George Conti's World of Pain

Cadillac George and I were discussing next year’s team kit yesterday, and of course the possibilities of new colors, sponsors, and design were part of the talk. We both like the idea of a mascot like the cow we had a few years ago or icon. Something to make our presence memorable.

For a team like “A World Of Pain” the obvious Big Lebowski reference of ‘the dude’ might be nice. But after yesterday, I’m thinking we just take Conti’s X-rays and use them for our logo. You’ve heard about the masters race yesterday by now, Conti makes the break staying away the last 10 out of a total 12 laps with the eventual winner. After lapping a bonehead Dayton rider (anyone want to remind us what fat bastard lying Scotsman is now Team Dayton’s sponsor?) who had no business getting into the sprint to the finish, George got tangled up with him after he lost control of his bike (Dayton, not George). I came around the wreck on my way to the finish, saw my paisan and just stopped pedaling. He was getting the neck brace, back board, had one shoe on - one off, and plenty of road rash.

Not a pretty sight.

I collected shoes, my bike, his helmet, glasses, his twisted bike (not the new Torelli - lucky call there), wheels (and I didn’t learn until I got home someone else‘s wheels) and drove to the hospital.

Here’s the AWOP part, since we drove 2 cars, the discussion at the ER was whether George was going to get pain meds. Because if he was to get the meds, he couldn’t drive home and we would have to come back later and pick up his car. George diagnosed himself as having a broken collarbone. His fourth! 1-2-3-FOUR!, yeah, you have two collarbones, and I think he now has 2 breaks each side. Routine x-rays were taken and after about 2 hours got the results. Conti keeps telling the nurse or doctors the pain isn’t bad. We talked about next year and the team, training, how soon he was back on his bike after the other breaks. At this point, the plan was a sling and we go watch Andy race.

The doctor comes back in with with the film and an odd look on his face. He can hardly believe Conti has 6 broken ribs, the collarbone, and a broken scapula. Doc says he has never really seen someone who had these injuries and no complaints. Real Tyler Hamilton (ride with a broken collarbone) stuff here. Boing! No really boing. He has to be taken to OSU hospital for trauma care and possibly surgery. Room 1010 Rhodes Tower.

And he keeps telling the nurse or doctors the pain isn’t bad. “Sure” they say as they give him his first injection of morphine, just like this in some bad Vietnam flick. OK, everybody go into their own personal Walter Sobchak imitation, I’m thinking, “Has the whole world gone crazy? Am I the only one around here who gives a shit about the rules? Mark it zero! ,” or “Fuck the tournament? All right, I can see you don't want to be cheered up here, Dude. Come on Donny, let's go get us a lane.”

My point is, that I am nominating Conti’s image for our World of Pain team kit 2010. It was going to be Matrka’s punctured lung, or a dog running into the road. But now I’m thinking we should talk about George’s face printed on our shorts so that when riders follow us they see, not our asses, but George’s face.

Maybe that didn’t come out quite right...

Asheville = Smashville

Maybe it was the beers from the night before, or maybe it was the vicious attack right out of the parking lot by Mel, but your heroes from A World of Pain were indeed in the spin cycle of hurt on the last official day of riding on the Blue Ridge Parkway.
That's her, Mrs. "Suitcase of Courage" herself, descends as they say, "like a rock."
The ride started like every other with some trash talk and flexing of the big guns. We were supposed to cover some big elevation changes, possibly go through a couple of storms and end up back at the parking lot.
Andy said something about "taking it easy and skipping the BIG climbs." Yep, that did it, Mel called us names and rode out of the lot before Tom could get any chamois creme in place, she was yelling something in French. Mike had studied Spanish in high school, but thought she was saying something about us being 'candy-asses.' Needless to say, we gave chase.
As we topped 6,ooo feet things got a bit sketchy. I think it I was way beyond lactate threshold and not thinking right or it might have been the mushrooms they added to our pizza the night before. Then there was a fast downhill and a road construction flagger. I think I saw Jan Ullrich (with a huge brautwurst in hand) calling me to the edge of the road. Funny because Tom had the very same vision. He acted on it, I kept things upright, at least I think I did.The rescue dogs found Tom at 4,000 feet, sorry about the pictures, but there was no time to get a proper shot.Tom is amazingly back on his bike, ala Tommy Simpson at Ventoux 1967, with no time to spare as the storms were coming in and we had to catch Mel before she got back to the van and left us all up here on the mountain. Mike and Andy volunteered to sheppard us (more like sherpa us) down the switchbacks and through the gauntlet of crazed Germans cycling fans. Sure we caught Mel, and we got to the finish, but at what cost? I ask you, at WHAT COST?

