Last ride of the year 2007, and goodbye to a friend

Yesterday I helped out with registration for Kringle Kross (Team Zoka's last volunteering gig before we become Cucina Fresca). It was not warm. I wore the poofy jacket, and at one point I thought I was warm, so I took it off, but within 5 minutes I needed it again. However, I was constantly aware of the liability of wearing a nylon/down jacket with a blasting propane heater about 3 feet behind me. It helped keep us warm, but there was enough melted clothing evidence presented by others working the event to keep me nervous the whole time. The race was not very well attended, which isn't too surprising, but the racers appeared to be having a good time. Christine from our team took 3rd in the women's 4's, and I believe Ian (a.k.a. DiRtY, although I might have the capitalization wrong) was top 10 in the 3's, which will be my group next year. I stuck around for about half of the elite race, but I was generally cold and worn out from hanging out since 7 AM. Plus, Bree and Emy were patiently waiting for me to come home!

This morning I woke up and made waffles, and then met a buyer for the blue bike. He rode it for about 50 feet, and said, "I'll take it!" It was the easiest craigslist sale I've ever managed. Now there is a very empty space in the garage, which makes me sad. It is always difficult to let go of a bike, since I always have such a fond psychosomatic response just by looking at a bicycle. Any bicycle, really, but with my own, it's like I can remember every ride I've ever had on it, all in a rush of both exhilaration and exhaustion. Luckily I still have a road bike. This sale in no way compared to when I sold my favorite Bianchi when we lived in St Paul and needed money. At the time, it was my only ride, but having $2500 collecting dust in the garage wasn't worth it. I really better write that post about the graduate school years of bike racing, in order to fill in the blanks between mountain bike racing and the sale of the aforementioned Bianchi. Soon!

I waited a couple of hours for the sun to provide a bit more heat, and then officially ended the week-long break from riding. Thanks to Kringle Kross, I actually made it to 8 days, which must be a record "break of my own choosing". I was hoping to get in at least 40 miles today, especially to take advantage of the sunny weather and 40+ F temps. I had a lovely 43.5 mile jaunt, with a surprising lack of wind (there are hardly ever "calm" winds here in Seattle), and even got warm enough to take off my jacket.

Tomorrow is the first ride of 2008, and the beginning of training for the season. I'll do my best to make this, the fourth time I have taken up road racing, memorable!

Farewell, blue bike - I hope you enjoy your next rider and don't miss my feet, hands, and butt cheeks too much! Don't be too jealous of my new ride...

It's so hard not to ride!

So, even though I didn't have a full racing season this last year, I felt I should still take the requisite, but dreaded "time off the bike" to refresh the body and mind. Many racers make this take anywhere from two weeks to a month, but the best I can ever do is a week. Sure, I'd use my bike for commuting to work, but I also have this week off work, so it truly is no riding for me. I actually managed to do no exercise at all for three days, but it helped that we had the in-laws visiting for Christmas, and the weather has been awful. I did do something I haven't done in a while - I went for a run. I used to run regularly, and when I was a climber I ran to get some aerobic fitness, but it's been at least 6 months since I ran more than when chasing Emy on her bicycle (which these days requires a full sprint). I've been a runner enough of my life to know that the first run after a hiatus usually sucks. This time it was surprisingly different. I ran a flat 3 mile loop, mostly on gravel and dirt, and managed it in 21:36. Not a stellar 5k time, but not too bad, and my heart rate never got over 140 bpm. However, that was two days ago and my quads still hurt! It isn't awful, but I definitely used some muscles that have been getting lazy.

I'll have to keep this up, though, in order to be ready for cyclocross season next September. I may have to incorporate running into my once-a-week "rest day", or get in a lunchtime run at work. Luckily, I don't have to do anything other than maintenance of the runner in me, until maybe July, when I'll have to get in some sprints and hill-run-ups in prep for cross.

