Off The Back

1" Of Rubber

2011-11-30T19:01:00.000-08:00

I did an epic today, a damn 19.83 mile epic. Apparently distance isn't everything.

My friend Matt and I saddled up in Hollywood, far from my regular riding haunts. Due to a recent layoff I found myself with a far more flexible riding schedule temporarily and decided to capitalize on that by visiting some LA riding buddies. Many think LA & Hollywood riding is a wonderland for fixie clad hipsters that spend their hours dodging in between buses. I promise, if you look my friends, there are some wonderfully steep climbs and quiet roads to be had for the adventurous roadie in the hills of Hollywood.

The route was pretty straight forward, we climbed Nichol's Canyon and areas surrounding, descended Mulholland and then trekked into Griffith Park. We climbed steep grades that were often times all but destroyed, I consider myself a decent bike handler but the condition of some of the roads tested my abilities. As we climbed up towards the top we finally found ourselves at the peak of a mountain, sitting around 60 or 70 feet above the Hollywood sign. Twenty seven years in LA and I had never seen it from the back.

We had ridden only about 10.5 miles but had climbed around 2,400 feet. Ahead of us lay a short but treacherous descent from the peak, followed by about a half a mile of undulating fire roads and then a paved descent back down to Sunset Blvd. Truly an unexpected adventure, from the top of the peak to the north I could see Burbank, to the south Hollywood & Los Angeles. I was dusty and very satisfied to stand on top of Los Angles looking down. All the blaring sirens and obnoxious horns were vague noise far in the distance. The mighty flow of traffic on the 101 freeway below was now a dull unidentifiable murmur.

During the descent my knuckles went white as I dodged rocks, sticks, mounds of sand and areas where pavement was just non existent. Once safely back on well paved tarmac we made a quick assent and before we knew it found ourselves riding on dirt trails. We joked that mountain bikes might have been a better choice for this ride. For a roadie I embrace poor road quality, and I adore riding my road bike on dirt trails, partially for the adventure and partially for the attrition. We passed hikers, dogs, and so much poop I have to imagine there are bears roaming Griffith Park. After a trying month, this is what I needed, a reminder of why I saddle up in the first place; for the adventure.

As we left the dirt trail and started a speedy descent back into the city I looked down at my front tire. That dusty 1" wide piece of German made rubber spinning beneath me, acting as my small foot print on these roads. I looked at it spin, sturdily holding back the high pressure the thin inner tube hidden in it's casing was putting on it's beads. I looked up as I approached the next turn, I adjusted my body position, scrubbed my speed accordingly and felt the weight of my bike and body push into the camber of the road.

As I straightened back out I thought of the 1" of rubber that was rolling underneath me as I screamed down the descent, all cyclists have done this. That 1" of rubber stood up to so much abuse on this ride, sharp rocks, glass, potholes. I thought about the fact that every time I took to a descent, every time I found a high rate of velocity on my bicycle I put an immense amount of trust into this thin 1" piece of rubber. Finding oneself with a total blowout of the front tire during a high speed descent is a fear every road cyclist has. It is not a guarantee that you will meet the asphalt, but in many cases it is hard to recover from a catastrophic failure of the front tire during a high speed descent.

As the descent neared an end I found myself in my own head considering what I had put the tire through on this day and how I was nearing the end of my ride in one piece and safe. The magic of the 1" of rubber, such a minimalist design yet so sturdy. Allowing me to on the same ride climb over sharp rocks and across dirt passes, yet holding me upright while I took turns at 35 m.p.h. on nicely paved roads. Never faltering in providing a smooth fast ride, another day was in the books.

As I sat and sipped my coffee I considered the thousands and thousands of miles I have spent on 1" of rubber in the last four years. Those two minuscule contact points your road bike makes, they are part of the magic of riding a road bicycle. Being suspended with such authority by so little, purely efficient, 1" of rubber is freedom. It is freedom to explore this world leaving minimal tracks. 1" of rubber is freedom to explore new places with friends. That 1" of rubber is freedom to push your body farther.

This is my ode to 1" of rubber, that small contact I have with the world while riding my bicycle. Cherish it, respect it and it will reciprocate. That small piece of rubber combined with your determination can bring you to places you never imagined existed.

1"

-Nick

J.R.Y.D.B.

2011-11-04T21:47:00.000-07:00

50,000 +/- miles, truly used to it's maximum potential. Wish I had the dedication to wear a bike like this.

Inspiration.

- Nick

It's Better To Suffer Together

2011-11-01T23:39:00.000-07:00

Once again I find myself late on posting a blog, but Everest Challenge 2011 warranted an entry late or not. After giving up the ghost and realizing I had not had the time to put in the miles to train for EC I decided that I would still make it out to Bishop to be a part of the event. With 16 La Grange riders competing in the event I assumed the roll of 1/3rd of La Grange's support crew at EC. I was privileged to see the event unfold behind the wheel of the support car, I even dusted off my camera to make some images for the first time in years.

For those of you who don't know what Everest Challenge is, let me quickly get you up to speed. In short EC is a two day USAC race that takes place in late September in Bishop California. Being the CA/NV climbing championships this two day race shapes up to be 208 miles with 29,035 feet of climbing. Yes that's right TWENTY NINE THOUSAND FEET. This race is pure hell, whether you enter the non-competitive category or you approach it as a race, it is pure attrition. The only thing more spectacular than the riders determination and sacrifice is the picturesque backdrop provided by the mountains.

Having not worked feed before I had no idea what I was in for. I knew what the race was like and had heard about the exploits of La Grange's successful EC campaign of 2010 but figured I was in for an easy weekend of beers and handing out bottles; not the case. With 16 riders competing this year we had our work cut out for us between two team cars and three feeders. Due to a shoulder injury one of our juniors had to abandon after finishing stage one and assumed the roll of feeder number 4 on Sunday.

My day Saturday started at 4:45 AM, waking up on a hotel room floor trying to stretch a painful kink in my neck out. I lethargically arose with two of our races who I shared the room with and walked over to Denny's at 5 for an early breakfast. After some greasy 'Merican food, I hopped behind the wheel of my adopted vehicle for the weekend, a speedy little Mazda 3 wagon with a turbo and off I went. As the sun rose, I shuttled riders to the start. The sunrise was beautiful as I went back and forth in and out of town and the day got brighter and brighter as the pelotons took off in waves.

The best part about a race like this whether you race it or support it is the bonding that happens between teammates. Odysseys like this tend to temper friendships and foster trust in one another, collective suffering is always far more pleasant than taking on a challenge solo. Once the riders were all off riding into the chilly high dessert morning my feeding partner Marc and I sat down with our other feeder Joe to figure out how the day was going to work. We decided to set up feeds in between the sanctioned feeds, allowing us to alternate feed zones so that while one was feeding the other car would be driving up the road to the next zone.

Our little Mazda was packed to the brim with coolers full of bottles and supplies, we were never without a bottle of electrolyte pills to force upon the often times mentally destroyed riders. Setting up a feed is no small task, there is no room for error, if a rider is given the wrong bottle with the wrong mix, a carefully planned nutritional plan can go wrong very quickly. Upon stopping at a feed we would rush out of the car and completely unload it onto the side of the road. Then we would quickly organize everything for the approaching riders, and wait.

As rider after rider came through, some stopped, taking on food casually allowing us time to give them pep talks and make sure they were hydrated. Others flew through the zones forcing us to literally run along with them pulling exhausted bottles off their bikes and jamming on fresh bottles with electrolytes taped onto them.

The hours ticked on and I saw riders who normally appear as indestructible reduced to exhausted and destroyed men, tested by the mountain just attempting to turn over the cranks to arrive at the peak of the last climb of day one. We ran, we drove, we mixed bottles, we lied through our teeth downplaying the severity of what lay ahead to motivate tired riders to continue on. No matter how bad it seemed to hurt, the riders just kept suffering, turning over the cranks.

The resolve of the racers was stunning, by the end of day one all our riders arrived back down to the base of the last climb. Their eyes were sunken and red, dried salt ran down the sides of their faces. As the sun started to hide behind the mountains we headed home, day one was in the books. The work continued into the night with a production line of bottle emptying, cleaning and refilling. Finally as riders headed to bed the feed crews work was done. We repacked the car, I had a quick Sierra Nevada, and went back to my hotel room floor for some much needed sleep.

