Queen of the Classics

Four years ago, almost to the day, I was beginning rehab from my first torn meniscus and since the running wasn't proving to be as painless as promised by my orthopedist, I decided it was time for a new bike. With a lot of advice from my cycling-mad friend Russ, and the good folks at Wheelworks I ended up buying a Specialized Roubaix, named for the famed Paris-Roubaix bike race, a.k.a. The Queen of the Classics. I rode the bike quite a lot to get my fitness back, but never got into racing it, instead turning my energies back to running as the knee recovered (and then going through the same rehab-recovery cycle on my other knee two years later, sigh.)

Well, a few months back, friend Russ emailed me to tell me it was time to put the Roubaix to work as it was intended, on America's answer to the Paris-Roubaix, the Tour of the Battenkill. It's a 100km race over hilly terrain (see profile above), with a fair amount of dirt road (rather than the cobbles or "pavé" of the Roubaix course.) It seemed like a good idea at the time, and I managed to sign up in the three minutes between the opening of registration and the filling up of the field. One of the attractions of the race for me was the fact that they offered a Category 5, over 45 division -- that is, a division for relatively inexperienced, older riders. Also, because the race is fairly long my hope was that the peleton would move at a slightly less threatening pace for a racing novice such as myself.

My training for the race was, well, limited. Three weeks before the race, I ran the New Bedford half marathon, and much of my winter training had focussed on being ready to run for an hour and a quarter. My hope was that this would provide me with some basis for being ready for a 3+ hour ride. In some ways I drew inspiration from Lance Armstrong's first marathon. He figured that a 3 hour run couldn't be that hard compared to a 20 day bike race, and was unpleasantly surprised ("The hardest thing I ever did" I believe he said post-marathon.) So my hope was that a half-marathon and the training for it would be decent prep for the much longer bike race.

I managed a couple of solo bike rides and one group ride in the few weeks before the race, and the latter made me good and nervous about riding in close proximity with 50 other Cat 5 guys (Cat 5 is known as "crash 5" in some circles). On race morning, the temperature was just a few degrees above freezing, and after a little warm-up I headed over to the staging area for my start. The Tour of the Battenkill has a total of 2000+ riders in various agegroups and categories all the way up to professional, but for us Cat 5 guys they sorted us into groups of 50 to minimize the carnage. Waiting for the gun to go off I was shaking like a leaf, mostly from the cold but no doubt related to a degree of fear of the unknown.

Then we were off, and the first kilometer was "neutralized" by a pace car, just to get everyone off to smooth start. At some point the pace car pulled away and the pace started to pick up. I tried to make sure I was close enough to the front to see what was happening. About 5 miles in I started to relax a bit, as I began to think "I am actually in a bike race", I was feeling pretty good. I passed Christy, who was out for a run, and managed a big wave and a smile.

I saw a small group break off the front of the pack, which was a surprise since we were not going close to flat out and I didn't expect any breaks until the first hill at around mile 10. But the pack was allowed to go, and I was in no position or mood to chase them. With the twists and turns of the course, they were soon out of sight. Then we were onto the first of many dirt sections of the course - well maintained gravel roads, nothing too scary, but enough bumps to shake a few water bottles loose, which added a bit of excitement as we cycled around the rolling obstacles. Next up was the first of the 5 climbs, and with everyone feeling fresh, the pace was brisk. I had no real problems but when I reached the top my legs were burning and I though "if I have to do 4 more of those I'm in big trouble". There was a good view from the top of the hill and no sign of a breakaway group, so I assumed that we had caught the early leaders. I would learn much later that this was false - 2 guys took off and never came back - but for now I believed I was in the lead group. The hill had thinned out the pack considerably and I was feeling good to be so close to the front.

After a quick descent we were soon on the second hill, which included the first feeding zone. At this point I had plenty of food and water, so I just rode through it, but Christy and another friend were there to cheer us on. I reported that I was having a great time. Coming down off the hill, the pace picked up dramatically, and my lack of race experience led to my being on my own as more skilled riders pulled away. Pedalling fast in a big gear, I got my first cramp of the day, something I had been concerned about, but it was alarming to get one so early, just over an hour in. I managed to work it out but it was a warning that I needed to keep on top of hydration and manage my energy.