Tour of Grandview

First of all, some of the racers Cadillac George, Might Scott Young, and I lined up against in the "masters" race were younger than Lance Armstrong. Yep, of the 40 or so youthful masters, we saw full heads of hair - not grey, and even some pimples! The scheduled 20 miles and 18 times up the legger-ripper of a climb was gonna be ugly.

Sure 35 years old might be a category called called Masters, that is, if you were also holding an elite U-23 race. Some of the riders we raced were young enough to be our children! But who is complaining? Great venue, great course, only thing missing was Pascale's underwear dance.

Short story to tell: the rude young ones nailed it from the gun, you would have thought it was going to be 1 lap instead of 18. MSY had the fortune of getting a flat, he was out midway. Conti towed me around for multiple laps before dropping me. I just couldn't hang on to the pace and dutifully reserved my dignity (sure you did) by finishing last. Not last, if you count all the other grey beards that were slamming trunks and pulling out of the parking lot while we struggled to the finish.

Thanks to Jeff Jackson for coming to sign autographs, The Tingler for videography, and Mel for almost giving us a push up the hill.

Tuesday, and it's raining!

1 - 2 - 3 in Worthington and Granville

Ah yes, the tour of Ohio and we are the appetizer for the main show of mostly young upcoming cat. 1-2 talent. But who's complaining, I love the courses in both Worthington and Granville.

Friday night in Worthington and the temp is mid-80 (so is the humidity). Scheduled for a 30 minute plus 3 lap race, the organizers cut the affair to 20 minutes plus 3 because the storms were headed our way. Tym and Don combine the 4/5 (about 15 guys) and the masters (7) into one race. Chairman Fred wanted nothing to do with the young and the squirrely so he steps hard on the accelerator from the gun. I go next and we have shredded the field of the weak (and wobbly) and the race is now safe. Cadillac George acted as the cooling agent for the field by raining sweat to all those who chose to follow his wheel. Note to self: get a pair of Oakleys with wipers for August racing.

Each time up the leg breaking backside of the course and a few folks gave up their ambitions of winning. Final lap, final climb - a couple youngsters get a nice jump. We follow, passing riders here and there. Third overall for me, first in the masters, Fred second, George third.

Saturday Granville and the turnout is poor. 4 masters, F O U R. We are scheduled for 20 laps and the 4/5 with Farmer John has 12. The compost king was a man among boys leaving his fellow racers in the dust and finishing alone. But as custom in Granville, he almost crashed AGAIN while blowing kisses to the assembled.

Our race saw Mighty Scott Young (MSY) ride off the front halfway into the race never to be seen again. I didn't chase, neither did George or Chris (cat. 3). Each time up the brick cobble section Chris kept getting slower and slower. MSY wasn't coming back, so Conti-dor and I did the one-two on Chris until he was no more.

You have probably raced MSY sometime in your career. His orange Element is always parked at a race, and he is game to ride anything, especially if it tilts upward. Last week I wrote about his banshee screams from cramping at the State RR. This week, all rested he performed my dream ride - drop your competitors and solo lap-after-lap t the finish. Since he is an honorary member of The World of Pain, I can say we did the 1-2-3 again finishing MSY, Pantani (a gift from Conti), and Cadillac George

State RR Championship

I once began my race reports with a standard line, "you shoulda' been there." Lately, I'm thinking I'd change it to "You should have 'F-ing' been there, damnit!"

No really, remember we have a Team, and teammates who signed on to race. I had no designs on winning this race of 50 miles and 5 times up the nasty hill in the heat an afternoon in June, but my mates Cadillac G, Luca Brasi, and Brian-Mr. "when can I upgrade and get away from these Cat. 5 squirrels?" were signed up, so I signed up...

Now a few snapshots from Caesar's Creek:

-Big fields, new faces and there's a tall fit guy on a $6,000 Cervelo speaking German in the parking lot, hee hee, "I wonder who's gonna be racing Jan Ulrich?" He pins on his number and it starts with '4' what! He's in my race...It's gonna be a long day boys.

