Nature Valley Wrap Up.

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Well it's over folks. That's all. The Nature Valley Grand Prix is now officially in the books. I could tell you everything that happened in the races....but that would be a waste of my time. That's what cyclingnews and velonews are for. I will tell you that much like the queen stage of the Mt. Hood Cycling Classic, I was very aggressive early in the race, and ended up making both of the substantial breakaways of the race. Unlike the queen stage of the Mt. Hood Cycling Classic, however, this I got my name in print, and a nice picture for doing so, and I also feathered my effort enough that I didn't get dropped.
See? I'm learning.
I did pay for my efforts eventually, finally getting dropped on the finishing circuits, but I made it to the finish goddamit! And what did I have waiting for me after I finished? Another one of these.

Today's race was awesome. The final stage of the NVGP is a pretty epic -- STILLWATER!!!!!!!STILLWATER!!!!!STILLWATER!!!!
So there was a great crowd, and it was an epic race, and a it was pretty hot out (enough that our cleats were squishing into the asphalt on the start line), and the hill was like 24%, and I got dropped REALLY quick and got to take pictures of the finish (and the crowd), and man it was brutal, and holy shit there were a lot of people there!, and OH MAN it was brutal, and those BMX guys are completely nuts -- I know some people might think that about us -- but those guys are actually nuts, and I just rode until I got pulled. DANG DANG DANG.

Minnesota Photo Update

Here are some photos from the day. The bright and sunny ones are from this morning's TT. The overcast skies occurred tonight at the downtown Minneapolis crit. This is by far the coolest crit I've ever gotten pack time in. 30,000 fans line the course, and so it feels like a real sporting event.

Don't DO That!!!

I got a whopping 4 hours of sleep last night, thanks to my decision to indulge in a post race Coca Cola. I'm not opposed to caffeine consumption by any means -- quite the contrary, I drink coffee in the morning like it's the highlight of my day (which it often is) -- but when I'm caffeinated close to bed time, I can't sleep at all. In my case, my race ended at 7:30 PM. I was tired. It was hot. Nothing -- I repeat nothing -- looked more satisfying than the ice cold Coke Adrian was slugging down. When he told me he'd packed one for each of us I nearly cried for joy. The ice-cold, sugary, carbonated elixir slid down my throat, and within moments, I felt better. Simple sugars, while not a good fuel for endurance sports, are especially good at getting energy to a tired Sam in a hurry. I didn't think much of it until I tried to go to bed a few hours later. Was it worth it? No. Will I do that again? Unfortunately, the answer is most likely yes. The reason? After a hard race, my capacity to perform rational cost/benefit analysis of drinking a can of Coke is about the same as my capacity to build a time machine out of washing machine parts.

In other news, I got gapped off on the final lap (of 6) finishing circuits that preceded the finish of Thursday's road race. I lost 30 seconds, which was rather disappointing.

I don't know how I did in the today's TT, but I don't think I completely sucked. Tonight is a crit that starts at 7:45 PM. Adrian had better not pack a coke for each of us.

Nature Valley Stage 1 (or not).

YEEEEEE-HAAAAW AND GIDDYUP!!!!!!! STRAP YERSELVES DOWN, AND BUCKLE UP -- GET YERSELF READY FOR SOME BONE JARRING, SPARK SHOOTIN', SKIN SCRAPIN', ASPHALT MUNCHIN' ACTION!!! THIS IS THE NATURE VALLEY GRAND PRIX BABY!!!!

Shit howdy....that was nuts. I do not intend to mince words here: people are idiots. They pump their tires too full of air, and then corner really hard over the sewer grate even after they've seen like 30 other guys crash on that corner! Just CHILL OUT PEOPLE!

Here's what you need to know:

--the staging might have been the best part of the whole race. I have rarely felt such sublime suspense. The entire field stood around for over twenty minutes as the excitement, anticipation, and nervousness built to a pretty awesome crescendo. The DJ's were spinning some excellent tunes, namely the beginning of Daft Punk's Aerodynamic moments before take off. When the beat finally kicked in, I could swear the gun had gone off. I was all in favor of skipping the race and turning the thing into a giant spandex dance party, but that darn official had to shoot the gun off anyway. Check it (thanks to Moses Images):

--into the first turn, I slammed on my brakes ('cus that's what everyone in front of me was doing), only I didn't seem to slow down at all. It was wet wet wet, and my brakes didn't seem to do shit! That didn't keep me from using them the whole race though. A lot. I need to work on braking less -- I'd save more energy, and wouldn't have to spend so much time cleaning nasty break dust off my fork after the race is over. Adrian's bike had no visible brake dust on his fork, so I know it was possible to go around that course with less braking. Things to work on....

--that one corner! There were crashes on corner 3 every friggin' lap! ARE YOU JUST DUMB, OR DO YOU HAVE THE LONG TERM MEMORY OF A GOLDFISH?? If you see guys wiping out on the same corner over and over again....maybe you shouldn't BOMB through that corner with a shitty line while trying to pass three guys. Maybe. I didn't crash, but good lord, a lot of people did.

