A Tale Of Two (Penetratingly Cold) Races: Part 1

In Which The Forecast Hints at Rain (and Cinnamon Rolls)

So on Friday, the eve of the Independence Valley Road Race, I spent most of my day making cinnamon rolls and checking the weather. Why? Because I love cinnamon rolls and I was hoping it would rain on us. Oh yes, you read that right -- I was HOPING it would rain. I wanted the weather to be so wet, so cold, so dreadfully awful that it would suck the will to race from most of my competition, namely those who are in better shape than me right now. My plan: sell cinnamon rolls $3 a pop until I made enough money to pay for my race, register for and then win the race, then sell the rest of my cinnamon rolls at $3 a pop. I envisioned leaving the race with fistfulls of cash, and bellyfulls of sweet gooey goodness.

I made nearly three dozen cinnamon rolls, and the forecast said 34 degrees and 90% chance of rain. Yee-HAW!!

In Which We Race in Terrible Weather

Race morning.

Weather: 34 degrees and sleeting hard.

Cinnamon Rolls Sold Before Race: 0 (we were late).

Core / arms: expedition-weight thermal volcano base layer, long sleeve magliovento jersey, arm warmers, wind vest (removed 30 minutes into race).

Legs: leg warmers over knee warmers, bib shorts.

Feet: wool socks, neoprene booties.

Hands: DeFeet glove liners, monster ski gloves (removed 2 hours into race).

Head: thermal hat, glasses with clear lenses.

Racer Wearing the Least Clothing at the Start: probably me.

In Which I Get Off The Front, Bizarrely

Told from the perspective of my eyes, who happen to speak like a 12 year old British street urchin -- Oliver Twist style:

Blimey! Tha'gun goes off an' lickety-split, the spray from all the wheels goes spittin' straight inta me racin' goggles! Oi couldn't see a'fing -- no mo' road, no mo' racers, no mo' bikes, no mo' wheels -- just a bunch'a movin' blobs a'color that's all. Oi canna'tell one racer from tha next, or if me front wheel's 'bout to dissapea' int'a giant pothole. So Sam trys takin' me racin' goggles off me head for a spell and -- BLODDY 'ELL, now ther's di'ty water flyin' straight a'me!! Nex'fing ya know, Oi'm squinting cuz there's sand an'dirt, an'grit from the road scratchin' me corneas! Best keep them racin' goggles on -- movin' blobs a'colors a bit betta than seein' nothin' a'all. After a bit, some chap with a bright green parka attacks real slow-like an' sorta dangles out there, so I says to myself I says "Oi! Sam! You dodga' -- why not get up there an' give the poor lad some company!" Next thing you know, Oi'm off tha front with a'few mates on me wheel. Blimey!


In Which I Think I Might Win The Race And My Ability to Make Wise Decisions Plummets

Frozen brain thought process:

CHRIST it's cold! I can't see shit! Oh man my fingers can't feel a thing -- I can't even tell whether they're operating the shifter levers correctly -- I'd better use my palm to shift instead of my index finger -- yeah, that seems to work better. Wow I can't see shit -- I think I just nearly took out Galen. I think I nearly just went off the road. Are we going hard? I can't tell. My fingers are a completely useless - no thanks to these giant ski gloves! FUCK THESE GLOVES -- THEY'RE COMPLETELY SATURATED WITH ICE-COLD WATER -- THEY WEIGH LIKE FIVE POUNDS A PIECE!!! THEY'RE LIKE GIANT GLOVE-SHAPED WATER BALLOONS FILLED WITH FREEZING WATER -- I CAN'T IMAGINE MY HANDS COULD GET ANY COLDER -- I gotta get my hands away from all that cold water -- then they might warm up -- fuck it --

Sam removes his large, saturated outer gloves and flings them to race officials at the side of the road. He is now wearing a single, thin, knit glove liner.

There! It might not be better, but it's certainly not worse -- those stupid gloves were too heavy and cold and--hang on....uh-0h......AWH SHIT I FORGOT ABOUT THE WIND -- MY GLOVE LINERS LET THE WIND IN!!! -- THESE ARE A LOT COLDER!!! -- I WAS SO WRONG!!!! I WANT MY WATER BALLOON GLOVES BACK!!