In other news, I reorganized the garage to prepare for the new bikes this season. I'll be getting a track bike, road bike, and cross bike. We already have a road bike for Bree, and a small bike for Emy, so the garage is going to be pushed to the limit. We still have to have room for the bike repair stand, workbench, and all the other "stuff that lives in the garage" - luckily Bree scored some free closet organizer parts on craigslist, and I am pleased with the results.

Along those lines, I am now selling the blue track bike that I posted about back in July 2005 (craigslist ad), in order to make room for the new bikes. I'll sell my Felt road bike too, but not until I have the new one, or I'd be bike-less! I think that would make me lose my mind.

I'm living vicariously through the guys over at EuroCross Camp. Unlikely I will ever get the chance to do what they are doing, but if there's any way I can get good enough at cross to make a trip to Europe in order to race, I will do it in a heartbeat. This morning I made Liege Waffles in order to feel more Belgian. They were awesome, probably owing to the 1/2 stick of butter per waffle! (making it even more difficult not to ride just to burn the calories).

I'll probably get in some more waffles while volunteering this weekend at Kringle Kross, which looks to be the final cross race of the season here in Seattle.

Emy and I are sad that the weather forecast keeps calling for snow, but we've had nary a flake, except for a few on Christmas that melted when they hit the ground.

Cross Tips

Next year I'm gonna race cross. I've been reading up on it like mad, and it's killing me to not being racing this season, but I have neither a cross bike, nor a mountain bike. Next year!

These cross tips are funny - and I'm really enjoying the Bike Snob NYC's blog in general.

Here's some recent cross racing in Essen for you to watch:

Cold and Wet

So, I was all geared up to go for a team ride today. I awoke at 7 AM, it was still dark, and I thought of the coincidence that our team ride was to be 100 miles, on the shortest day of the year. I struggled out of bed, experiencing some of those "new" creaky noises in my recently-turned 34 year-old body. I slowly chewed my euro breakfast of muesli + yogurt and downed a cup of tea. I usually awake with coffee, but I've learned that if I have coffee too close to the ride time, the bladder gets a bit too excited about 20 minutes past the last bathroom opportunity. I have yet to practice the PRO skill of pee-ing while riding, but I look forward to giving it a try this summer! I'll be sure to blog all about that... Anyway, the sun still wasn't up, but Emy was, and we checked the radar together. While it was not raining now, there was a giant blob of green/yellow/red moving our way, pretty much right on top of the planned route for the "Hard Man Hundie" (No, I did not coin this one). The porch thermometer said it was exactly 40 F, which is fine when dry, but bound to be pretty awful when wet. Still, I had to go through the motions. I got all kitted up, rain jacket (gotta love surrounding yourself in PVC!), booties, tights, wool socks, and warm gloves. I briefly thought about how my Pearl Izumi gloves are not very waterproof, but thought "Aw, I'm sure they will be dry enough!" Gave Bree and Emy a smooch, and headed down to the garage. Bree's last words were "Wow, it is really raining. Good luck!" Yes, it was raining, but I wasn't cold. I got about 7 miles north on the Sammamish River Trail and started to get cold. Both my feet and hands were soaked. As I reached the meet up area for the ride, I lowered my head and tried to stealthily and guiltily spin by, hoping that none of the people who saw my earlier email about how I was "definitely going to be there, but only do a metric 100 (100 km)". I vowed to at least ride a total of 25 miles, so I continued on the trail. I was passing quite a surprising number of runners, but I think I only saw three cyclists on the 12 miles before I turned around. I made it back to Woodinville, where there is a very nice bathroom, and used the hand drying blowers several times to attempt to dry my gloves a bit and get my fingers through the burning/tingling cycle. I felt quite bad for my teammates, who were no doubt out suffering as much as I was - but with the camraderie, I'm guessing they at least felt a little bit warmer. I called Bree to tell her I was just warming myself, and no, she didn't need to pick me up (it's only another 20 minutes). When I stepped out of the bathroom to the outdoors, my body immediately reacted by shivering uncontrollably. I realized I was borderline hypothermic, but thanks to my stubborn streak, and perhaps the last vestiges of Minnesota winter adaptation, I got on the bike and sprinted the first 3 minutes. After that I was fine all the way home - it helped that I couldn't feel my hands. Thankfully it is level the whole way back, so I didn't have to will my useless fingers to shift. When I got home, I took the necessary hot shower, and snuggled with Emy on the couch, with a perfect cup of Victor's coffee, courtesy of Bree, superMom/Wife.

