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I can remember the first time I met my new
faithful training partner, Marty. I said I was
from Pullman, Washington. He said he'd been
there, he'd eaten lunch at Cougar Country (a
local burger joint with world renowned fry
sauce). I couldn't believe it, someone around
here new Pullman existed. It was Marty who
helped me get off my ass and go for a ride on
those freezing January and February mornings. It
was Marty who made me stretch that five hour
ride into a six hour ride. It was Marty who
would help lay the foundation for my 1996
season.
The collegiate racing scene is pretty cool. It's
a completely different environment than your
typical USCF race weekend. First, you get to
race as a team. There is nothing I like more
than playing an integral role in the success of
a teammate. Second, there are no egos involved.
Everyone out here has one goal in mind: have fun
(well, except that one guy from NC State who
thought the goal was to win at all costs and
crash anybody that got in his way). My
collegiate season was relatively uneventful.
Virginia Tech had a well rounded men's team
which meant there was never any pressure on
anyone to perform. Thank goodness, since I had
trouble finding my form all year. I can remember
suffering and being dropped in the TTT's, or
having difficulty in thirty rider fields
comprised mainly of 3's. There was no doubt
about it, the guys out here could race their
bikes (either that or I was just still fat and
shitty from the winter: probably a little bit of
both).
The collegiate season was also a boost for my
moral, as I met this cool woman at the first
race of the year. It was one of those friend of
a friend type deals. It just so happened that I
was in a particularly spastic mood that weekend
(imagine that!!) and apparently she thought I
was pretty funny. Once again, I had the desire
to race and travel, because it meant that I got
to see Jen that weekend.
The only glimmer of hope of my form to come was
the final collegiate race of the season. The
conference championships were held in Blacksburg
since Tech had won the conference the previous
season. Our road course was perceived as brutal
by the competition and too long. It's a 7 mile
circuit with three major climbs per lap (a total
elevation gain of about 600' per lap). We did 9
laps. With two and a half to go, a former Pro
biker (Navigators) was complaining of the
distance. I figured that meant it was time to
start racing for real. I floored it up the big
climb and with two to go there was just four of
us left. 3 Techs and one UVA (University of
Virginia, our biggest rival in the conference).
The numbers were good, but not good enough as R.
(that's what he likes to be called), who had
been dominating all season, whooped us all up
the last climb for the win. I could only manage
second, but I knew I was starting to ride
better. The conference Crit was further proof
that my legs were getting better, as R. and I
lapped the field (the first time I had ever done
anything like that) and I took second again.
With six weeks to go until nationals I knew it
was possible to achieve my last goal, a podium
spot.
So, with a six week training program set up by
my bro' in hand I set out to get the job done.
It was difficult to follow the plan exactly
(it's hard to get that five hour ride in during
finals), but that's life, huh. I couldn't do all
the volume, but I got all the other stuff done.
With nothing but crits and short flat road races
to prepare me for the 93 mile death march that
was the Nationals road course, I was unsure
about my form. In fact, the Monday before the
big race I lined up for a crit in Roanoke and
promptly got shelled 10 minutes into it. Of
course it doesn't help when there's only 30 guys
total and 25 of them are pro's; i.e., there's no
place to hide. Needless to say, I was worried
about the upcoming weekend.
Part 3: Nationals
The fighting gobblers (yes, that's our
university's unofficial mascot-title) arrived at
the US National Guard Barracks late Thursday
night in San Luis Obispo. We grabbed our four
blankets a piece and set out to find our deluxe
accommodations. Our huts were simple, a door,
two windows, four walls, two beds and a roof.
There was no heat which would be the biggest
bummer. Four blankets were not enough that first
night as we all froze our asses off and didn't
really get a good nights sleep. In the true army
experience the bathroom had two rows of
crappers. No stalls. Yep, that's right you got
to growl with fifteen of your pals right beside
you. Hey, at least we didn't have to dig our own
latrine. One thing was for sure though, despite
the less than four star quality living
conditions we were still going to have fun. We
were going to deal with it.
Friday we rode the carnage carnival, or the road
course as the organizers had labeled it. Two
miles after the start the fun would begin with a
right hand turn into hell. A seven mile
stairstepper climb would greet us three times
the following day. The rest of the 50K course
was rolling with the last climb coming 4K before
the finish. I knew right then this race was
going to be one of attrition and who could
suffer the most. I knew it was right up my
alley...
That night I got to see old friends from the
NWCCC and Wazzu. They asked what the course was
like. I told them, 'carnage from lap one'. In
fact, one WSU rider replied 'goooood, I can't
wait'. I made a mental note to ask him how good
the course was at the top of the big climb on
the last lap. I didn't get to ask him, he wasn't
there.