In Which I FLAT OUT OF THE FUCKING RACE??! HOLY HELL ARE YOU KIDDING ME??

I flat out of the fucking race?? Holy hell are you kidding me?

In Which I Shiver Uncontrollably For Almost an Hour

Eventually a follow car scrapes my sorry ass off the side of the road and drags me back to the start. I shiver uncontrollably for almost an hour.

In Which I Only Sell 5 Cinnamon Rolls

Five hints for selling cinnamon rolls:

1. Don't try to sell cinnamon rolls to people who are miserable, recently traumatized, and possibly suffering hypothermia after exposure to extremely awful weather
2. Choose a nice, sunny day to sell cinnamon rolls, preferably a really warm one.
3. Don't eat your own cinnamon rolls. Don't give them away.
4. If possible, warm them up -- cold cinnamon rolls aren't nearly as enticing to cold people as piping hot ones
5. When you sell cinnamon rolls, include a napkin! Nobody likes sticky hands that can't be cleaned.

Ye Olde Proclamation

CITIZENS OF CANDYLAND!!!

HEAR YE, HEAR YE!!!

BY MANDATE OF OUR KING, I HEREBY PROCLAIM TOMORROW, THE TWENTY-EIGHTH DAY IN THE MONTH OF MARCH, IN THE TWO-THOUSAND AND NINTH YEAR OF OUR LORD, TO BE A PUBLIC HOLIDAY:

TOMORROW SHALL BE A DAY OF CELEBRATION FOR ALL, FOR TOMORROW SHALL NOW BE KNOWN AS

CINNAMON SATURDAY!

ON THE EVE OF THE INFAMOUS TEST OF STRENGTH AND SKILL KNOWN AS THE INDEPENDENCE VALLEY ROAD RACE, THE KING SHALL SET TO WORK HIS FINEST BAKERS, CRAFTING SPECIAL CONFECTIONS FIT FOR HIS MAJESTY HIMSELF, BUT AVAILABLE TO THE COMMON PEOPLE

(FOR A MEASLY $3).

THESE GLORIOUS AND DELICIOUS CINNAMON ROLLS HAVE BEEN FORTIFIED TO SATISFY THE NUTRITIONAL NEEDS OF ENDURANCE ATHLETES, AND ARE THE IDEAL SNACK FOR BEFORE, DURING OR AFTER COMPETITION.

LET CINNAMON ROLLS FILL OUR BELLIES, AND WARM OUR HEARTS!

Cinnamon Rolls will be available for $3 in-between the morning and afternoon races, and after the afternoon races (while supplies last). Look for the red flag!

My Bloody Olfactory Device

I've been hard at work these last weeks. I know full well that I've got some catching up to do, so I've been putting in those miles. I've been getting my sleep, taking my vitamins, and eating my veggies. I've been treating it like my job so that some day it will be. Here's me:

And wouldn't you know it, my work's been paying off -- it's been two solid months back on the bike, and I'm starting to feel inklings of my old self. I'm not exactly choppin' fools' heads off, but I've at least got my legs underneath me enough to do some quality training (whereas when I first arrived, I felt like I was riding my bike through a pool of molasses, towing a felled pine tree, with flat tires, and one lung). And not a moment too soon: tomorrow is the first "real" race of the season, Independence Valley. I say real because it's not a training race where if you're hurting you can just sit on -- it's a race where you can't hide -- you need fitness to finish, let alone factor. Four laps around a 20 mile course with two nasty little climbs. I'm excited. My expectations are not especially high -- I'll be training right through this sucker, so I'm hitting it depleted as well as out of shape, but that's fine by me. I'm aiming for bigger targets later in the calendar. I'm just psyched to have a race where everybody's gotta put their cards on the table.

Speaking of calendars, I just posted my upcoming races for the upcoming month or so. Still unsure of the Tour of the Gila -- that's a big if, and it'll be based on my fitness and my finances -- basically if I win enough prize money to buy a plane ticket, I'll know I'm ready.

RACING!!! GRAAHHHHH!!!!