Later, I read that the team shortened the ride to a metric century. Kudos to them. I'll ride again tomorrow :-)

Bicycle Racing - The Undergraduate Years

OK, I realized this one was going to be "the collegiate years", but that implied I raced for the U of MN's cycling team, which I did not (I think it started up while I was a grad student). I think it also would have been too long, since I raced while an undergraduate, and as a graduate student, and the two periods were distinctly different.

The Undergraduate Years
The most distinguishing characteristic of my undergraduate years was a total conversion to mountain biking. I sold the Centurion road bike to Ryan Kuehl, the younger brother of a high school friend, Nathan Kuehl (who now lives about 5 hours away and is still racing road). I had quit North Country in favor of working for my dad (general contracting) and mom (systems administration) since the pay was better and the hours were more flexible. I enrolled at the University of Minnesota and eventually became friends with Nate Marks, who was in to mountain bikes. He had a buddy with a red Gary Fisher mountain bike that needed a new owner, so I cobbled together $400 and bought it. Thus began my introduction to riding off-road. Nate took me on trips to the local loops at Lebanon Hills Regional Park in Eagan, MN, along the Mississippi River Road in Minneapolis, and various other parks and hidden places. My first ride at Lebanon Hills began a yearly trend that lasted for several years. It was springtime, and the snow had just melted. We made a trip to Lebanon Hills, which, not surprisingly, is full of short steep hills. The total loop is short, so you do it many times, and if you're obsessive like me, you time each lap to see how they compare to the others. On the loop, there's a section of three hills in rapid succession, and at the top of the third hill, which I hammered as hard as I could, I threw up all over the trail (I was still rolling over the hill when I lost control of my digestive tract). I stopped and sat there, panting, and drinking water. Eventually, I felt better and continued riding the loop. I did four more laps, each one within 15 seconds of the previous lap. Aside from throwing up, it was the most fun I'd had in a long time (in a sport). I vowed to do this every weekend.

The next weekend, Nate and I went to Lebanon Hills again, and we noticed that near the end of the loop, where there is a long downhill right turn, someone had built a jump. We rode back up the hill, and gave it a shot. Nate was far more of a trick rider than I, and he made the jump look easy. I hammered down the hill, pointed the front wheel strait at the middle of the jump, and launched. I felt like I was in the air forever, and when I landed, I even managed to control the right turn and not crash into the trees just off the trail. However, my bike felt "wrong" - I was bouncing up and down, like I had suspension in the rear (which I did not) and when I looked down, I saw that I had cracked the seat tube right at the bottom bracket, along with one seat stay. The only thing holding me together was the head tube welds, and I was slowly going up and down like a see-saw. I rode the bike to the parking lot, and Nate and I pondered what to do. Then, it hit us - there was a lifetime warranty on the frame! We had to think of a bike shop that carried Gary Fisher, and drove straight there. The guys at Freewheel Bike in Minneapolis were totally cool, and only asked me if I'd been in a race. I said no, so they said they could get it replaced no problem. One week later, I had a new, much nicer and newer model frame (I went from steel to aluminum), and with a few replacement parts, I had a significantly sweeter ride.

Racing
It was inevitable that I would try racing on my mountain bike. I'd become friends with another bike lover, Tyler Bennett, who bought a GT mountain bike after I nudged him that we should go riding. We rode the same areas as I had with Nate, and Tyler was the one who suggested we give racing a try. It was November, and there was a race on Thanksgiving weekend at a local park, so we vowed to show up as long as it wasn't snowing.