Day two started identical to the first, waking to a pitch black sky and a sub par omelet. The riders were tired, you could see it in their eyes. While today's course profile was shorter than stage I, the grades were treacherous. On stage one I spent more time on the side of the road waiting, but today I would finally head up into the mountains to see first hand what the riders were going through. The sun rose as we drove out to the start of the final day. Today we only would have to be at one road side feed, we unloaded the car and waited.

Some riders screamed through the zone, barking at us for their particular bottle or food, others casually rode through, stopping to take on nourishment. Our crew of support had grown to four, and with one person down the road radioing us the names of incoming riders, we were a well oiled machine. Our focus was getting every single rider through this day. I saw red eyes, sunken cheeks and swollen veins. The first two climbs of the day revisited the same feed before sending the riders up the final brutal climb. Legs screamed, electrolytes ran low, but no one wanted to quit. The last rider came through and into the mountains we drove.

As we drove up we stopped at each teammate we saw, gave bottles, electrolytes, bars and verbal support. Whether teammates or not we gave unhinged riders pep talks, helped them remount their bikes and gave pushes to encourage stiff legs to turn over cranks. The air was dry and thin as we neared 10,000 feet of elevation. Road side feeds now had a 6% grade to their tables and I found my follow car staying in nothing above 3rd gear. We caught rider after rider, some seemed to fly, others struggled. We knew our top racers were nearing the summit at this point. Once all riders had been tended to we made our rounds, ascending and descending the mountain following our riders.

As each rider reached the summit we hovered closer and closer to the top until we finally found our self driving along side the last riders to the top of the mountain. We cheered and screamed from the team car, it was like a scene from a World Tour race, and as the last rider crossed the line our duty was done. We stood at the summit, with our team, tired and dirty. I had expected to feel saddened that I hadn't ridden the course with them, but the experience was incredible nonetheless. There is nothing like a team effort to bring racers closer together.

The top of the summit was so big it was a small valley, like a crater. We dined on cheese and refried bean quesadillas from the support tent. The riders with their stomachs bloated from hours of ingesting liquid calories savored the food. It was time to descend, some rode down, we drove. It was time to relinquish the wheel of my trusty team car to it's rightful owner, and as we drove down the mountain I quickly fell asleep in the passenger seat, with the dry mountain air blowing in my face.

Sometimes you don't even need to mount your bike to experience an incredible race, sometimes you just need to support incredible teammates. Seeing what these men and women accomplished was nothing short of inspiring. As the weekend drew to an end La Grange was able to close the book on another successful Everest Challenge, and I feel privileged to have been part of it.

Suffer as one

-Nick

Pay It Forward

2011-09-22T15:57:00.000-07:00

Cyclists don't always have the best reputation in the communities we ride in. We come in, take over roads and let's face it, often times roadies aren't the warmest of people; this is especially true in Palos Verdes. We saw this nice older lady on the side of the road on PV Drive West with a bad flat tire and decided to take a break from our ride to help her out. After a quick 15-minute wheel change we received a very warm thank you and she was on her way. Sometimes I think roadies really need to pay it forward more often. It's a two way street if we want to make this a better world for cyclists.

Just a thought

-Nick

Letting Go

2011-08-27T20:03:00.000-07:00

Almost four years I've been purely focused on riding bikes, oftentimes at the expense of my career, personal relationships and a normal social life. It started as cross training for rock climbing, then turned into trying to complete a century, and quickly graduated to racing. Within one and a half years, I was obsessively journaling my rides, researching training plans and avoiding anything I felt would derail my progress as an amateur racer.

Finally, within two years of getting my first road bike, I would not be found riding without a heart rate strap and a Garmin. Missing a day of intervals due to fatigue or work was absolutely unacceptable in my eyes. This in turn resulted in a sense of stress for the rest of the day, I often times found myself unnecessarily sidelined by illness or even injury. Very few of my friends and family understood this new obsession, while the health benefits were obviously a positive, my life had become incredibly unbalanced.

Nearing four years since I started riding, and three since I started racing I have found myself finally having to let life take over. Presented with a fantastic career opportunity I was no longer able to balance training and progressing in my career. Something had to give, and for the first time, it was going to be the bike.

As I started to realize that if I was to achieve the goals I needed to meet in the coming months in order to get to the next step in my career I was going to have to step away from training. For the first time in four years, I found myself riding a mere 45 miles a week at best. This was quite the departure from the 200-250 miles I normally logged per week in many parts of the year.

Wasn't it all about having fun anyways?

I found myself not wanting to ride, the lack of a training plan left me not knowing what to do when I got on the bike; I was uninspired. I just could not get my mind out of the training mindset, I had forgotten why I even loved riding in the first place, but I was damn sure it wasn't from heart rate data and 3x20x10 intervals. I decided it was time to ditch the journal, Garmin, and all the other training tools I had adopted over the last three years and get back to where I was when I got my first bike in 2008.

Let me make it clear, I am no way against any of these things, or training. I fully plan on returning to training, maybe focusing on something other than crits in the future, but I think part of the pleasure of road cycling is the competitive and scientific aspects of it. Training brought new levels of discipline to my life, and taught me work habits that translated off the bike helping make me a more ambitious person. In the end though I feel that everyone needs a new perspective every once and awhile.

So lately I've explored the world of riding without data, no idea of my speed, cadence or heart rate. No worry about riding too fast, too slow, too long or too short. My biggest concerns on my most recent rides have been the quality of conversation instead of the quality of miles ridden, or perhaps even more importantly, the quality of the post ride coffee. It has been refreshing to remember why I found this sport so engaging initially.

What I find even more refreshing is that I feel like I have rediscovered motivation to train, to get back to racing with the same enthusiasm I had in 2009 and 2010. While my work will continue to keep me off the bike till around November, I am definitely champing at the bit to return to morning rides before work, and long days in the saddle with teammates on the weekends.

So sometimes I guess life just has to get in the way. While it's tough to work towards a goal only to see your hard work slip through your fingers as your body goes soft, it can be a necessary evil. For all those people like me who are scared to step away, some fresh perspective might just be good for you, and the bike will always be just where you left it. The same though, can't be said about some of the opportunities life throws at you.

Here's to hairy legs and lattes.

-Nick

It’s Not About The Bike, Sometimes

2010-04-28T20:54:00.000-07:00

A lot of people don’t understand cycling, the shorts, expensive bikes, countless hours of arduous training and definitely not the shaved legs. To them it just seems like an awful lot of effort and obsession for a mere hobby. Often times it’s not something I can explain, I simply refer to it as “le velo vie” or “the bicycle life.”

You cannot explain the feeling of rising with the sun and riding your bike through the twisting roads breathing in the fresh morning air. You cannot relate the feeling of pushing your body to its limit and then some as you ride with your friends on a tough training ride. I often just feel bad for people who will never partake in these experiences.

I recently read the book “Roadie: The Misunderstood World of a Bike Racer” by Jamie Smith. This book really sums up the culture of road cycling; it’s not pedantic and maintains a good sense of humor about road culture. If you’ve just started riding, even if you’re a seasoned vet you should pick up this book; it’s a good read.

The more time I spend on the bike, I realize that riding is only one part of what makes this sport so great. There are a lot of days where the only reason I get on the bike to train is because I know I get to hang out with awesome friends that will push me to new levels. So if you’re having a tough season or are a bit burned out, pick up this book, it might give you a new perspective.

Le velo vie.

- Nick

RACE/CRASH REPORT: Torrance Crit

2010-04-20T20:43:00.000-07:00

A wise man once said “Shit happens when you party naked” and when I say a wise man, I mean I saw it on a t-shirt. Nonetheless if I had to sum up the perils of criterium racing into a simple phrase, that would be the six words I would use.

After a DNF at Ontario and another at Dana Point Grand Prix over the last two weeks I was beginning to fear some sort of mid season slump like last year. I decided I needed to jump into a crit ASAP to break out of my funk. I proceeded to sign up for the Torrance criterium which wasn’t originally on my race calendar.

