half.

You what happens next, he drops the hammer in the sprint and takes us. Note to self: make Fred do plenty of work next week...

Zanesfield wrap

Did the predicted 58 degrees even get close to the “3 degree guarantee”? No way. It was cold and windy all day at the Tour of Logan County. I say Ben Gelper owes us whatever it is we get when the weatherman is wrong. And maybe the weather is the explanation why it was harder to go down (no rusty trombone jokes here) than up today.

The scheduled 3 laps of ten miles for the masters was combined with the cat. 4/5 race and we (Spartan Spirit, Tom ‘papa’ Will, and I) line up alongside mighty Scott Young, Honda Brian, Tym T and 4 other old guys. You know it is a masters race when the riders leave the start to take ‘one more leak’ before the gun...

Joining the festivities were Farmer John and Mr. 4% Dan Rhule in the cat. 3 and American Taliban (except he’s graduating soon so he’s got the haircut and shave thing going on) running in the Cat. 1/2/3.

The course kinda goes up, up, and up - very gently, before a seriously fast downhill into a right turn and 500 meter to the finish. The 4/5 factor added up to a very lumpy race that saw too many accelerations and way too many slow parts. But in the end the ordeal averaged 21 mph with my speed-o-meter registering 45 mph on the decent.

First lap had the aforementioned fast/slow/fast/slow rhumba, followed by that downhill where T. Will did his best Industrial Workers of the World, i.e. Wobblies move - wrestling the steering wheel almost into a 40 mph derma-abrasion treatment. Second lap and a few moves were made by the strong men, Conti and I followed wheels, not letting anything get away. Same with the third lap. A couple times Tym made his patented move, I jumped to follow, but he didn’t maintain. And we are all together.

On the downhill, Tym told me to grab his wheel and he would take me to the corner and 500 meters to go. And down we flew 50 x 11 - I hit the turn, but got caught behind a large yellow rider which messed my momentum. Reconfigured the sprint and maintained my position for 5th(?) overall and 1st of the masters.

MALABAR REPORT

You know where this one's going...


Diarrhea + Racing = No Results

Tuesday Nite Wrap Up

Mid-Ohio Tour

Dam, they’ve positioned me in the front of the line right in the middle of the big sweeping right turn before the final left-hander into the final 300 hundred meters. Is this going to be a repeat of last year’s race when Cadillac George came around for the win?

So that is how the end of the race set up, why not start at the beginning. Race number 3 in the Torelli Ohio Spring series and the turn out is healthy. Must be 40 guys in the 4/5, a dozen in my Masters race including the aforementioned GM product, Luca Brasi (with pneumonia), Mikey Rea, and our pal Scott “I own ever cycling toy in the catalog” Young (also with pneumonia). We had the proverbial ‘ah-oh’ moment at the start with Tym Tyler lining up with us again and fit racer from OU wearing his ‘masters’ number over his number for the 3 PM race. He planned to use us as his warm up. You know where that’s going.

We start a minute or so after the 4/5s (which included Dan-of-God) and in lap 3 of 16 Tym strolls off the front. I lineup behind Mr. Warmup - thinking he’s going to take me to his leader. Nothing doing, he sits. NOBODY CHASES. Okay, we never see Tym again. Round and round we go, half the guys blown out the back.




About lap 9 Rea-Rea wanders off the front, again - no chase. Hmm, 6 laps later Mr. Warmup decides he’s going to chase Mike down. accelerate, accelerate, and more acceleration. We are again gruppo compacto (Tym doesn’t count) and all know the our pal is just being kind, he could blow our doors off anytime he wants.

Last lap, and there’s no need to charge up the hill because the LONG downhill on the backside, which is into the wind and impossible to escape on. It’s going to be a sprint. And there I am in the front. What the hell, I accelerate at 300 meters - too far out, I get a nice jump = the monster comes around me but no one else...

grazie, grazie - third place.

