Leland - FTW!

The short version
-----------------------
I got out of bed.

He had a 12 tooth, I had an 11. I could spin faster.

In the final tailwind kilometer I rode one of the strongest riders in Chicago off my wheel for the win.

The long and involved version - read at your own risk
-------------------------------------------------------
I got out of bed...

Ok, backtrack a bit...

Leland Kermesse. In the same way that Paris Roubaix represents the gritty, blue collar-hardscrabble attitude of the North of France so does Leland represent Illinois - Pancake flat and featureless prairie, bowl-you-over windy, crappy dirt-with-aggregate roads. Toss in April weather, showers for two days previous, temp 40F and falling, and you’ve got a race just as hard in its own right as Paris-Roubaix, but different. This is becoming a classic

This race is Illinois. This race is not for namby-pambys. That's a contradiction.

Most of you will know Kevin's favorite Phil&Paul quote "and Sean Kelly wins bike races in weather you wouldn't send your dog out in!". Step that down five categories and about 200 watts, keep the weather, stick the finish to 1984 Paris-Roubaix on YouTube and enjoy the vicarious ride.

It began with the usual abysmal preparation. Decided to unmount my cross tubulars on Thursday night and glue up a pair of 25mm Vittoria tubies, never having ridden tubulars before. With the weather on Friday night I didn't get a chance to ride them. Also stuck on an 11-23 cassette to replace the 12-26. So no openers, no practice riding on a completely new tire system, derailleur not adjusted to new wheel and cassette. Bad idea.

Top that with not getting to sleep till 2 am, getting up at 6 in dog-awful weather, the usual late start, getting to the race just before registration ends and rolling up to the line with no warm up, a wild guess at tire pressure and having forgotten my booties - the omens were not good. But I got out of bed.. Many didn't.

Sometimes you're the hammer, sometimes you're the nail and sometimes you're the creaky floorboard that can't be fixed.

It's not a strong field. Plenty of solid riders but no stars. Bar Mike from Half Acre. Everyone knows that he's got a threshold about 20% higher than anyone else here. He lapped me at our last cross race. When he rolls up there's an amount of nudging and whispers of "that's the guy". We're racing for second today.

"Race in such a way as to win the prize” .. that's what I intend to do and what I always try to do.

45 starters get their instructions and off we go. Neutral rollout for a mile and then straight into a 20 mph headwind. The race strings out, riders are able to move up and back a bit. Nothing much happens. Good for me, I'm getting my warmup in.

The big guys go to the front. Mike is huge and muscular, there's the guy from Lamb Little, over 200 lbs, and a new guy from WDT, bigger than any racer I've ever seen, bigger than Magnus Backstedt even. A good choice of wheels to draft, at least.

Five miles in we turn into a crosswind, then a tailwind and the race ramps up. Two TT guys take off, get a small gap. Pace hots up, gaps are forming, riders get shelled and a lead group of 14 hit the first 3 mile gravel section into a brutal crosswind, me at the back.

The gravel has turned into soupy mud, no well-defined lines except for don’t ride near the verges or in the middle. The parts where the car tires roll is somewhat more defined, but not much. I’m slipping and fishtailing all over the place and not making much progress. But others are suffering more. It’s a matter of avoiding them, keeping the power down and jumping from left side to right side so as not to lose momentum. After a mile of this I find myself in about 5th wheel. There are two guys well off the front and two more vainly chasing, spaced out about 100 yards apart.

The road turns into a screaming headwind and the ground is slightly more firm. I jump past the first guy and punch it for a minute to hug the wheel of the next. It’s Magnus, all 250 lbs of him, someone turned off the wind. This is comfy. I peer around his massive torso into the wind and see that the gap to the two leaders has increased. Nothing for it but to bite the bullet. I jump into the wind, fishtail on some mush, lose speed and find myself in the draft again. Breathe deep, concentrate, and jump around. This time I find a firmer footing, and get by him. We’re side by side for a bit, I shift down one sprocket and pound the pedals. It takes me a mile and an all out max effort for 3 minutes but I close the gap to the front two and make the bridge just before we turn again into the crosswind and the last mile of this gravel section.

And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, was the race. I knew it, the pace car knew it, the other two in the break knew it and the guys chasing knew it. Two riders in the wind will find it difficult to maintain a gap. Three riders working well together, in a crosswind with a disjointed chase group, will not be caught. Seven miles in and fifty-three to go. Bridge completed. The podium has been decided.