I just needed a pack finish under my belt to get back in the game mentally, I decided that I would relax and not psyche myself out. The course was flat with four turns and definitely suited my strengths. The field was also small and full of PAA riders I knew, no La Grange riders were racing so upon arrival it almost felt like I was back on PAA for a day. Aside from high winds it was a really nice day for a good hard race.

As we rolled out I decided to play it safe and sit in the pack for the first 10-15 minutes while I gauged how my legs were feeling and made sure I had the gas to finish the race. From the start I was feeling strong but foolishly continued to sit mid pack and play it safe. PAA was out front doing a lot of work but the pace was very manageable.

About 15 minutes into the race I was feeling really good and I made the decision it was time to move up to the front and have some fun, as well as get out of my current sketchy mid pack position. Before I could make a move we came out of the 3rd turn and I heard that familiar sound of yells and bikes hitting the pavement; except this time it was closer than ever before…

All week I had really been thinking that this would be it, this would be the race where I would have my first race crash, but as I watched two riders hit the ground in front of me I couldn’t believe it. I looked to my left, then to my right, there was no way out. I looked forward and a third rider went down, I braced myself for the inevitable.

I remember grabbing my brakes thinking I could stop myself but at 26 mph I just went sliding. My front wheel hit the down rider’s bike and I went flying over my bars. The next thing I remember was landing on one of the downed riders and hearing him yell. Suddenly I could feel the weight of a rider slamming down on top of me, then a strong pain in my right leg.

I remember lying there for a second in a pile of bikes and riders, and feeling drips of fluid hitting my face; I couldn’t figure out if it was water from a bottle on one of the bikes or blood. As I began to stand up weakly I saw a rider in the pile up throw someone’s bike off of his. Another rider was on his knees yelling loudly, I couldn’t tell if he was in pain, just furious about crashing or both.

I stood up and looked over my body, outside of a gash above my knee and a horrible pain in my right calf muscle I seemed ok. I picked up my bike and limped over to a grassy hill and proceeded to lay in a fetal position. Another rider sat down next to me and lay there groaning in pain.

About 30 seconds passed before I decided I wanted more, I limped over to my bike and picked it up. My bike looked ok, so I frantically fed the chain back onto the gears and rode over to the wheel pit. A La Grange member was in the wheel pit and looked over my bike as the speeding peloton approached out of the 4th corner.

I asked him if my kit was torn, he told me it wasn’t and the USAC official looked at me and said, “Is that really what you’re concerned about?” I replied “Yah! I only have one!” They gave me a push as the peloton flew by and before I knew it I was back in the pack.

The adrenaline was so high I found myself in the top 15 riders, we had 20 minutes to go and I decided to put the pain out of my mind and make the most of it. I made a hard jump off the front trying to bridge up to a PAA rider who was getting reeled in by the speeding peloton. The pain in my calf quickly got the best of me and I fell back into the pack.

I hammered hard for the rest of the race managing to stay in the front of the group, as it got increasingly aggressive in the last 3 laps I decided to take it easy and I ended up sitting in the middle of the pack while the peloton fought it out for the sprint. I rolled through the finish with the back of the group for 37th place.

As soon as I got off the bike the pain in my calf was horrible, I couldn’t walk and had to pedal over to my car with one leg. After a quick visit to medical I was bandaged up and on my way home painfully trying to work the pedals in my car.

Chain-rings are sharp!
After it was all said and done I have to say, I’m kind of relieved I finally took a spill in a race. It wasn’t fun but after almost two years of racing I knew it was coming, and sometimes the fear is the worst part of all. So in the end I walked away with my pack finish and no serious injuries, and that my friends, well that’s bike racing; and I still love it to death.

Keep the rubber side down!

-Nick

Back!

2010-04-03T20:54:00.000-07:00

It’s been awhile, not only since I’ve made a post, but since I’ve had my heart fully invested in cycling period. Sometimes we need to step away from our passions and explore other aspects of life to gather perspective, only then can we really appreciate how much our passions can bring to our lives. Even though I ended last season on a sour note, dropping most of my races I still had a lot of drive to improve. During base season though I found myself very distracted, I was training to stay in shape, not because I wanted to.

After a certain point training took a back seat and I can’t say I found too much interest in riding. After a couple of months of late nights I found myself wondering how I ever spent Saturday nights lying low at home so I could wake up the next morning to ride. Before I knew it January had arrived and had brought with it the start of the 2010-racing season; I unenthusiastically signed up for CBR Dominguez Hills.

As the first race of the season came I tried to be positive about it, but all I could imagine is that it would be just like last year, I’d get dropped and go home with that familiar bruised ego. The whistle blew, the pedals turned and the laps came and went. It hurt, it hurt like hell, my lungs had been sleeping since September, accustomed to the low intensity base training.

As the race progressed there were near crashes, horrible cramps and burning lungs but I wouldn’t say uncle, and before I knew it I was rewarded with my first CAT IV pack finish. I rolled past the finish line and slumped down next to Armin at his Sixtufit booth. He looked at me and said, “Why you so tired man?” I couldn’t help but laugh, and suddenly a spark was reignited.

Soon came Poor College Kids road race, and once again I far exceeded my expectations in performance. Racing was suddenly fun again; soon all I could think about was training and getting stronger. I wasn’t able to race as much due to finances but every race was a pack finish. Suddenly I was obsessed, my training hours went up, I was putting down more miles than ever before, at one point logging my first 15 hour week.

Everything took a back seat, I was living “le velo vie” more than ever before, every week brought new progression and new higher levels of performance. The training plan as tedious and uninteresting as it was had worked! I was leaner than ever, and my body was able to receive and adapt to more training load than ever before.

Fast forward to March and I am no longer worrying about pack finishes, but once again plotting getting my top 20 and top 10 finishes. I have joined a new team, Velo Club La Grange out of Santa Monica California and am now in my first taper period of the year. I wish I could have raced more in the past months but I feel that I have made up for it in hard training. I’m taking my first little break and I feel amazing; I am focused.

So as I near the halfway point of this season I look back at the off season as a period of recalibration, the distractions were fun but my heart and head are back where they should be and that’s with racing. I’ve learned that no matter how bad it gets, how many times you get beat never ever give up. Keep pushing and you’ll get over those obstacles and once you do you’ll be a better person because of it.

I’m going to make an effort to spend more time on this blog from now on so I don’t have to cram 3 months of experiences into nine paragraphs, but rather than rambling on I’ve decided to leave you all with some photos of the last three months of bicycle fun, you know what they say, a picture is worth a thousand words.

Never say uncle.

-Nick

Riding with Lance Armstrong (and a few hundred others) in Griffith Park, can you find me?

My new riding partner.

Post ride vegetarian refueling.

Climbing in Santa Barbara after Poor College Kids Road Race.

Feeling strong at Roger Millikan Memorial Crit.

Cheering on my buddy Steve during stage one of the San Dimas Stage Race.

Training session up in Palos Verdes.

At LA Circuit Race finally feeling good hanging out at the front of the pack.

What it's all about, living le velo vie!

Keeping Your Head Up

2009-10-10T19:59:00.000-07:00

It’s been awhile, it’s crazy how time gets away from you, I never meant for this blog to be daily blabbering, but this has gone on too long. The season has passed; I’ve been off the bike since the 10th of September, and out of work since late August. Between contemplating new career opportunities, the idea of going back to school and a new fondness for cross-country running, it’s safe to say I’m in a period of transition.

After budget cuts forced others and myself out of our jobs and the pain in my foot forced me off my bike, the once jovial and carefree plans I had made began to change. My concerns quickly switched from whether to buy a used or new power-meter, to when was the best time to sign up for unemployment insurance.

I couldn’t help but wonder if all the time I had invested into my racing in 2008 and 2009 were just squandered hours, and part of the reason I am now so disoriented as a result of being out of work. All the time-spent training could have been used to prepare myself for this situation, resumes, portfolios; I feel like I should have seen this coming.

Still hindsight vision is always 20/20, and if I had never learned how to train on the bike I would never have developed the discipline to suffer through unpleasant situations for a greater goal. I firmly believe in a period of transition we realize our dreams and start on new refreshing paths in life.