You can see that in 1996, in November, in Minnesota, the field size was tiny. I think there were a total of 12 riders in the Mens Beginner's division. I'm the second from the left, in the grey t-shirt, and Tyler is the tall one in pink (I mean, mauve) next to me. Everybody was freezing, since it was super cold. Yes, I forgot to remove the saddle bag.



The race was a short loop that involved a stream crossing, a steep hill, and some singletrack woods. You can see in the picture on the right that
the hill was a run-up, which I guess makes this my first cyclocross race too. That hill was long, steep, and slippery. The downhill was fun, although the weeds were pretty thick and had a tendency to grab your feet as you went through. I lost sight of Tyler early on - he generally would get way out in front of me, and if there were enough hills on the course, I would slowly grind my way back. I was still really a road rider, with no technical mountain bike skills, but Tyler had a knack for the singletrack. In this race, I never caught him owing to me making the wrong choice at the stream crossing. We had the option of a off-camber traversing cross of the frozen stream, or a steep down and up through the gulch. I chose the up/down every lap except the last one, and was pretty unhappy, since the off-camber was much faster, and required no dismount (or soaking wet, frozen foot). Somewhere around the middle of the race, the field was so strung out that you rarely saw anyone. Still, I had a ton of fun. Tyler won a prize, and I wasn't last.

We did a number of other races at Buck Hill, which had a weekly series, and a couple of other courses in the area. Neither of us had any podium finishes, but we consistently started placing near the top ten.

However, in addition to mountain biking, Tyler and I were getting into Rock Climbing, which was more interesting to Bree (girlfriend at the time, now wife). Within a short amount of time, I was doing much more climbing than riding. Turns out that these two sports will be trading off time from then (1997) until this day. I look back on my mountain bike racing years as a great time, combining my love of the outdoors with my love of pedaling two wheeled machines. But, I wouldn't trade the climbing years for riding years either - both have a strong hold on my heart.

Next up will be the revival of the roadie in me - beginning in 1998...

iPod or Zune?

Can you make a choice, if you care about the Environment?
I was all set to get (OK, ask for) a 4GB iPod Nano, but I dared to Google "environmental impact iPod Zune". Ignoring the war of words going on between Greenpeace and Apple, it is still true that neither company has a satisfactory record on avoiding the use of toxic plastics, mercury, etc in the devices. In the case of Apple, they have announced they will clean up by 2008, while Microsoft is all the way out to 2011. You could argue that by getting one of these devices I will significantly reduce my environmental impact if I buy music through their online stores - avoiding the need for jewel cases, plastic wrap, ... Maybe I should just wait for 2008 and see what Apple does. At least they have a recycling program in place already.

Bike Fit and Lego Fun

A Day Off, and fun with childhood toys
Today I took the day off to get a bike fit from Erik Moen, which included new custom insoles and a slight tweak to my right cleat. I'm a bit hypersensitive to my bike fit, and have been fiddling for what is going on seven years now since I last felt "perfect" on a bike. After the fit, I went for a 25 mile jaunt on the Burke-Gilman and so far, so good. It was a nice excuse for a day off from work at the evil empire.

I'll get to the promised next chapter in my bicycle racing history (The College Years) soon, but I've been preoccupied lately since Emy has rekindled my love for playing with Lego blocks. She and I flew to Iowa to visit my mom and the rest of the Beecher clan for Thanksgiving, and while there we played with Legos and my dad's (and now mine) slot car racing set. Amazingly, the cars and track still work quit well, even after over 40 years!

(Grandma Jane and Emy drive fast!)