The rest of the lap is a tailwind mile of road, crosswind mile of gravel, another mile of tailwind road and a third crosswind gravel mile before we start the lap again for the headwind death march.

Coming into gravel 2 I’ve had enough of a breather to start taking pulls. You couldn’t ask for two better breakmates. Mike is there driving the pace, of course, on his steel Courage with standard tires. Mike is ploughing and powering, I'm pounding and finessing. Matt from Verdigris is on a Ti moots, ultra expensive EDGE hoops and 32mm cross tubulars. He’s floating over the rough stuff but having difficulty on the tarmac. We quickly agree that he should take his pulls on the gravel and try to sit in a bit more on the road. We rotate smoothly and figure out a good formula. Punch it on the gravel and spin fast on the road. We cooperate well and midway through lap 2 all chasers are out of sight. At this stage Matt wants to drop off, his quads are cramping. We’re having none of it. Tell him to do what he can and not worry. He still wants to drop off. The holy name of Conant is invoked. That seems to work. What he doesn’t know is that we other two are also hurting and we need him for shelter. No way do we want to face five miles of headwind as just two riders. Hurts too much.

I notice that I’m riding gravel 3 a bit better than the others. It’s slightly uphill and a bit more firm. Seems to suit my tires and weight better than the others. This would be a good place to make a move. I’m gapping the others slightly in the tailwind sections as well. The tubular ride is superlative, I can never go back to clinchers after this.

Gravel riding - to each his own style: Mike's a Kayak. ploughing through the waves of mud and gravel. Telling all obstacles to get out of his way. Cutting through the mush to the more firm ground beneath. Matt's a catamaran. With his 32 mm cx tubies he's floating. I'm a canoe, doing my best to keep my weight back and keeping power constant, but having to finesse my way around and over the rougher and mushier spots, occasionally losing power and traction as I do.

Textbook:
Lap 1: Get in break
Lap 2: Establish
Lap 3: Maintain
Lap 4: Gloves off

And so it goes. Rotating well, riding smoothly and smartly. Nobody shirking pulls, nobody trying to outpull the other. Both riders are taller than me and give good drafts. No Dan Hills here. The temperature is still a reasonable 40F, we’re all overheating. The wind increases by 10 mph or so, which serves to dry out the worst parts, making the gravel much more rideable and further driving the nails in the coffin of any pursuers.

We hit lap 4. The temperature starts to plummet, wind increases some more, and sleet makes a furtive appearance. It’s understood that we’ll work together for the first half; when we exit gravel 1, with 7 miles of tailwind to home then all bets are off.

My glasses were so covered with gunk that I’ve had to throw them to a marshal on lap 2. From then on, I’m getting immense amounts of muck in my eyes, stinging like hell and dissolving into a brown paste. I’m seeing everything in sepia tones. The wind is freezing and drying my eyeballs. I can’t produce any tears to flush the gunk. The last two laps are an unfocused, brownish, painful blur. Very unpleasant.

We finish with gravel 1. From lap 2 my chain sounds like it’s going to give up the ghost anytime, with all the gunk piled on it. I ride through every puddle I can in order to splash as much water on the drivetrain as possible. I’ve also been practising working the full range of gears, just to make sure everything’s working. It’s not. 13 tooth or smaller are random to drop into. I ride the full race in the big ring, scared that if I ever drop it into the small chainring it may get stuck there. Lots of cross chaining involved. So be it.

Race so as to win the race. I can sit and wait for Mike to drop the hammer and watch him motor away, or I can do something about it. It’s early in the season. I’ve got lots of long rides in my legs already. My endurance is great. What about Mike’s? Him cramping up is probably my best chance. Time to mess with the tempo.

Finish of Gravel 1. Tailwind. I turn it on. No jump, just get low and spin. I build up a 50 yard gap into gravel 2. But Mike catches me quickly. We’ve dropped Matt though. No worries, he’s a lock for third place. He’s happy.

Recuperate a bit and jump for real this time. Get a small gap, but once you try to go above a certain speed it just gets extremely hard to go any faster. Mike closes with ease.

Shot my bolt and Mike has countered easily. Last road section before final gravel and we declare a truce. Empty our bottles, take a few breaths, do a Barack-Michelle terrorist fist bump. Nearly home.