-And it was a long day, various racers dropped from cramping in the heat. Mighty Scott Young who led our big Cat. 4 race up the hill for the first 3 laps was overtaken by cramps the last time up and I actually saw him riding backwards and screaming

-Mr. Sausage (who apparently no longer races) is now a referee...and, might I say those vertical stripes are quite slimming

-Our friend Cameraman Dave Tingler was there making another documedtary. Why is is that once a video camera is present, people go all Jerry Springer on each other? Iowa Josh kept wiggling his finger in my face and doing the blackgirl neck saying things I cannot repeat here.

-Gimme-an-upgrade Brian barely got off the start line before a cat. 5 dupe wrecked him in the feed zone.

-I survived the climbs the first 4 times up, the 5th and final, my legs said 'no way' and I followed the pack, which was whittled to half by the last lap to the finish. I'm not saying the beers cooling in the car had anything to do with me out sprinting some guy for 20th.

crash (follow up) + dog news

1 week post crash and I'm feeling (little) better. The soreness that I had from hitting the pavement at 23mph remains. It feels like a really really tough workout, but my recovery isn't taking the same path as a hard workout. I tried pushing the pace tuesday night, but I popped way too fast. More healing needed.

The body does have a mechanism to heal itself, and it entails sleep and more sleep. My new intervals have been stretches of REM, rapid eye movement sprints....

Strange how cloudy the brain can get with a concussion. My attention to tasks has been short, reading difficult. Not that anyone would ever say that I am a patient person, but I've not been able to concentrate for long stretches...

Dog update: Mr. Pickett (the owner) says the dog is fine...I plan to roll by is the rain stops and take a look myself.

Bike update: front wheel toast, saddle trashed, derailleur hanger bent, and some noise in the front end, will test this soon.

Clothes update: helmet, jersey and shorts trashed (lucky it was my "TEAM #O##" bibs)

more later.

Bounce and a painful slide

This spring, actually these past 12 months, remind us, not that we (anyone) needs to be reminded, just how fragile this existence is. On the heels of a couple tragedies, I hit the pavement during Tuesday night’s training ride. Events have told us that friends and loved ones are here one moment and gone, kind of like all my General Motors’ stock, the next.

Ask any roadie about crashes and he/she will show you either where their collarbone once was or some patch of skin that has been rubbed off so many times that it is no longer capable of holding pigment. Conti has three times the breaks of Lance and remember Matrka’s ribs being introduced (rather abruptly) to the insides of his lung last year?

‘Gone in an instant’ continues to be the theme in my mind as I reflect over the events of Tuesday. It was a windy-looks-like-a thunderstorm kind of night. What started with a group of 15 behind Beehive Books got whittled down to just a few roadies escheloned clear across the road coming out of Prospect. I’ve learned a few things over the years about training/racing and know enough to follow a steady wheel, and Tuesday I was tucked safely behind farmer John and Scott-on-a-Scott. I prefer either Andy, Rea 2.o, or Conti’s wheel as they are the steadiest roadies I’ve ever met, but Mike and Andy weren’t there Tuesday and I got out of synch with Da’Godfather after an attack (that I started) just before Prospect.

I had just finished my pull up front and was drifting back to the rear. Maybe it was the wind, but I didn’t hear the shouts of “dog.” And I didn’t see the…bam I hit him broadside and was in freefall over my bars. Maybe a good thing that I didn’t have time to tense up, landing first on my head (helmet destroyed), then back and hip followed. Things went black then the stars came out, “hello Angelina, where’s Brad?,” and I think I saw Bunny from the Big Lebowski…

As I lay there, I couldn’t move my leg and it felt like my hip was broken. Ah, the immobility was due to my right foot being still clipped into my pedal. “Somebody unclips me, WAIT, if this leg is broken it’s really gonna hurt.” OK, nothing broken, I unclip (actually somebody did it for me) and I sat in the road for the next 10 minutes. Farmer John went off to make compost out of the dog (never caught him) and pound on the owner’s door. As the riders we dropped came rolling up, the looks on their faces were, I can say, less than reassuring. Maybe they were still thinking about Larry, Mike, or their own mortality as it relates to bicycles. But the ‘not again’ ghost was hovering nearby.

I know a couple posts ago that I wrote there are no other groups I’d rather be riding with through rain, cold, and crashes, but this is hitting a little too close to home!