Chasing the peloton at the Brentwood Grand Prix

My cycling season ended on a negative note, suffering in a chase group off the back of the Brentwood Grand Prix only to get pulled. My season went from a highly focused and progressive start to a muddied and disinterested end. I had worked too hard with no plan and burned out. I was ready for the season to be over and secretly relieved when I found out the Glendale GP had been canceled.

Brentwood Grand Prix lit a fire in me though; it still burns hard even after being off the bike for a month. Subsequently I have spent the past September studying training material painstakingly to build a plan that will help me reach a new fitness ceiling; I want 2010 to be a season of personal victories and new levels of strength. I plan on training harder, but also smarter this season.

Still, 2009 taught me many things, one of which is that balance is everything, you can always have too much of a good thing. If only building a life plan for 2010 was as easy as building my training plan for 2010. So many questions, so many directions to go in, once again I find cycling as the only true anchor in my life.

Taking time to enjoy life off of the bike.

So I end 2009 a far different person than I started it, I am stronger, smarter, more dedicated but also more thoughtful and mature. As I count down the days to beginning my base training I feel like I have honored neglected relationships and recharged my batteries. I will now proceed forward into the unknown with ambitious goals on my shoulders. So after a year of set backs and let downs I am comfortable saying I am still madly in love with this sport and looking forward to next season.

Keep Your Head Up.

- Nick

I did it, I did it, I did it, I did it, I did it.

2009-07-01T13:07:00.000-07:00

Hunched over my handlebars I could feel my heart beating all the way up in my skull. Out of my periphery I could see spectators looking at me as I rolled up Valley Dr. I inhaled large gulps of air, expelling them laced with the frantic words “I did it” over and over. It was 7:45 a.m. and I just wanted to find my family at the finish line, I stood out of the saddle and pedaled up the climb to get on with my cool down lap.

5:15 a.m. I was jarred awake by my alarm clock; I had that moment of confusion I commonly get when I wake up early for a race. The split second where my brain is void of knowledge about why I am awake, and then it hits me, it’s time to race. I had been waiting for this day for a year, and it was now finally staring me in the face; I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about going back to bed.

I sat eating my typical pre race meal, Kashi cereal with almond milk, it was quiet I didn’t bother turning the TV on. I stared at the numbers pinned on my jersey which lay on the recliner adjacent to me. I had the rare pleasure of picking up my numbers the day before, custom ones at that, they read “Chevron Manhattan Beach Grand Prix 1962-2009”. I finished up my breakfast and began to get ready.

I rode to the Manhattan Beach Grand Prix, something I doubt I’ll get to do at any other race. I had been waiting since I first saw this crit last year while I was off the bike due to medical issues. Watching Rahsaan Bahati take the win in 08’ is what pushed me to want to start racing. Now here I was a year later, warming up for my inaugural MBGP. It was overcast and chilly, I didn’t mind because I knew that in an hour my body would be burning.

After a quick stop for coffee I rolled up to the course, it was just like last year except today I would be putting it all on the line. I wasn’t feeling very confident after my recent performances so I went and had a great talk with Armin at his Sixtufit tent. We discussed strategies, and he generally made me feel better about the race.

After applying some Sixtufit to my legs and finishing my coffee, I decided to take a few laps in the last 20 minutes before my race. I had ridden this course so many times before, but today it seemed much more daunting. I didn’t feel terrible but I definitely didn’t feel like I was brimming with wattage.

At the start I breathed deep, my teammate and I chatted as I tried to control my heart, which was beating a mile a minute. I hadn’t felt this way since my first race, the whistle blew and we were off. I charged after the peloton and found my spot in the middle. I knew the first time over the climb would be my litmus test. It came quick and before I knew it we were over the climb and into the first turn. I felt good, and I told myself this would be my day; I would finish this race no matter what.

On the first lap things quickly got ugly as we rode down the back end of the course. As the pack sped up out of the first turn and down the straightaway I heard that familiar sound, the panicked cries and then the sound of bikes piling up.

I watched as a crash migrated through the pack towards me. I was on the outside of the peloton and braced myself as the rider ahead of me went down. In a split second I swerved around his head, which was in the direct path of my front wheel. The rider to the left of me had nowhere to go and ran over the downed rider flipping over his bars. I saw the back wheel of his bike fly a few inches away from my head and then suddenly I was out of it.

I looked back which I almost never do after an accident and saw literally what seemed like half the field in a pile. Another lucky rider and I exchanged looks and we both cursed in disbelief. I thought of the St. Christopher necklace I was wearing that I had bought the previous day; I couldn’t believe my luck.

I was quickly snapped back to reality as I saw what was left of the peloton begin to pull away; I chased after the pack and got my head back in the game. For the next few laps I felt uneasy riding in the group. Soon the crashed riders who still had working bodies and bikes were back in the race, and the peloton was hammering.

My buddy Eric and Me burning through the first turn.
Lap after lap I watched the remaining time tick away and each time I still found myself in the race. I wasn’t expecting a top ten finish, I just wanted to finish this race. I wanted to prove to myself I wasn’t getting weaker, and I wanted to do it at this race. Every time I felt like I was going to get dropped out of the last turn I heard the cheers of my parents and hammered to catch back on.

Then I heard it, “FIVE LAPS TO GO!” usually this would be a weight off my shoulders, but not these days. The prospect of the next five laps seemed far more daunting than the entire race thus far. I put my head down and refused to be dropped like I was at San Pedro. Four laps, three laps, two laps then it arrived, one lap to go, I had made it.

Tail gunning towards the end of the race.
The peloton pulled away from me, I gave it everything I had on the last climb trying to catch back on, but I watched as the gap began to grow on the back end of the course. I saw a USAC official on the side of the road and yelled “Can I finish?” worried I would be pulled, he smiled and nodded. I put my head down and hammered with every ounce of strength I had left.

I flew through the last turn more confident in my cornering than I had been in months. I saw my parents and best friend Adam cheering, I had never been so proud while simultaneously being so far off the back. The peloton was about a quarter of a lap ahead of me at this point and had crossed the finish. I came into the final stretch alone; I stood out of my saddle and sprinted across the line.

I rode across the line feeling so relieved, my first CAT IV finish, and at the most important and meaningful race of the year for me. I plopped down in my saddle totally devoid of energy I had done it. I hunched over my handlebars, I could feel my heart beating all the way up in my skull. Out of my periphery I could see spectators looking at me as… well you know how the rest goes.

Talking to my family after the race.
After a hearty breakfast of chocolate chip pancakes and eggs at Bill’s Pancake house in Manhattan Beach I was talking with my Dad about the race. I explained that I was still a little shaken by the crash and he asked me why. I told him it hurts like hell to crash like that, his response surprised me. He told me “everything hurts like hell”, albeit simple I found myself chewing over his words.

I’ve never been great at handling pain, I’ve made leaps and bounds in the recent years but the prospect of it still troubles me. I’ve crashed and I know what it feels like to hit the ground at speed on a bicycle, but never in a race. I thought about what he said and began to realize he’s right, everything we do has many painful consequences. The pain though is not always the same in sensation or in duration.

I began to think what pain is worse? The physical pain received from hitting asphalt at 30 M.P.H. during a race, or the emotional pain from the regret of living life knowing I missed out on the thrill of racing in order to avoid physical pain. Two different types of pain, one violent and fleeting, the other lasting and many times incurable, what is worse?

Sure losing skin hurts, but it subsides rather quickly when compared to the agonizing pain that is involved with regret. Lance Armstrong’s quote came to my mind “Pain is temporary. It may last a minute, or an hour, or a day, or a year, but eventually it will subside and something else will take its place. If I quit, however, it lasts forever.”

I used to hear this and chalk it off as a sound bite but lately it has started to hold more meaning. After the initial pain goes away, the stitches come out, the bones heal I will be left with memories of hard fought battles. I will be able to look back at the good times and bad times, because if there were no bad times, there would be no good times, just time.

I refuse to live with just time, to play it safe for the rest of my life; I don’t want to make a pretty corpse. I want to live passionately, I want to experience what this world has to offer, I want to be forever stoked and do something amazing. Being able to have an epic day is not a right, it’s a privilege and I refuse to take that for granted.

So some of you may say it is crazy, that we go out and risk our health for 40 minutes of adrenaline but I beg to differ. I think it’s the couch potato who allows their body to atrophy; the media shocked citizen who allows their mind and will to atrophy that are crazy. You can keep your stability, your safety, me I’ll take a life of chance; I want to feel alive.

