Whitnall

First race with my Wheaton mates last Saturday at Whitnall Park in Milwaukee. Our team was organizing the race and I experienced the first two hours as a corner marshall on the last corner before the finish. Nice spot to watch the juniors and women as they recovered after the hill into the wind (and freeze my tushie off as the wind was 26mph and the temps were a balmy 38).

The course is beautiful, long sweeping turns, a two part climb into the wind and a descent and a small roller before the finish. Chilled to the bone, I warmed up for an hour, getting some feeling back in the limbs and a slight sweat on. Chris, a new Wheaton guy from Viroqua and Rudy, a doctor I've raced against for a couple of years from Racine, joined me in the race. As we rolled past the pond just east of the course, I pointed out the spot where I killed a goose two years ago at a Super Week race.

Chris is very up, probably a result of being a personal fitness coach and husband of a yoga studio owner, and right away came up with a plan to lead me out to the last roller before the finish. The group was pretty big, maybe 50-60 riders and the wind on the hill kept things together for most of the time. Climbing is not a specialty for most of the Milwaukee/Chicago area riders and even I found myself cruising up to the front without much problem on the climbs.

With about 6 laps to go, a break was 'off' the front with a rider from Chrono Metro and another guy. They made it maybe 100 meters off the front and then kind of dangled there, slowly coming back on each climb. Chris burned a lot of matches trying to bridge earlier in their break, thinking he could make it work, but didn't make it across fast enough and came back.

I sheltered and played around with positioning. It's been many months since my last big pack race, and the first time back can be interesting. There were several squirrels and they were promptly yelled at and marked, so often when there was space to move into, it was behind or next to one of these guys.

After Chris came back, Eck, the leader of the team, yelled at me to do some work. It wasn't time for me to work yet, and besides, I didn't really know how many matches I had to burn anyway. With two laps to go, the pace picked up and I moved into position behind Chris. He yelled and looked under his arm and was kind of surprised that I was already sitting on his left hip. We hit the last climb pretty hard about four wheels back. He had said we would take the inside line on the descent, so I moved to his right side and waited for his accelearation. It came, but took him to the outside of the turn. I stood and jumped and was immediately bumped off by a guy from Beans and Barley. In retrospect, I wasn't aggressive enough with that guy and let him push me off my wheel. Chris gapped the group on the last rise, looked back for me to sprint by and instead saw a pack coming to swallow him up. Very disappointing pack finish for me.

On the up side, I think we'll work well together in the coming weeks, especially in the crits. I'm looking forward to my next race in Muskego.

Fixing a flat

Often the space to think well, to consider, to perceive, comes in the intervals between, the cracks in the pavement. Geared up this morning, squeezing in a post race ride back to Whitnall Park in Milwaukee, planning a new round of Tabata intervals, I was given some space; I had a flat tire.

Considering a craivason a gift might seem a stretch, but it is. The fast escape of air and the immediate loss of cushion, the 'thwack, thwack, thwack' of the valve slapping the pavement, pushes all plans to the side and I have to step off the bike and enter the ritual of changing my tubular tire.

Texture, I run my hand over the pebbly surface of the Continental, notice that there's life in the tread and make plans to patch it this evening. Nothing sharp, no nail, no glass. The wheel comes off, bike layed on the grass and the tool kit opened. I have a favorite yellow tire 'iron' (now plastic) that I use to separate the tire from the rim. About 10 spokes worth and I can gently pull the tire off the rim without tearing the base tape. Notice that the Conti glue seems to leave the base tape in place. Cars are passing, most likely on their way to church. The sun is out, but the air is very cool, maybe 50 degrees.

The ritual of the tire change is automatic and my mind relaxs into the new space in my schedule. Yesterday's race at Whitnall comes into focus, the last turn, the new teammates, the feeling of pushing against limits and the will of others.

And the flat is fixed. Tabata intervals here I come.