Emy really loved it, but I swear I will not become a NASCAR dad. I don't even like car racing! Also while in Waterloo, Iowa, we sought and scored two good coffee shops for my mother to frequent. She's starving for good coffee since moving down from the Twin Cities, Minnesota. If you're ever in Waterloo/Cedar Falls, and need a good cup, I recommend Vibe Coffee Shop on the University of N. Iowa campus:



And, Cottonwood Canyon, which is run by a Jamaican/St Paul, MN native, who has ties learning the trade in Madison, Wisconsin from Victor of Victor's Celtic Coffee in Redmond, WA. Small world!


Anyway, when we got back home Emy immediately wanted to dig out the Lego collection (they all used to be mine, plus a few recent craigslist and thrift store supplementary purchases).


We've been playing with them each night, well past bedtime. Today I made a coffee shop/pizza bar:


I'm pretty proud of it.

Bicycle Racing - The Junior Years

Let's pretend I just started this blog
Never mind that I have had this blog for quite a while - the complete lack of posts for over a year is a clean slate, in my mind. I won't erase the old posts, since I wrote em, and I felt em, but I'm making a fresh start. Odds are, you're going to have to put up with a bunch of posts about bike racing. I've found it again. Seems worth recapping my sordid past in this sport (long post).

First up - my junior years...
June 1986: during the presidential physical fitness test during the school year, I failed to complete a pullup, and also walked the last half of the half-mile. I weighed 152 lbs., which is exactly what I weigh right now, but I was 5' 2" tall, versus 5'11" today. I was a tub (as are many boys at age 12-13, but still)! Perhaps this is why my mother was willing to pony up $100 to buy a Huffy road bike (27" wheels, black and white, I think it was a Huffy "926") from one of my friends who was not so gravitationally endowed, and wanted money for basketball camp. This was a lot of money for my mother to spend out of the blue - she was a single mother, running a graphic design business out of the home. Thank you Mom! I promptly rode the bike the 4 miles to my friend Allen's house. I thought I was going to have to quit on the only small hill, after 2 miles of the trip (I didn't know I could shift gears). I made it there, and drank like a gallon of water. Man, did my ass hurt in my bermuda shorts. Allen, on the other hand, was thin, and rode his bike often with his parents, who were into touring. He had a snazzy Rayleigh technium bike made out of aluminum alloy. It was much lighter, and simply functioned a lot better than my bike, but who cares? The next day, he took me on one of his favorite rides, a 12 mile trip to Stillwater, MN for breakfast - 99 cent all you could eat french toast, if you got there by 8 AM on Sunday. We left at 7 AM, and if not for Allen's constant encouragement, and letting me draft, we never would have made it that day. Thus began a regular ride, all summer long. The freedom of riding the bike was so intoxicating, that we rode almost every day. By the end of the summer, we could leave at 7:20 and still just barely make it. We practiced rotating, just like we saw the pros do in the Tour, which we watched religiously on ABC's Wide World of Sports. Phil Liggett had hair, and Greg Lemond was our great hope, but the Tour was all about the rivalry between Hinault and Lemond. That Tour is ingrained on my memory forever, as is 1989 - but that's another story.

September 1988: Meanwhile, Mom noticed my enthusiasm for riding, and was presumably quite pleased with her now healthy and happy son. That Christmas, I received exactly the same bike as Allen rode, a blue Rayleigh technium! I had to swap out the handlebar tape in order to prevent confusion between the two bikes! I went with the fashionable neon green cork ribbon. I didn't ride much that Fall, but I joined the cross-country running team, as did Allen, and while we didn't completely suck, it was clear that my riding legs didn't exactly translate into running legs. I improved from a 30:01 5k to a 23:29 5k that season. I also joined the XC skiing team, and learned to skate ski. By the end of that season, I was the best boy on the JV team, which isn't saying much since I think we had a total of 8 boys and 4 girls, but I was starting to discover that maybe I had some ability when it comes to endurance sports.