Maybe I will encounter more pain in the physical form from day to day; maybe I will live with a tired body. I am confident though, that when my time comes I will look back fondly on my days, knowing that I took this body and I used every ounce of it. I will know I used it to love passionately, work powerfully, and think deeply. So give me life, and I’ll take whatever pain comes with it.

Do you feel alive?

-Nick

Hello, I’m a light at the end of a tunnel, how are you?

2009-06-23T11:06:00.000-07:00

I think we all hope for a shinning victory when we overcome obstacles in life. We often hope for life to turn on success like a light switch, but this is rarely the case. Since I started experiencing backwards fitness after upgrading to CAT 4 I’ve hoped that each upcoming race will be the glorious success I am waiting for.

This Sunday the San Pedro Grand Prix was far from a physical feat, but it was the vast improvement I needed. I also realized another issue that is a big part of why I’ve been having trouble in crits recently; a new found fear of cornering which is a result of my recent crashes. The SPGP was a simple but technical course that definitely did not play into my strengths.

I decided to take it easy and not take this crit too seriously, I ate a bigger breakfast and did not warm up on the trainer, just took it easy and cruised around Ports o’ Call and on the course while it was still open. I’m starting to think that taking these races too seriously and over thinking the warm up hurts me more than it helps.

The course was two 180 turns with a short power climb on the back side. The first turn was sandy & sketchy and bottle necked into the climb. The second turn was clean and fast, you had to dive down into it at high speeds, which I found more terrifying than I would have before my recent crashes. For a two turn course I found this to be quite a treacherous crit.

The peloton hitting the top of the climb.
As the race started I jumped out of the saddle to stay with the front of the pack. I felt better than before, and before I knew it we were going into the first turn and I was near the front of the pack. The peloton slowed and the chaos began, riders began falling off the course into the dirt. As the peloton moved out of the turn the pace was quickly increased as we went up the first climb.

As we dived into the second turn I felt good but noticed I had fallen to the back of the pack as a result of taking the turns too slow. Then it hit me, I’m blowing up in these crits because I’m too nervous in the turns and I end up wasting huge amounts of energy when coming out of the corners. Subsequently I spent most of the rest of the crit with my mind on the wrong things; crashes, and how painful the race was.

The peloton climbing out of the first turn.
I quickly found myself chasing the peloton out of the turns more and more until that familiar burn in my quads appeared. I cringed every time I heard the race announcer yell “prime on the next lap!” as I knew the pace would pick up drastically. My lungs burned and I groaned, I just wanted to hear those magical “5 laps to go!” Each lap the first turn got safer as riders found their lines, subsequently the pace increased.

As the race continued I let myself take bigger risks in the turns, but still found myself too nervous to dive into them like the rest of the riders. It all made sense I began having problems in crits after my crashes, this fear of cornering must be a bigger issue than I thought.

Diving into the second turn.
As my legs filled with lactic acid and my heart rate soared above threshold I heard the announcer yell “five laps to go!” Sadly it was too late, as we hit the climb the peloton pulled away from me. I stood out of my saddle, but alas there was nothing left in my legs, the final turn was the knife in my back. I watched the pack speed away from me down the straightaway and my race was done.

I made it one more lap until the USAC official pulled me from the race. I came to the sideline in time to watch the final sprint; I was so close yet so far away from finishing that race. I wondered if I had been more confident in the turns and not grabbed so much brake would I have finished?

It doesn’t matter though, I went far longer in this crit than any CAT 4 crit I’ve done since I upgraded. I had no computer on my bike, but I reckon I went for 35-40 minutes which is longer than a CAT 5 race. I’m feeling better physically and I realized a huge thorn in the side of my racing. I’m sure my confidence in pushing my bike in the corners will come back with time, but I’m starting to realize that I need to work for it, just like I did the first time.

I figure some victories are veiled by defeat, you just have to look a little harder and you can find accomplishments everywhere. With a handful of crits left this season I’m really hoping to make it through a couple without getting pulled. After Sunday I’m feeling a lot more confident about it happening.

Stay positive.

-Nick

Lucky & I

2009-06-18T08:53:00.000-07:00

Life is a gossamer and finite thing, or is it? I am not well versed in the ways of death; my experiences with it are few and detached. My family dog passed on Saturday; after about a week of knowing the end was near we were met with 16 hours of watching him suffer before a vet could come to our home to euthanize him.

Lucky Christmas 06'.
I knew it would be hard to see such an amazing animal with such a strong personality be put down, but I had no idea. The last hours, my Mother and I sleeping on the floor with him absolutely tore me to pieces inside. Seeing a dog that had boundless energy not have the ability to stand up or walk shook me far deeper than I could have expected.

I remember feeling an incredible sense of pain and relief simultaneously when I could see that the life had left his eyes. I was so happy to know he was done suffering but met with a feeling of emptiness. We grow so accustomed to our routines, and subsequently I think we often times take for granted the personalities that bless us in our lives.

Some might say, “It was just a dog.”, but life is life. The relationships we create are not valued by species, but by experiences. Lucky acted as a mortar to the bricks of my family, giving my Father, Mother and I a common bond of unconditional love. When we couldn’t agree, or we began to split we could always find a common joy in Lucky’s life, spirit, and humor.

So maybe life isn’t so fragile, the fight I witnessed that animal wage through the night was certainly nothing short of unrelenting and brutal. Like a dropped racer losing ground trying to chase down a peloton, his focus was intense in the face of unbelievable pain and discomfort; but it was a losing battle.

Then I began to realize life is this spark, this unbelievable force, once it has been ignited it is resilient. Sadly though, it is no perpetual motion machine, and all things must come to an end. Lucky’s end filled me with pressure, an unbelievable energy inside myself, something in between absolute pain and pure motivation to live.

I decided to ruminate over the situation Sunday on the bike, I headed out to Malibu with the intention of conquering Las Flores, annihilating my body and purging the pressure that seemed to be building inside me. I never planned on riding a century, but I packed the supplies for it.

Within two hours I found myself hunched over my handlebars blown to pieces a quarter way up Las Flores. Lungs burning, heart beating furiously and the sensation of vomit migrating up my throat. It was hot, the sound of motorcycles flying easily up the grade faded away into the background.

I couldn’t do it, I wasn’t strong enough, and usually I would feel humiliated, frustrated and angry. This time though I felt different. The feeling was more substantial, on a different level than the aforementioned raw emotions. It was a feeling of being lost, the feeling you get before you find a new path to journey on in life. I looked at the canyon below, and I screamed.

I got back on the bike, took an easier route to the top and continued on. Six and a half hours, 101 miles and 5800/ft of climbing later I realized much. I realized that all these relationships in life, they should enhance our lives, and it should be reciprocal. Sure they can become like a chore sometimes but we cannot ever lose sight of what they do for us.

View from the top of Piuma Rd. in Malibu.

For example, would I cycle 101 miles if I didn’t have a beautiful loving family to see afterwards? Would I wake up in the morning before work to do intervals if I didn’t have amazing teammates to race with on the weekends? All these trivial hobbies and jobs we become so obsessed with are just vehicles to support these incredible relationships that await us in life.

It’s not the races you win, it’s the teammates you celebrate with afterwards. It’s not the paycheck you collect; it’s the family you support with it. It’s not the car you drive, but the wonderful human that rides in it with you, or in our case the beautiful dog with his head sticking out the window.

So some of you might say that I am awfully emotional over this, and it was just a dog. Lucky may have been a dog, but he was a dog who taught me many lessons in life about love, loyalty and responsibility. He continues to teach me even after death, that is more than I can say about many people.

I will forever remember Lucky, but I will remember his undying spirit, not his untimely death. I hope that I can be strong enough in life to have the fight, and spark that animal had. The passion for my family he had till his last breath, and the selflessness in giving love. We were truly blessed.

I get asked often why I ride my bike, why I run my body to the point of exhaustion. I often never had an answer, not a serious one, but in those 101 miles I began to discover one. I ride because I can have an epic day, but more importantly because of the incredible relationships it develops, and the insight into life it brings. We must appreciate the time we have here on Earth, because tomorrow it might be gone. I love you Lucky, and I will always be grateful that fate brought you to my family.