YEEEEHAW!!! RACIN' TIME. Thanks to Rob Whitacre at GC racing, and his magic camera for taking these sweet shots. Here's me in the race:

And here's my teammate Patrick "showin' them a clean pair of wheels," for the win. He was off the front for 80 miles folks. He got in the first real move of the day, dropped his breakaway partners, soloed for 30 miles until a group of three bridged up to him, and then slapped them all silly in the sprint. Hard man stuff. Stuff of legends I tell you. Stuff of Stanko.

GO SOUNDERS!!!!

Somehow the soccer gods smiled upon me, and I ended up with a pair of tickets to the Seattle Sounders FC season opener at Qwest Field. I'd heard about the Sounders, and their recent ascension to Major League Soccer, but wasn't aware of how much buzz there was surrounding their first game. I showed up a touch late, and while walking from the car towards the stadium, still several blocks away, the Sounders scored their first goal as a MLS team, and the crowd roared so loud all of Seattle knew. We finally got to our seats, roughly 20 minutes after the first kick, and were dazzled by the atmosphere. The sold-out stadium glowed green, throbbing with twirling Sounders scarves; the mighty marching band blew that brass and beat those drums, but struggled to compete with the fans; giant green glitter fell steadily like fall leaves, making the pitch look like an Emerald City dance hall on prom might; and the Sounders -- oh the Sounders kicked the ever-loving snot out of Red Bull New York.

This was one of the best beginnings (for anything) I've ever seen. Seattle: a city hit hard by the recession (Microsoft, Boeing, Starbucks, et al.), a city that recently lost it's NBA team, a city that wants and needs something like this to lift its spirits. There was not a single jaded fan in that stadium, not a single past-broken heart, not a single pessimist who cheered without conviction. There was only hope. We did our part -- we filled the seats, we booed the ref's bad calls, we dressed in green, and we cheered until our lungs were ragged. The players didn't let down their end of the bargain either, delivering not just a win, but a clobbering, a rout. A game to talk about for years to come. A ticket stub worth keeping.

It was a victory for the Sounders. The Seattle Sounders.

To quote the large, euphoric, and wildly drunken man I encountered as the stadium emptied:

"Who was 'dere? We were aaaaaaaall 'dere."

Wednesday Update

Well folks, it's racing season. Believe it. It's here. I've raced once already, and while it didn't go well for me personally, I'm happy to say we did well as a team. Three in the top ten ain't bad. I pulled out of the race due to my inflamed knee, but that has since cleared up thanks to some pretty focused healing (read: as much RICE as I could possibly fit in a day, paired with a plenty of Ibuprofen).

I've got so many strong teammates right now, I'm filled with respect, envy, and fear. {At least I hope they're all just really strong -- as opposed to me just being really weak.} I respect them for the hard work they've put in over the winter, and for their ability to shove me inside the pain locker whenever they feel like it; I envy them because I know how much fun it is to be going good; and my fear is that I'll never get there myself, that I took too much time off last year, that I'm gunna stay this slow. Thankfully, this last week of training has helped mitigate that fear quite a bit. My knee is better, and my numbers are up considerably. Two months ago to the day I was in Oaxaca, Mexico building animal exhibits for a petting zoo.

Here are things I'm looking forward to:

The Cherry Blossom Cycling Classic.
This is the first stage race of the year, the 3-5 of April. It's a new race, but it's looking like it's going to be awesome. To begin with, it's promoted by Chad Sperry, the same guy who puts on Mt. Hood and Cascade (probably the two best organized, most impressive races I've ever done). The guy dos a good job. The courses are going to be beautiful and fun -- hard-man road races with enough climbing to be hard, but not so much they're pure climbers' playgrounds; an important fast TT; and a simple downtown crit. A year of stage racin' has never seen such a good start.

New BIKES!!!
We're getting a new bike sponsor! Goodbye Ridley. HELLLLLLLO Blue! They're a Southeast company, so you don't see a lot of them up in Seattle. Hopefully after we totally dominate our competition riding our sexy new Blue RC8's, that will change, as every racer in the land lines up to get himself a Blue. I think I'll name mine Hansel. DAMN THAT HANSEL -- SO HOT RIGHT NOW!!!


Better Weather
Come to me springtime
Be not bashful with your gifts
Let the tulips stretch

ok?

Wind Tunnel

Thanks to Swedish Sports Performance Services, and to the University of Washington Low-Speed Wind Tunnel.