June 1989: I was 15, and able to get a part-time job. At Tartan High School, I met Mike Plante, who was racing as a junior, and had a job at North Country Bike & Ski, about 5 miles from my house. He also had a friend who could drive, and they took me to "the shop" in Saint Paul, Grand Performance. I have had a seriously loyal relationship with this shop, but I didn't know it would happen then... What was awesome about this shop was the consignment bikes. I was entralled with the array of racing steeds, hanging all over the shop, with prices that seemed in reach. I vowed to buy one of these bikes and replace my Rayleigh, which while infinitely better than the Huffy, was not a "racing bike".

I applied to work as a mechanic/salesperson at the aforementioned North Country Bike & Ski, at the suggestion of Mike. They told me to come back the next day. I came in and hung out. They told me to come in the next day. This went on for about a week. Finally, Joe, one of the managers, took me to the back of the shop, pointed at a big cardboard box, and said, "assemble that bike in less than 30 minutes. If I can ride it, and everything works, you can have a job." He then sat on the counter, and started a stop watch. I had never been the back of a bike shop. There were strange and wicked looking tools everywhere. I'd never seen a bike stand. And, upon opening the box, I was sure I would fail. It was a Trek 820 - Mountain Bike! I'd never touched a mountain bike. In fact, I think the only ones I had seen were during the previous week loitering around the shop. But, I pulled out the partially assembled contraption, and noticed that the bike stand had a clamp that looked like it might hold on to the top tube. I put it in and clamped it down. Joe said, "Interesting." I tried not to notice. It must have been obvious I had no idea what I was doing. But, I gave it my all. I somehow figured out cantilever brakes, adjusting the pads so they didn't squeak. I adjusted the derailleurs, which were "indexed" - I had heard of this, but having only used friction shifting, I struggled a bit until I discovered the cable tension barrel adjuster. Anyway, I got the thing together, minus air in the tires, right when Joe called, "Time's up." He allowed me to fill the tires, using the compressor. I am sure I pumped them up to something like 50 psi, and was only lucky that I bumped the valve with my foot - otherwise the tube would have blown not long after. Joe took the bike out the back and disappeared. He came back, about 5 minutes later, riding a wheelie through the front door. When he got back to me, where my jaw was on the floor, he said calmly, "OK. you're hired. Come back tomorrow - you'll work 10 - 2, 3 days a week, and 10-5 on Sundays."

I was in!

I saved everything I earned. I think my Mom still has my first paycheck for about $120 dollars. Once I made it to $500, I asked my mom to drive me to Grand Performance. I was going to get a racing bike! When we got there, the shop manager Dan (who is now the owner), measured me up and announced that I needed a 54 cm frame. There were three to choose from, but only one in my price range. I bought a green and white Centurion "Ironman Dave Scott" (I had no idea who that was at the time) with Shimano 600 (Ultegra nowadays) and Look clipless pedals. I bought some Lake shoes, and since you got a discount on the bike if you joined the shop's racing team, I joined the team and got a jersey. My wife can still fit this jersey, and even wore it to her first race - again, that's another story...

On this bike, I was a menace. I trained like a fiend. I once rode 62 miles, by myself, with one water bottle and a snickers bar, in just over three hours (I would be extermely happy with this performance, even today). I still rode with Allen, but soon started leaving him in the dust (hey, we were teenage boys, best friends, but we still competed for everything). Our rides to Stillwater became crazy hill-fests, where we would do repeats of the infamous Myrtle Hill, after eating the french toast (which sometimes wanted to come up each time we reached the summit).

September, 1989: I entered a crit race in Minneapolis racing with the Juniors, and had one teammate - the previously mentioned Mike Plante. Two laps into the crit, it started sleeting on us. I laughed maniacally, and attacked the field. I nearly lapped them after being off the front for about 10 laps, and was feeling awesome, but then I got a horrible cramp in my right hamstring. I tried to pedal with only the left leg, but it was agonizing. The field caught me, and passed me. I dropped out right after they lapped me. Two laps later, Mike sprinted for 4th place. Mom took me home.