Lucky and I.
Don’t forget to live, love and laugh.

- Nick

Ride Report: An Epic!

2009-06-11T16:48:00.000-07:00

We all get down, we all get unmotivated, and then many times we search so hard to find a way out of it, we often over think it. Sometimes we need to figure out why we started our endeavors in the first place; what made us love what we do. It’s so easy to lose site of the often times pure and innocent reasons we fall in love with hobbies, jobs, or even people. Sometimes rejuvenation is as simple as revisiting those innocent reasons, even if it means making a detour from your plans.

This Sunday was a perfect example of an epic day, after a terrible Donut Ride on Saturday I needed an epic, something to make me remember why I started cycling in the first place. I set out with two bottles of Perpetuem and a flask of Hammer Gel with no plan but to go north.

I headed towards Santa Monica at a leisurely pace making my way towards Malibu. I’m not much of a climber but with my new bike I’ve definitely been more motivated to climb. This being said I decided to hunt down some hills in the Santa Monica Mountains.

After arriving at Pepperdine University I decided to move inland via Malibu Canyon Rd. On my way in I managed to get stung by a bee on my inner thigh while descending at about 30 mph. After getting off my bike and fearing my ride was over the aching subsided and I was back on my way with surprisingly little discomfort.

Soon I stumbled upon a road I had heard much about called Piuma. I decided to climb it having no idea that it was a category 1 rated climb around 5 miles long. I felt great on the climb slowly and smoothly making my way up. Having “Allez Allez” painted on the street gave me a little bit extra motivation and soon the top awaited me.

Feeling quite accomplished I started my descent back down to PCH to head home satisfied with tired legs. Little did I know I would get myself lost in dead end roads and spend another half hour climbing up to get back to the original intersection that would eventually bring me back down to PCH. I have never thought that I’d have to call someone to pick me up, but I was starting to lose faith in my legs. In the end I suffered it out and got out of there.

My ride home was relaxed outside of a few hard pulls and I ended the ride with tired lungs on the strand seeing the sites. The ride ended up being about 72 miles in a little over 4 hours. Just my bike, myself and the open road.

This was easily one of the most satisfying rides I have been on this year. I felt good and strong, and even though it was slow, it was fun. This was just the type of ride I needed to rejuvenate my love for this sport.

Keep it epic!

-Nick

Mid Season Burnout or Slow Down Stupid!

2009-06-03T13:47:00.000-07:00

I’ve really gotten lazy with this blog, between work and training I never seem to find a moment to sit down and write, and when I do I end up falling asleep. I can’t believe how fast the season has gone by, only about 3 more months and it’s all wrapped up for 2009. Racing really makes the year fly by, I still feel like I’m ramping up for it to start. I knew this was going to be a season of learning but I had no idea how much information I would ingest.

A lot has happened since I last wrote, I upgrade to CAT IV, I’ve had 3 terrible races since then, getting dropped at each. My fitness has seemed to go backwards, many reckoned my base was not big enough and that I was getting some mid season burnout. Despite the sudden poor performance I have stayed in high spirits and learned an important lesson: sometimes you need to slow down and enjoy the ride.

Lately I have been focusing heavily on riding very easy and long on my easy days, and going hard on my hard days. This has led me to enjoy my time far more on the bike than I was earlier this season. This sport is so complex and training your body to perform is no easy task. I know I have made a lot of mistakes but that is life, and it will make me even better and prepared for next season.

I also bought a new bike! I am the proud owner of a brand new 07’ Cannondale System Six. It wasn’t on my short list of bikes to get but one test ride and I fell in love. They discontinued this bike at the end of 08’. I happened to find a Dura-Ace 07’ model in the paint scheme I wanted (which was only available in that year), and after about a month of saving she was mine.

Being on a new bike with a new attitude really feels like a fresh change, the System Six floats up the hills and screams down them confidently. I had a bit of a scare thinking I cracked the frame about an hour after I picked it up, but that’s just my obsessive, paranoid personality. To top off the new bike purchase my car broke down today, it runs but without headlights, talk about Murphy’s Law. Leave it to me to buy something amazing and not be able to enjoy it because I'm scrutinizing it's structural integrity.

I’ve recently gone back to normal hours at work while The Bonnie Hunt Show goes on hiatus till September. I’ve resumed training after work, which is a nice change but forces me to ride in Burbank/Glendale/Pasadena and has definitely reduced the duration of my riding. The positive side is that I’ve started riding the Rose Bowl ride in Pasadena, talk about a hammer fest!

At this point in the season I have 3 races planned in June, 2 in July and 1 in August. I figure depending on how I perform at the June races I might have a few more sprinkled in there. I don’t feel like I’m getting August burnout like I was warned I might get, but I’m definitely tired. It’s funny, usually I feel like I’m ready for summer to begin right around now, but at this point I feel like I’m counting down towards the end of a season, not the beginning.

This fall and winter I really plan at analyzing my game plan for next year, I have so many options. Do I focus on stage races, or do I focus on crits? I still haven’t decided if I want to do cyclocross season yet. I am still weighing what would be better training, focusing on long slow base miles or keeping my racing chops up with cross. There is always the option of the velodrome too, choices choices.

Either way, I feel fresh right now. I feel a little lost in direction, but still motivated to train and ride. I don’t have that fatigued burn out feeling creeping up on me, which I am thankful for. Sometimes I think we get so caught up in our goals we forget to have fun, so with a new bike and a new attitude I’m going to have some fun!

Stay stoked!

-Nick

Two Weeks Two Crashes, No Brain Damage

2009-05-02T10:32:00.000-07:00

I made it over a year in this sport, riding hard, riding fast and never crashed. I’ve raced every weekend almost since January but haven’t even come close to losing control. In the last two weeks though the crash gods have struck me down twice, even worse both crashes were within 10 feet of each other.

After getting over a chest cold my first day back on the bike was a slow tempo ride, not wearing gloves, I actually almost didn’t wear a helmet (idiot). As I made a 180 turn on Fiji St. in Marina Del Rey (Calif) I carried too much speed and slid out. Outside of a broken replaceable buckle on my Ergo 2’s and a rip in my new Fizik saddle my bike came out unscathed. I on the other hand had a nice gash in my hand.

After about ten days of dealing with one of the most annoying wounds I’ve ever had, mixed with lingering chest congestion and a terrible showing at the Dana Point Grand Prix which was my first CAT 4 race, I wasn’t feeling too great about my cycling. I decided to do some running and let my hand heal.

Finally this last Friday I decided to get back on the bike and see how my legs felt. As I went out I quickly began to feel very strong, my bike felt great under me and my legs felt like pistons. As my ride came near an end I found myself going on Admiralty Way turning onto Fiji, a turn I have taken a million times before. As I took the turn I thought to myself “man how funny would it be if I fell at this intersection again”. Before I knew it I could feel that familiar sensation of the bike falling out from under me.

The bike flew one way I went the other and I landed hard on my back, I remember consciously thinking, “really? again?!”. Then I felt it, my head snapped back and my helmet hit the ground hard. I stood up right away and walked to the curb with my bike, a driver asked if I was ok and I answered him a half hearted “yes”. I frantically checked my body and I seemed to be ok.

As I sat down I quickly noticed my jersey was destroyed and my helmet was cracked. I made a quick phone call to get picked up and began pacing around, nervous of the hit to my head. As soon as my buddy Adam picked me up I made a b-line to my local coffee shop to get a coffee where I toyed with the idea of going to the ER to get my head checked out. I had no symptoms and ended up going home.

Part of me is still a little paranoid about hitting my head that hard even with the helmet on but I’m taking it easy and having people keep an eye on me for symptoms. Either way I have found a new appreciation for helmets, if I hadn’t been wearing mine, I would not be writing this right now, that I know. I without a doubt will never ride a bike again without a helmet.

I learned a few important lessons in these two crashes, there’s no reason to take turns like I’m racing when I’m training, and a helmet is possibly the greatest invention ever. No matter how much cooler riding with your hair blowing in the wind like Fausto Coppi looks, it’s not worth it.

Lets take a moment to remember my beautiful LAS Squalo, R.I.P.

Keep the rubber side down ya'll!