Friday night we investigated what would happen
if you crammed 300 people into an unventilated
army meeting room and proceeded to ask stupid
questions like 'if I have a mechanical can I
geta tow back to the field'. Can you say, human
induced sauna. The cream of the crop of
stupidity/insensitivity goes to the people who
had the nerve to complain/demand refunds for the
living accommodations. Apparently, they were to
good to rough it for two days and had no respect
for the amount of effort the local community and
club put into promoting the 1996 Collegiate
National Championships. I mean really, c'mon
we're bike racers. We've spent the night on
countless floors and even been reduced to
sleeping in our cars because we love to race.
Hell, these barracks had beds, what more could
you ask for.
It was also that evening that I realized
Colorado was going to be super motivated this
weekend. Apparently, they had been declared
ineligible for the overall team title. They were
going to have a chip on their shoulder all
weekend.
Saturday, June 1st: On your feet soldiers! There
was a long day 'o bikin' ahead of us. First the
TTT, and then a few hours of rest before the RR.
The TTT I wasn't looking forward to. All year I
had suffered during them, and that was the last
thing I wanted to do before the most important
race in my life. The course was set up so that
the teams had to dodge cones (the coned off
lanes were less than eight feet wide). The first
team off lost a rider in the first 5K as he
drilled a cone and proceeded to break bones in
his body. I didn't suffer this particular TTT
and remained well below my threshold until the
last 2K. That's when I felt my body open up and
finally hit on all cylinders. That afternoon was
going to be interesting.
The temperature began to soar and the mercury
topped off at around 90 come race time. The
first time up the big climb Colorado tried to
prove a point to the 165 rider field: they were
here to race. They were successful. I was about
40 guys down the line going up the climb and
every time the road tilted upward and I caught a
glimpse of the front all I could see was the
yellow and black of Colorado ragin' on the
front. They proceeded to drop more than half the
field by the top of the stair stepper. Ben
Jacobsen (University of Washington) attacked
through some nifty 90 degree corner amidst the
descent and soon he was joined by a few other
guys. The early break had formed. The only other
action on the first lap was the crowd forming
for the Marshall Tucker Band concert in the
metropolis of Pozo. I don't think I've seen so
many Hogs, long hair, skanky women and missing
teeth in one place before. But hey, they were
thinking of us as one inebriated fan stood in
the middle of the road and tried to hand up an
Old Milwaukee.
Everything was back together at the base of the
stair stepper the second time. The pace was
dramatically slower up the climb this time
around but still the field dwindled to 45 guys
at the top. By this time Mr. Salty was rearing
his ugly face. The heat was beginning to take
its toll as the majority of the field began to
salt over and show signs of fatigue. Meanwhile,
I was just starting to feel good. A small break
including Andrew Lewis of Stanford snuck away
near the end of the second lap and gained a
sizable minute plus advantage. But they had a
long way to go to make it to the finish.
On the final ascent of the stairstepper what was
left of the field completely disintegrated.
Under the impetus of the many accelerations of
Adam Livingston (UCSD) there were only 12 of us
left at the top. The break had actually put time
on the field up the climb and the gap hovered
around 1:45. No one wanted to work to bring back
Lewis who unbeknownst to us had dropped his two
breakaway partners on the climb. I was forced
into doing a lot of work since I didn't want to
race for 4th. Eventually, I snuck away from that
group with two other guys that wanted to work
for the win. Together, Paul Read (Midwestern
State), Andy Palmer (Chico State) and I formed
the Washington Connection (we are all originally
from Washington State). We shared the work
evenly until we caught the two guys that Lewis
had dropped. There were five of us now but only
three of us working. I could feel my legs
beginning to tighten up as the heat began to
take its toll on me. I could ride a hard tempo,
but could not muster any kind of acceleration;
as soon as I would stand my legs would goon the
verge of cramping. So, I opted to try and bluff
my way in the break. I would ride hard and do
more than my share of work on the flats in the
hopes that the rest of the break would accept my
tempo on the climbs.
On the penultimate climb we finally reeled in
Lewis. He was done for the day. We were now
racing for the win. My plan was working until
200 meters up the last 3K climb. That was when a
Colorado rider bridged up to our group and
ripped through us taking three others. I could
not match the acceleration and was relegated to
racing for fifth on the day. The weasel of the
day award goes to the University of Arizona guy
who sat on the break for the last 30K despite
being berated by me to do some work. Somehow he
managed to make the lead group. Justice was to
be served up in the end to this guy though.
I rode in with Lewis and a rider from
Southwestern Texas. With 800m to go I jumped
them and somehow managed to hang on for fifth.
The win went to the UC Boulder guy who bridged
up late in an interesting sprint. As it turns
out the weasel from Arizona thought he had the
win and coasted the last 20 m only to be nipped
at the line. Read and Palmer rounded out the top
four.
In the end I probably could have done a lot less
work and been fresher for that last climb. I
could have ridden a better race tactically, but
still, I had done it. I had accomplished the
goal I set for myself a year and a half ago. I
had gotten that podium spot. After four and a
half years I guess I picked the right day to
have the ride of my life.
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