Tuesday Nite's Alright For Fighting

You shoulda been there...the first Tuesday night throwdown rolled (shit, can't say that anymore) out from Delaware. OK, we decamped from Beehive and Breakaway in full force. All your cartoon favorites showed, Olympian Iowa Josh, Cadillac G, Farmer John, DJ T-WIll, American Taliban, Rea-Rea and his no-no jersey, Chairman Fred, and some tri-guy (we cut him a break). The temp was 75, no kidding 75 in March in Ohio - go figure.

It was like old times, from the gun everyone trying to rip the legs off of their best friends. Funny how that works, I've witnessed such tender acts of kindness between teammates off the bike, like when Conti taught Farmer John how to read (not big words) 2 years ago, Jeff Jackson sharing his chamois creme application tactics with T-Will, or Butch peeing off his bike while Mikey Rea holds his top tube (no jokes please). But once the tuesday ride rolls, oops, departs I get that 'you are DEAD TO ME' stare from Andy. Really gives you the shivers.

Nice ride last night, the MASTERS (such a nice term for old slow guys) regrouped into our own ride as the whipper snappers dropped us like a pregnant teenage girl friend. We labored into the gale force winds, and all screamed like little girls when we caught the tailwinds and sprinted at 30+ mph back home.

See you next week...

Tour of Knox County

What a difference a week makes. Last week we raced in 28 degree weather, today it was 45 degrees warmer! Needless to say, riders shed all the winter clothing in the parking lot and the start line look much better than last week.

Even Farmer John got into the spirit today. Only question is where do you apply the chamois creme?

But you didn’t tune in here to see salacious pictures, you surfed over to read about a bike race. For the pictures got to drunkcyclinst.com.

Here’s the dope. Seventy three degrees, 50 racers, a stacked Cat. 1/2 field and large 3/4 and 4/5 too. One COBSausage rider that got spanked early and went home before the race was over, more about that later. I was joined today by the Spartan Spirit Cadillac George, Farmer John, and our former chums Andy “Joe College” Will and the new Olympian Iowa Josh. Chairman Fred Parks made an appearance to watch, but I caught him talking up the girls in thongs a coupla times. But can you blame him?


Don’t call me hateful but Eric-the-1/2-a-bee COBSausage rider told us last December that ‘the team’ doesn’t do Tym Tyler races because the courses are not demanding and races not long enough! Yeah, right - ask anyone about the safe challenging roads today, I recorded speeds at 42 mph flying down the backside and a mere 8 mph doing nearly 450W on the climbs. Everyone was toast by the time the race was over, from the Cat. 2s to the Cat. 5s. And did I mention the only member of the Jimmy Dean squad to toe the start line went pop, pop, pop on lap one! Maybe 'the team' should reconsider their position, or take up touring with another group we know that likes to gently roll.

Your pal hung as long as he could, trying to match Tym’s accelerations after the climbs. I did it once, twice, but third time up I was cut free - untethered to ride with a few stragglers. The numbers were brutal - average 188W and 165 BPM, and that was with all the freewheeling downhills...

Congrats to Farmer John and Andy for his 2nd place in the Cat. 1/2 race...

It's early - see you at Mid-Ohio.

Let's End February with some Frosty-Bitten Toes

In every war movie ever made there’s a battlefield scene where some soldier yell’s out, “I can’t feel my legs!” Now, the annual Frosty Toes Road Race in beautiful Croton, Oh-HI-Oh won’t ever be mistook for a combat zone, but I kept hearing guys call out in today’s race, “I can’t feel my hands.”


Maybe the 28 degrees at the start and the winds gusting to 25 mph had something to do with it. But I’m not complaining, the fat sausage-head twins (your pick of Delaware’s own kielbasa or the Scottish banger) were no where to be seen today. We did have in attendance among the 40 starters, my hero Cadillac George, Man of Gawd Dan T, Farmer John, Luca Brasi Chambers and your pal Pantani.

It was a true Belgian classic, only without the beer. I wish I could tell you more but I was blown off the back and rode to the finish with a small group. Maybe next week I’ll have a real race story to tell...