-Nick

There’s no I in team, Nicky’s first stage race!

2009-03-28T22:40:00.000-07:00

Satisfied, but frustrated. That’s the best way to describe how I felt last Friday night when I was cruising with my team mate the always awesome Mtn Lyin’. We were doing some stage II recon for the following day of The San Dimas Stage Race.

Maybe it was that I had just showered after my not so impressive performance on stage one and felt relaxed and clean. Maybe it was the feeling that for this one weekend I could live like a pro cyclist, bump elbows with some of the best racers in the world, wake up every day just to race. Or maybe it was the satisfaction of getting to race for a singular goal with my team.

As we drove the wind blew into my hair and the events of the day ran through my head. I could hear Mtn Lyin’s voice, explaining the course to another teammate, but all I could think about was 5:06:42. That was the difference between my time and the winner’s on the stage I time trial up GMR.

I couldn’t help but wonder what that 5:06:42 reflected, what if I had trained just a little harder? What if I had spent a little longer on my local switchbacks? It’s only five minutes sitting in a car contemplating, but on the road it was so much bigger. How many hours of training would reap these five minutes that were chewing my soul? Thank god Mtn Lyin’ could make a CAT 1 racer feel better about getting beat by a 5 year old on a tricycle.

I started stage I nervous, going out too hard on the flat approaching the 3.5 miles of twisting switchbacks. So many issues running through my head. I was too cautious when spending my fuel and didn’t go hard enough till the end, resulting in a pitiful time. If there hadn’t been so much PAA support on that mountain cheering, I probably would have registered an even slower time. I have to say time trialing is as much a mental sport as it is a physical sport.

Suffering up the stage I time trial on GMR.
I sipped my coffee as we drove over the KOM of stage II, and I realized that what is done is done, and the challenge ahead of us early tomorrow morning needed 100% of my focus and concentration. As we cruised easily over the KOM in Bonelli Park I tried to enjoy the moment, as I knew tomorrow I would feel every bump, every slight change in elevation of this climb.

“What’re the numbers for?” I asked as my CAT 5 team captain wrote rider numbers on a piece of tape and placed it on my stem while I warmed up on the trainer.“These are the riders you need to be on top of this stage, you won’t remember them once the race starts, trust me.” I spun my legs on the trainer warming up for stage II, I smiled as this all got real, very fast.

On the chase during stage II
Stage II was a technical course through Bonelli Park, and had been haunting me since the first time I road it earlier this year. As the race begun I tried to stay 100% focused, remembering we had 35 miles with 5 laps over the KOM. The peloton rode slow; everyone knew that the KOM had the ability to break the back of each rider.

As we weaved our way through the course, I tried to remember the advice given to me by my teammates. I conserved energy where I could and was shocked to see how well the race was unfolding. By the start of lap 3 I was champing at the bit, itching to get out front and do some work. I saw our protected rider get out into the wind as we rode over the dam part of the stage. I attacked out front to cover him, like clockwork a stronger rider from PAA flew out and covered me. Before I knew it PAA was pulling the peloton, putting the pain on and leading into the KOM; I felt great and the race was going better than I could have hoped.

I chalk it up to youthful naiveté, I was feeling big, riding in a pace line off the front with the strongest members of my team. For some reason I subconsciously decided the best idea at this point would be to go off the front up the KOM way above my threshold only to get reeled in by the pack and dropped in the descent and left off the back at the start of the 4th lap.
I was furious at myself as I rode the last two laps solo in one of the hardest endurance efforts I’ve asked my body to shell out. When you’re off the back of the peloton you always think you’re the last rider in the race. As I finished I quickly found out there were quite a few riders behind me, it didn’t make me feel much better, nor did the lactic acid that built in my legs from the 14 miles of hammering I had just done.

The regret and embarrassment I felt was overwhelming as I discussed my race with some of the CAT 4 PAA riders. Thank god for the team, somehow no matter how bad you feel someone has the right words to make you feel better about the situation. The weekend wasn’t going as smoothly as we had hoped, our highest position in the GC was 6th and we hadn’t taken one stage yet.

As the day wound down I found myself in the same place as Friday, sipping a cup of coffee in Mtn Lyin’s SUV driving the next days course, full of regret. At least I had made the time cuts and was in the stage III crit, my favorite type of race, I felt confident for the upcoming race.

I awoke on Sunday to rain, we had been fearing a rainy crit all week so it was no overwhelming surprise. Mtn Lyin’ and I ate a quiet breakfast in the hotel dining room adjacent to a few riders from Team Ouch and other CAT 5 racers. No one said it but everyone seemed to be uneasy about this wet crit.

The rain had subsided by the time I got on the trainer at the course, everyone seemed quite exhausted but optimistic about a good stage III crit. Our CAT 5 team was hungry for a stage victory since it had become obvious we had no shot anymore at the GC. CAT IV had stayed in the GC in Stage II and looked poised to take it home.

As we lined up the field was minuscule, around 30 guys, never have I raced such a small crit. As the crit began so did the rain, before the lap was over no one could see through their glasses.

The small size of the crit proved to be a challenge, falling back through 30 riders to rest is nothing like falling back through 50 riders. Before you knew it you were off the back. In the last 4 laps of the crit the Green jersey decided to attack off the front and my tired legs couldn’t match the acceleration. It happened, my biggest fear, being dropped off a crit; this was a first for me.

Me in the middle during the stage III crit.
The last laps of the crit were much like the last laps of the road race, me spending every ounce of energy time trialing to keep up with the pack. I manage to stay close enough to the tail of the peloton to not get pulled from the race but others were not as lucky. With the rain it all seemed to blur together but I believe I only spent about 2 max 3 laps off the back.

The crit was extremely fast for a rainy crit, and the course was definitely deceptive with it’s false flats and head winds. As the final lap ended and I placed somewhere in the last 10 riders, I wasn’t as frustrated as I was before. After 3 days of racing I was completely drained, totally devoid of energy.

I found Mtn Lyin’ at the start with dual flat tires, what a shame, he had been having a great race taking brutal pulls off the front of the pack. As we arrived back at the PAA tent I had the warmest most satisfying cup of coffee in my life. We all sat, eating our food, drinking our coffee as a team, and as a group of friends. 45 minutes later we hear the news, the CAT IV team had won their crit, and secured the GC.

After a celebratory beer with the yellow jersey I drove back to the hotel and took possibly one of the most satisfying showers I can recall. I packed up my car and drove to have lunch with the team.

We were treated to lunch by our sponsors and after a great conversation with my teammates and captains it was time to head home. It was time to head back to real life, to work, and to stress. How would I wake up tomorrow and go from worrying about my standing in the GC to my work.

The experience was second to none, how many sports allow you to race the same courses and bump elbows with the best racers in the world? From sitting next to the winning pro team at dinner to watching Team Columbia’s women’s team destroy the field in stage III. There is nothing in this world like bicycle racing.

While much of the weekend was filled with regret and embarrassment for my mistakes, the drive home was filled with satisfaction. I not only finished my first stage race, I finished 29/31. Not necessarily the best finish, but I stayed in the GC with the strongest CAT 5’s in Southern California.

I learned this weekend to stop looking at the failures and find the victories in my racing. I learned that racing with a team makes this sport all the more satisfying. I learned that I am racing with the best team in Southern California, the best.

PAA CAT 5 after stage II.

Chase down them breaks!

-Nick

Give blood, do crits. RACE REPORT!

2009-02-17T21:55:00.000-08:00

It’s like crack, except legal and far more dangerous, I eff’ing love crit racing. Two crits down and I am totally addicted. Maybe I’m addicted because it’s the first racing I’ve done where I didn’t get my ass promptly handed to me by the peloton. I personally like to think that I enjoy crits because of the pure adrenaline and explosive power, but who am I kidding, I’m not that rad.

It started two Sundays ago with the Cal State Dominguez #1 crit in Carson, it was balls to the wall racing. I rode hard and started to feel that I could get into the main group during the final sprint. My plans were thwarted though when a rider ahead of me decided to take a turn too fast and had to grab a handful of brakes in the second to last turn subsequently causing me to drop to the back of the pack in the final sprint.