Four hours later, I’m back from the ER, cleaning wounds and trying to find a comfortable position to try to sleep in. I’m out of the state RR and crit championships this weekend. A couple trips to the chiropractor and I’m actually feeling worse…sore neck and that old man shuffle walk.

Wait, it’s Thursday night. I’m thinking I’ll just do a little spin out of town with the regulars and see how my legs feel.

btw. those that want to see pics of my raw and skinless ass, please send $10 cash and I'll mail you them in an unmarked envelope.

A New York Tale

I took a break from racing this past weekend to vacation (while Mel worked) in New

York, or the city, as it is known in, …er, the city. All our past visits to NY found Mel and me wandering over to Central Park to see the dogs play and watch the cyclists go round and round the 6 mile loop. We pointed out brokers on their $10,000 bikes and hipsters on fixies.

This year while Mel did her thing, I rented a road bike and had a tour of the island. First impression; Central Park blows. Either you are dodging inline skaters, aggressive mommies with strollers or fending off those brokers, their Colnagos & Assos kit. I did 2 laps of the park, spinning my 25 pound Schwinn

($6/hr from Liberty Cycles) around joggers and spaced-out

tourists. It seems the hardcore roadies ride early in the a.m., by noon all I was left with were the square-pedaling-handlebar-above-the-saddle racers. But they all still wanted to race me. As I spun up the little (I’m talking little by flat central Ohio standards) rollers, I would get these 2 or 3 guys jumping on my wheel and eventually passing me on a downhill only to be caught as I spun (spun!) up the next roller. I had to get out of the park.

Now, the bike paths on the Hudson river was another thing all together. Folks seemed to understand they walked on one side and we cycled on the other. I was able to ride up, beyond Spanish Harlem, past Fort Tryon into almost wilderness on a path. Very cool sightseeing, past an aircraft carrier and Columbia University, turn left and I’m spinning through Harlem back into Central Park. Very cool. I’m now on the East River riding past the Empire State building, under the Brooklyn Bridge down to see lady Liberty and ground zero. Sometimes you forget NY is an island AND a port. But there it is, nature and boaters, sea kayaks, and a few super model wannabes sporting their stuff. All very cool, and all very accessible by bicycle.

Mid-Ohio Part Deux

With the recent news of the passing of our cycling buddy Larry Allen hovering above the proceedings yesterday at Mid-Ohio, Cadillac George and I discussed the topic of our own mortality on the drive up to Lexington. Larry at age 55, was much too young to be checking out of this earthly motel. While George had known Larry for years, I’d met him about 4 years ago, had ridden locally with him, and even joined him on one of the epic Boone, NC rides a few years ago. While he was a big guy (a former University of Colorado football player) he never shied away from riding with “you skinny ass bikers” as he reminded me just last tuesday night. You might have known that he was training to ride the famed mountains of France next month, and he certainly was riding strong as I felt his presence when he took his turn pulling our little peloton.

There is no explanation as to why he won’t get to ride the mountains with Chet and Mike, and I don’t really believe there is a grand design involved here. We are born, just as we race. Some win a few races here and there, others are destined to be pack filler. It is really of no significance if you win or lose, race or stay home on your sofa. History will forget who lapped or got lapped this past season.

What will endure is that I (and you) have an imprint made on our souls by the time (and hours and miles) spent riding with Larry Allen and ALL those in this group we've called Breakaway or COBC or A World of Pain, etc.  Riders that we have suffered with in the cold, the rain, and the heat, driven to the ER with, and explained how to restart training after broken collarbones. The same friend you've lent an understanding ear when they explain just why they are quitting the sport, for the 3rd time.

Few outside our cadre understand this bond. Even some selfish former teammates don’t understand this bond, nor do some shop owners.

We gave Larry a few cheers yesterday while racing. Assembled were the aforementioned Conti, along with the return of Jaybone. I saw Chairman Fred, Man of Gawd Dan T., new Brian, and freshly back from this year's Boone training camp but not very fresh were Luca Brasi (Dave Chambers) and mighty Scott Young. Here’s to Bruce Almighty’s 1st race of the year and Big Scott on a Scott’s first race! Farmer John raced 2/3/4 and I am waiting for a report, but when we pulled out of the lot he had made the break.

The race story was overshadowed by Larry’s passing, so I’ll simply report I finished 3rd (again) racing in a survival mode.

Note: we voted beer to be the perfect recovery drink and plan to have some (very cold) bottles at all upcoming races.