--after the motorcycle crashed, they paused the race, rounded everyone up at the start line, and held some sort of bizarre poll:

Head official: all in favor of stopping the race, say aye.

Either a majority, or a very loud minority: AYE!!!

Head official: councilor, do we have a quorum?

Councilor: yes head official

Head official: the results of this race will not count for GC, are you cool with that?

Ivan Stevic (with thick serbian accent): SO COOL -- I've got the Oleeempics coming up. I don'wanna die.

Head official: then by the power vested in me, I hereby proclaim this race null and void!

I won't say that now I've seen it all....but I've certainly seen a lot more.

CLIFFHANGER CRITERIUM CULMINATES IN CHILE CHUGGING CHALLENGE!!!!

Let's start this saga by going back in time, a small stroll down memory lane -- if you'll indulge me.

Rewind one year:

The 2007 Ballard Crit wasn't my proudest moment. By early June, I was suffering from a bit of burnout. I'd been struggling to find focus and drive, and my legs were feeling a little flat. I'd just gotten my butt kicked at the Mt. Hood Cycling Classic (where I crashed twice in the final crit), and I was about to head out to the crit-heavy Nature Valley Grand Prix. I was bitter about having to go to Minnesota to race a crit festival (where I would undoubtedly flounder and flop), instead of racing the overlapping Elkhorn Classic -- a northwest stage race I thought I could do well at. So there I was: Ballard, a trendy neighborhood surrounded by a thicket of refineries, rail yards, and warehouses. Don't get me wrong, I like Ballard -- it's got all the dingy, industrial mystique of, say, Detroit, but it's right in Seattle and loaded with fun bars and cool restaurants. Hooray for gentrification! However I was NOT psyched to be racing the Ballard Crit. To begin with, in line with Ballard's whole "urban decay" theme, the pavement is awful: massive seams in the concrete, some big ol' potholes, a healthy sprinkling of manhole covers and sewer grates, and a bumpy brick section. To top it all off, it was raining, which made the course downright treacherous, especially the bricks. Oh, and the manhole covers. And the all the corners. I'd had a pretty dismal year of crit racing up to that point, and the conditions in downtown Ballard weren't at all to my liking. To be honest I was never in the race at all; the gun went off and my thoughts were something along the lines of "SHIT SHIT SHIT, THIS IS NUTS, I'M GOING TO DIE, I'D BETTER GET TO THE BACK WHERE IT'S SAFE". I was tail gunning within two laps. I was yoyoing off the back after fifteen minutes, and the referee mercifully pulled me from the race after half an hour. Oh, and I forgot to mention the crowd -- there is one. It's big and rowdy, and loves to heckle poor bastards who get dropped, so my humiliation was rather thorough.

Fast forward one year:

I showed up at Ballard with a slight chip on my shoulder. I wanted to show everyone who watched me suck last year that I do actually know how to get the job done. I've had a lot more success at crits this year, and I haven't really struggled with motivation or focus. The weather was better, and the looming Nature Valley Grand Prix wasn't nearly as intimidating. For the first twenty minutes of the race I chilled out and waited for an easy opportunity to get to the front. Eventually the front of the field slowed down, I grabbed a good wheel, and shot past everyone. Once I was up there, I stayed up there. I marked moves. I chased. I attacked. It was fun. The race started off dry, but about halfway through it started to mist on us. There were a few crashes as people adjusted to the changing levels of traction, but fortunately I was ahead of them all. With about ten minutes to go, our team was looking great -- we had a four man lead-out assembled for Cooper (albeit shoddily assembled), and in my opinion it was as much ours as it was anyone else's. Here I am keeping things fast with like 4 to go (Thanks to wheelsinfocus.com): On the second to last lap, on the back side of the course two guys crossed wheels towards the front of the peloton and took out a good chunk guys. I didn't crash, but I had to stop to avoid running over some poor schmuck who was busy painting the asphalt red with the skin from his butt. Cooper easily won the field sprint for third, but didn't win because in the confusion David Richter jumped the field and BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH.....the point is, we didn't win.

Fast forward two hours:

I was pleased with how I raced, but felt a little robbed because of the crash. After changing into civilian clothing, I met up with some teammates at a nicer "sit-down and order food" style bar. I ate someone else's onion rings and drank a beer, but the atmosphere wasn't quite right, so we paid our tab and went to the Lock and Keel, a much more "stand-up and shout while drinking beer straight out of the pitcher" establishment. I walked through the door with my friends, and stumbled into a strange situation: some guys on the Second Ascent team were trying to pressure another guy into drinking a whole bottle of Tabasco sauce for $20. By the time I got clued into what was going on, the ante had been upped. "Sam, $100 if you drink this bottle of Tabasco," one of them shouted. Now normally, $100 would be a FINE price for drinking a bottle of hot sauce, but I smelled opportunity. I eyed the bottle suspiciously, and countered "that's at least $200 worth of Tabasco." Lofty goals can be powerful motivators, and this was never truer than in the Lock & Keel that night. I felt a mixture of delight and disappointment, as the crew took my increased price as a challenge, and went about fleecing cash from everyone in the bar. Finally, when I felt like motivation was beginning to wain (and a few of the bigger contributors were beginning to actually question the "value" in spending $60 watching a man drink hot sauce), I said "that's enough." Final price: $184, a Taco Del Mar punchcard (with 7 punches!!!), and a bag of chips. I poured the bottle of tabasco into a pint glass, and downed the whole thing in two big gulps.