By the time we reached the third hill, the enthusiasm for climbing was clearly waning among my fellow competitors, but I found that using a small gear I could ride up the hills pretty comfortably - much less grueling than the first - and I was actually the first person over the top of the third climb. Not knowing at this point about the 2-man breakaway group, I now believed myself to be in first place. The "lead" group was by now down to about a dozen riders, including 3 or 4 guys from the race of under-35-year-olds that had started 10 minutes before my group. They had been dropped for some reason, maybe mechanical problems, and in a bit of a rule violation had joined our group. As the course flattened out we formed a paceline and I spent a long time behind one of those younger guys, who proved to be quite inexperienced at this sort of riding. Whereas more experienced riders manage to stay close to the rider in front without using their brakes, this guy was on his brakes all the time, causing him to drop back towards my front wheel all too fast. I just gave him a bit more room and kept an eye and ear out for his brakes.

This was the longest section of the course without a climb. We were a bit under 2 hours at this point - just past half way - and I was definitely tired of being in the saddle. When the 4th climb started I was very pleased, both because the change of terrain was good for my sitting bones and because the next feeding zone was coming up. I was very much looking forward to getting a bottle of gatorade and replacing the Clif Bar that had mysteriously disappeared from my back pocket some time ago. As we approached the feeding zone I saw Christy with the bottle and I was behind only one person - Mr. Under-35 Brake User. Imagine my horror when he reached for the bottle, taking Christy by surprise and knocking it to the ground. As I rode past the bottle I yelled "that was my bottle you idiot" followed by 5-10 four letter words. (To be precise, the same word, repeatedly.) A bit of an over-reaction, perhaps, but I honestly thought at that instant that I might not finish the race without the gatorade. I slowed down and then collected my thoughts and yelled back to Christy to run after me with the bottle. I slowed to walking pace as my peleton headed up the hill in front of me, and before too long Christy arrived with bottle and Clif bar, and a safe hand-off was completed. I was way off the back of the pack now, so I started cycling hard to catch the group. One guy, another under-35 chap who had seen the mixup but had more clue and manners than the offending rider, had waited for me to offer his own bottle, and when it was clear I was OK, I asked him to help me get back to the group, which took only a minute. By this point I was feeling much more relaxed, and rather embarrassed at how much I had lost my cool. I made a few apologetic comments to the peloton as I rejoined and even apologized to the bottle thief. He said that he had been expecting his girlfriend to be there, and had thought my bottle was his, even though it seems he should have been able to tell the difference between my girlfriend and his. I'm still at a bit of a loss to explain what he was thinking, but maybe he was suffering from low blood supply to the brain.

Entering feed zone 2. Bottle thief in front.

Anyway, my mood had shifted to completely positive now, feeling like I had dodged a bullet. I was right at the front again as we crested the 4th hill, and for the first time in the race I started to do some work at the front of the peleton. I chatted with one rider who looked like he had a lot of spare energy, and sure enough he broke away soon after and I didn't feel confident to chase him. A little later on one of the steep descents I was passed by a rider who was much more confident on the downhills. At this point I thought maybe I was third, but soon afterwards we caught another guy from the preceding race who revealed that there were 4 riders in front of us. For the first time I realized that two members of the early breakaway group had actually stayed in front all the way. (In the end those two guys were more than 10 minutes ahead.)

Finally we reached the 5th and final hill, and I decided to give it everything. I managed to get ahead of what remained of my peleton by the top of the hill, and asked some spectators at the top of the hill how far we had left. "4 miles, all downhill - go for it" was the answer. So I went for it. Unlike many other downhills in the race, this one was on paved road and fairly manageable in terms of steepness. I tried to go as fast as I could, still aware that I might cramp if I got too crazy. At the 5k to go marker I realized I had company, and shortly afterwards I invited the rider behind me to take the lead, thinking we could share the work to the finish. Now the road was level and smooth and we were flying, and I felt like I was just inches behind the other rider. I felt I should take my share of the lead, but whenever I tried to pass him I realized he was doing a much better job than I could do, so I tucked back in and thanked him for doing the work. I was very tired and just counting down the kilometer markers. Then as we entered the final km I noticed that there were other guys in our little group who had been drafting behind me. I was already doing everything I could and when they started to pass me I just watched them go. In the end six of us finished close enough together to be given the same time, a cycling convention that persists even in the age of electronic timing. My final place, 8th out of 48, was much higher than I had dared to hope for. Average speed of 18.3 miles per hour seemed decent for a course with 2500 feet of climbing.

I was good and tired after 3+ hours of cycling, but it's certainly nothing like running a marathon. For one thing, I never really felt short of breath. But I can see I have lots of room for improvement in sprinting and descending. Fortunately, this was such a good first experience that I will definitely be trying a few more races and trying to work on those weakness.

A couple of photosets here and here, but none of me to date.