In the mix at the Dominguez crit. (Red bike)
Despite my poor finish at Dominguez I felt far more confident for my next crit, the Roger Millikan Memorial Crit last Sunday in Brea. The course was incredible, four 90 degree turns two going down hill. In the middle of the course you have a long shallow descent that snakes through the course. Each lap ends with a nice power climb before you make your final turn to a flat out sprint to the finish. The race only lasted 25 minutes but man they cranked.

I felt good most of the race, riding hard, but made a dumb attack up the climb early in the race and blew my legs. I ended up riding exposed and erratically far too much of the race and when the last lap came I was spent. At the start of the last lap I attempted to lead out a teammate but he missed my wheel and I lead out members from about three other teams; fantastic.

Things were going smoothly until the second to last turn of the last lap. I heard a huge crash and saw 7 riders go down on the outside right before the climb. I cranked it through the climb and sprinted as hard as I could towards the finish but before I knew it two more riders went down in front of me. I avoided the crashes and grabbed 23rd place out of about 45-50 finishers, my best finish yet. All in all with the crashes there were 9 DNF’s and at least one bike destroyed, not to mention a rider in need of some stitches.

I have to admit, the crashes really shook me up, not so much when I saw them, at that point the adrenaline was too high. The reality of the inherent danger that is bicycle racing really set in as I cooled off and drank my Recoverite after the race. Needless to say I went home, and before I could change out of my bibs I registered for two more races.

Keep it 53x11 ya’ll!

-Nick

The little CAT 5 that couldn’t. RACE REPORT!

2009-02-14T12:01:00.000-08:00

One down, nine races to go till I can get out of the awkward, squirrelly, cluster fuck that is category 5 racing. I’ve started out the 2009 racing season hitting the ground running, quickly tripping over my left foot and falling flat on my face.

Look at that smile, full of hope, and dreams of crossing the line arms stretched in the air. That was me on January 31st at the start of the first race of the season, The Poor Kids College Road Race in Santa Barbara. PCK is 33 miles of sweet torturous rollers, climbs and descents, an out and back course I’m convinced was laid out to give me nightmares for weeks after I crossed the finish line, 5 minutes after the CAT 5 B group (I was in the A group).

Starting the day at 6 a.m. in a dingy hotel things got real pretty fast. It’s one thing to spend your first 10 months riding a bike, talking about wanting to race. It’s another thing to be driving in your team kit to a road race. Sitting on the start line a million thoughts were rushing through my head, I mean mostly thoughts of massive zombie invasions, but I was definitely thinking about the race too.

As we got rolling I felt pretty good, I was even thinking “Man these guys are going kind of slow.” Then came the rollers, before I knew my legs felt a little heavy, and suddenly I decided to take a look at my heart rate. “Hmmm 184 bpm… ruh roh that’s not good…” Soon after that I found myself off the back of the peloton, with my head down, spit dripping from the corner of my mouth hammering to catch up.

I soon began to worry this race was quickly going to turn into my own personal 25 mile time trial nightmare. As the lactic acid piled up in my stringy little legs and my speed began to slow, thoughts of a DNF quickly started to work their way into my head. Then I heard “C’MON FISH LETS DO THIS” (we will get into my nick name some other time). Before I knew it I was quickly swept up by my teammate the one and only Rudy Melendez possibly one of the most forever stoked people I have met in my life.

Apparently there were some riders behind me including Rudy. We ended up working together to finish the race, never catching back up to the peloton but ending together as a small group. It wasn’t pretty, but it was my first race and I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.

Also if anyone is wondering yes I went to Isla Vista and drowned my sorrows in a massive burrito at Free Birds. I finished the day off with a cold beer while registering for the San Dimas stage race and a CBR crit.

Keep hammering.

-Nick

Cold, Wet & Dangerous - SATURDAY FUNDERSTORM!!!

2009-01-25T00:13:00.000-08:00

Three hours, 45 miles, near non stop rain and one rider hit by a car, welcome to my Saturday training ride. There's nothing like swallowing copious amounts of filthy road water being kicked up into your face by the rider in front of you while doing pace line drills. I don't think I've ever been as uncomfortable on the bike as I was today, but I can't lie there was something really romantic about suffering like that. Sixty cyclists riding two abreast in the rain, suffering together; it really made me feel like this is a team.

Plus when I feel like complaining I just think about this and shut up.

Todays ride was full of mechanicals and close calls, mostly flats, but sadly one rider under estimated the distance he needed to stop and was hit by a car when he accidentally slid through a stop sign. He is reported to be alright but his bike is totaled, and he has a broken hand I've heard. This was definitely a firm reminder that what we do is dangerous, and as invincible as we might feel in our strength, we are just men with a bicycle between our legs. Then again I don't think anyone woke up today and said to themselves, "Hmm a group of 60 guys riding at 25-35 mph in the rain, that sounds like a good idea to me!" but hey, races don't win themselves.

The training has begun and it is nothing short of brutal, I thought my body was ready from all the winter riding I did but these guys are crushing me! I have a long way to go this season and I can already tell with a week to go till my first race I need to be mentally ready for some serious ego bruising. My first race is next Saturday in Santa Barbara, the "Poor College Kids Road Race" it will be my first 'battle' of the year. At this point I am just hoping to finish with the pack, I'm just going to approach it as a really hard, really fast group ride, and try to keep the rubber side down.

Today was definitely just what I needed to get me prepared for Saturday though, we headed out to San Dimas to do laps on the road course of the "San Dimas Stage Race" and then headed back to GMR and climbed about 1/3rd of it. Tomorrow we have crit training in Glendale and then finally a rest day... where I will eat like a heffer and watch Netflix.

Speaking of eating, so far I've noticed this blog has become more of a journal of my incessant rambling rather than a useful blog someone would enjoy reading. Subsequently I have decided to try and start adding posts with some useful information in them, some ideas that crossed my mind are nutrition tips and recipes since these have become sort of a passion of mine, so stay tuned for a killer whey protein pancake recipe.

Well crit training comes early tomorrow, so I'm signing out.

Keep the rubber side down ya'll.

- Nick

Really? Honestly?

2009-01-24T01:53:00.000-08:00

It's 1:53 A.M., in about four and a half hours I have to be pulling on my bib shorts and hopping in my car to climb G.M.R., most likely in the rain. Yet instead of being soundly asleep dreaming about some sort of zombie invasion, I'm here blogging to nobody. I swear it's always before the hardest rides I do that I can never sleep, I think I got maybe two full hours of sleep before my first race.

A talented cyclist I know told me this past week that the body and the mind hate each other, they work against each other. He said the pros can make them function in harmony but us regulars are doomed to have our minds fight with our bodies like an elderly couple deciding wether to watch Matlock or Murder She Wrote. The more I consider what he said, the more it starts to make sense. Right now I believe my mind might be purposely sabotaging my body for tomorrow.

This really is ridiculous, this isn't even a race, it's just climbing punishment with the PAA guys, I think this issue might be solved by a warm glass of milk... or tequila.

-Nick

So it begins...

2009-01-21T23:04:00.000-08:00

Oh man, this can’t be good. A MacBook Pro, internet, and a vague grasp of the English language, welcome to my wacky misadventures in cycling. I present to you “Off The Back”, a young lad’s foray into the sick twisted world of competitive cycling.

You know, as a child when you pedal your BMX bike around town doing wheelies you don’t quite forecast yourself as a lycra wearing, health food eating, leg shaving, road cycling addict when you ‘grow up’. I haven’t quite figured out where it all went wrong, but while I’m here in this culture I might as well do what I do best… cause a ruckus.

I don’t think it was even two years ago that I had a mohawk, and a beer belly, and could be found on Saturday mornings nursing off hangovers, rising to the day just in time to be late for lunch. Now at twenty-four I seem to find myself awake at 7:30 A.M. on Saturdays voluntarily destroying my god given legs with the hope that they might rebuild themselves just a little bit bigger for the next abusin…ahem outing.

I’ve always felt that sometimes it’s better not to analyze your passions. The risk you take in realizing how foolish they are really is just too high. Then again, sometimes you have to throw your cautions to the wind and air your dirty laundry on the Internet for everyone to see. So please, come in make yourself at home, and remember it’s not spandex asshole, it’s lycra.

I'll see ya'll on the road.

-Nick