June 1990 - I entered the Iowa race weekend - it began with a street sprint. It was a one block sprint, in heats. The top two advanced to participate in the criterium later that day, followed by a road race the next day. We didn't have enough time for the whole weekend, so I was hoping to place well enough to get in the crit. I asked an adult rider on my team what gearing to use, but he rudely replied, "You figure it out." He must have thought I was in his category, which is ridiculous, since I was a junior, but maybe he couldn't tell with the helmet and sunglasses on. So I started in the big ring (52, which for all I know may have been illegal for juniors at the time) and the 14 in back. The gun went off, and the other 4 riders flew away from me. I was so overgeared, but somehow I managed to pass all but the first two by the end of the block. End of my race weekend.

However, that spring, I had met another Junior rider, Chris, whose mother became friends with my own. He and I rode together often, and he asked me if I thought I could go to a junior cycling camp in Wisconsin, run by the 7-Eleven team. I asked my mom, and she said it was way too expensive ($700 for the week, plus she'd have to drive me to Madison and pick me up a week later). I asked if I could do it, if I paid for it. She agreed, especially when Chris's mom offered to drive us there, if my Mom would pick us up a the end of the camp.

Chris and I were so excited. The camp was going to be staffed by members of the 7-Eleven team! When we arrived, we were greeted by Tom Schuler, Chris Carmichael, and a woman whose name escapes me (sorry!). The camp consisted of a ride each morning and skills clinic in the afternoon. The first day we had to do a time trial to seed us into four groups. We started alphabetically, and right when we got to the S's, the weather changed dramatically from calm and sunny to windy with thunderstorms. They started us 30 seconds apart, instead of a minute for the earlier riders, and even though I rode my heart out, the cross wind was terrible. I was sad to learn that afternoon that I was in the 3rd group, while Chris (whose last name started with G) made the second group. The 1st group was composed of much older boys, and as far as I recall, there were no girls. That evening I beat a kid in the 2nd group in a chess game that was apparently the highlight of the day - the kid I played was a complete jerk, but since he was a solid rider, people wanted to see him "put in his place" in some way other than on the bike. I still remember the cheer when I checkmated him.

Next morning we had breakfast, cafeteria style. We were told that since the Superweek series of races was going on (now called the International Cycling Classic, which is good, since "Superweek" was actually two weeks long), we could include one of the races in our camp. I didn't have enough money to enter a race, and was totally intimidated by the field sizes. The juniors field appeared to be over 50 riders, and was insanely fast. I don't remember a lot of the camp, except for three incidents. First, we did go to cheer for a couple of our camp-mates in the races. We screamed our lungs out for Neil, who attempted a solo breakaway on the first lap of a crit (Sheyboygan?) and stayed away until the bell lap. But, he scored a bunch of primes. And then there was Ian, who was 18. This guy was in the final 10 riders sprinting for the line, when the two guys in front of him touch wheels and go down. Ian has nothing to do but crash, right? No way - Ian bunny hopped both a bike and the rider laying under it, and won the race. Standing right next to me, screaming a the top of her lungs, was sixteen year old phenom Dede Demet (now Dede Barry, retired awesome racer). We all had an immense crush on her, and Neil even had the guts to ask her out that day - she declined. The final incindent that sticks out in my mind was the last training ride, which included some crazy hill repeats up to a water tower. What was amazing about this day was that I stuck on Tom Schuler's wheel for every repeat, and managed to beat him in the sprint for the top on the last repeat. He told me something along the lines of "you sure can climb hills for a midwesterner!"

September 1990: With no guidance for racing, and an increasing interest in females taking serious hold, I stopped racing. I continued to ride a lot, but did not enter any more bicycle races until I was an undergraduate at the University of Minnesota.

Time to end this post - the next chapter will be "The College Years"...

Mom, if you're reading this - do we still have any pictures of me racing as a junior? (She just found the price tag from the Centurion the other day, which brought back some serious memories)