Lord in heaven it hurt. I suppose you could say the people got their money's worth; my discomfort was both obvious and prolonged. My lips, mouth, throat, and even eyes burned like the dickens, and my stomach felt -- well it's difficult to describe; my stomach didn't hurt exactly, it was more the sensation that I'd done something profoundly wrong to the interior of my body. I considered calling poison control. I considered vomiting. I tried vomiting. My attempt to purge the vile concoction was interrupted by an employee of the bar ["But I'm not puking because I'm drunk," I pleaded. "I don't care, you still can't puke in our flower pot" he replied] so I tried diluting the Tabasco with chips and more beer. This just added bloating to my list of many discomforts. Finally, when Alan said he was going home a little bit early, I chose to leave too. We stopped at the QFC on the way home, where I bought a some Tums, some Peptobysmol, and a nice big bottle of kefir (with live active Tabasco-devouring cultures!!). Once I got home, I was relieved to find very little under my Google search "Tabasco overdose", and the fact that the poison control website didn't even have an entry for Tabasco. I did however discover numerous youtube videos of people chugging Tabasco for FAR less than I did. Those schmucks.

The Life I'm Livin': Pancakes.

Let me introduce you to my Mobile Pantry/Pancake Studio. This cheap plastic filing cabinet has been retrofitted (read: restocked) to be a fully functional miniature kitchen. It is small and light enough that it can be lifted into the back of my truck, so it goes with me everywhere I go. The chances are, if I spent the night on your couch, my MP/PS was parked next to your dishwasher. It's on casters so it's easy to roll around a kitchen floor.
Naturally, it contains all the essentials:
My MP/PS gives me great comfort; it's a reliable constant in a swirling lifestyle of change. Humans are creatures of habit, and I am no exception. No matter where I am, no matter whose house I'm currently invading, no matter what strange new contortions were required to fit my 6'4" frame on that 5'10" sofa last night (or how badly I slept on said sofa in said contorted position), I can still wake up to my morning routine of coffee and pancakes. And thus, the slender reed of sanity to which I desperately cling is preserved for one more precious day. Pancake batter: mankind's last best anchor to the world of reason.
Pancakes, when made from scratch, are a limitlessly adaptable food item; they serve as my primary creative outlet. By simply adjusting the ratios of ingredients, or by making a few key additions, I can make a batch of pancakes that perfectly express my mood. This isn't intentional -- I don't try to make the batter one way or another -- I just make the pancakes I feel like making. The process is intuitive. Pancake batter: a window into the human soul, a street map of the unconscious mind. If I'm feeling happy and chipper, I'll boost the amount of cake flour, use less whole wheat or cornmeal, and sometimes even whip the egg whites so that I get light, fluffy, happy little cakes. If I'm feeling lonely, I'll add something like cooked oatmeal or grated apple. If I'm grumpy -- watch out, because I might just add shit like peanut butter or molasses to the mix. This morning, I felt awesome because I slept in a bed -- and not just that, but a familiar bed (yep I'm staying with my team manager Alan for the nth time this summer)! I went with a fairly standard buttermilk-based batter with a hint of brown sugar. Life is too short to NOT use real butter or a cast iron skillet. I made a sauce made of frozen cherries and blueberries.
As you can see, I'm ready for my day. I'm doing my best way to prepare for the Ballard Crit this afternoon. I love pancakes. I love cherry sauce. I love coffee. I love the Ballard Crit.

EVIL SHEEP JOIN RANKS OF UNHOLY UNDEAD ANIMAL ARMY

Alas, evil sheep have been spotted not far from Buckley, Washington. I spotted them while on my 4 hour recovery ride (THANKS A LOT COACH!), and fear there might be other animals waiting to enlist in this demonic militia. You can see them in the background here:
Clearly they are evil. Look at them!!! JUST LOOK AT THEIR HORNS!!!
EVIL TO THE CORE I SAY!!!!
NOBODY IS SAFE!!!!

In other news, I finished the Mutual of Enumclaw Points Omnium and Three Ring Circus. The final road race was loads of fun, and I spent over half of it off the front in several moves (including a boneheaded solo effort). My work paid off, as we were able to get teammate Dan Harm off the front late in the race with BMC pro Ian McKissick (whose victory seemed more like an inevitability than a likelihood). Dan took second on the stage and second in the GC. Not bad. A few day of rest should treat me well before the mighty mighty Ballard Crit. Then off to the big time Nature Valley Grand Prix. Oh baby.
-S

p.s. Amara has tons of cool photos from the weekend up. If you're bored, check them out.