Mike is probably the best-known crosser in Chicago. As much for his unmistakeable pain face as his cross prowess. The first sight of his pain face indicates the start of cross season. Known universally as "The Hemme" it's a combination of hanging jutted jaw, with a plastically molded doleful jowls and wild panicky eyes. It tends to creep in about lap 2 of a race. Once seen, never forgotten. A curious mixture of hang-dog and wild-horse, It's an expression for which the word lugubrious could have been invented.

I study Mike's face as we ride. No signs of "The Hemme". This is bad news! I’m getting depressed. It’s terrible riding next to someone who you know is just about to turn on the afterburners and leave you in their dust.

But it never came. Dunno why. Mike gets a big gap into gravel 3. I dig deep and grab his wheel after a tough minute. I intended to attack here but we’re going so fast that the extra effort is just too much. We ride side by side on the last section. I’m not going to show him any weakness. I start contemplating my last attack when the end of the gravel comes sooner than I expected. We make the turn for home.

Uh,oh! This is the finish. I haven’t tested my gears. Don’t know what to do. Think fast!

Mighty tailwind. Better drop it down a sprocket. She drops into the 13T. Do I just follow Mike’s wheel and hope he runs out of gas? Maybe he’ll be kidnapped by aliens? I drop behind Mike. We’re going a bit too slow for my liking. Better up the pace. That way he won’t be able to get the jump on me and I can grab his wheel when he blows by. One thing I’ve learned is, at the end of a hard race, don’t be shy about leading it out. You control the tempo to suit yourself. The others are probably hurting more than you anyway.

I take the lead, hug the white line to give minimum drafting advantage and up the speed. After a bit of jostling she drops into the 12 tooth. Up the speed some more. Now the vital part. Drop her down one more sprocket. Nothing doing. I jump on the pedals. Hop the bike slightly. Release the pressure. Click! Into the 11 tooth! Way-hey! Up the speed some more. Race to win the race - I’m not racing for second. I jump. Get a ten-meter gap. Put the head down and spin as fast as I can. Waiting for him to come by.

“He’s gonna blow by me! He’s gonna blow by me! He’s gonna blow by me!” Look around. I’ve got a gap of fifty meters. “He’s not going to blow by me! What’s going on? OK, where’s the finish line?” It hadn’t been marked when we started. I can see the Leland water tower in the distance so it must be somewhere before that. I don’t know if I can keep this up. Through the gloom and the brown haze I can see the unmistakable silhouette of Chief Ref Dave Fowkes’ shoulders and crewcut. I’ll guess that’s the finish. 300 meters or so to go. Look behind again. The gap is still the same. “Wholly Carp! I’m gonna win this thing!” Just put the head down and keep spinning. The gap increases....

Winning a masters 4/5 race is nothing to crow about. It officially makes you the king of the dipsticks. Today I will be King Dipstick; for the first time. No hooting and hollering, no chest-beating or fancy post-up as I cross the line. Just enough time to sit up and coast, acknowledging my audience of one by raising my hand, index finger erect to indicate my placing.

Relief. I expected it to be harder. Three seasons. No upgrade points. Best previous placing: eighth. Race to win the race.

5th hardest part of the race: Getting out of bed
4th hardest part: Making the bridge up to the lead two riders on the first gravel section. The only 'Vollgas' section of the race. Three minutes of pain followed by 3 hours of hard tempo. Solo chasers had it far worse.
3rd hardest part: Dealing with Belgian toothpaste in the eyes. Despite rinsing copiously I was seeing everything through a brown dirt fog for several hours afterwards. That hurt.
2nd hardest part: Getting the chain to drop into the 11 tooth for the finish.
1st hardest part: Trying to pee afterwards.

Amazing the effect that stress and adrenaline can have on the body. I crossed the finish ready for another lap and full of vigour. The next day I went out for an easy endurance ride and bonked within an hour. I got dropped on every ride that week. Recovery-schmovery, I guess I had dug deeper than I thought.

Remember the Phil&Paul quote? Here’s the corollary - "whenever a rider DNFs Sean Kelly cries"

I'd like to think that Sean is sitting in a smoky Belgian cafe right now, preparing to commentate on Liege-Bastogne-Liege. It’s pouring cats and dogs outside. He’s drinking a glass of Jupiler and he’s smiling.

The lad did good.

It was kinda like this, only muddier, with no spectators

Leland Kermesse Aftermath

Ghost Bike


Ghost Rider

Envelope


Twitter Feed

-Leading masters 4 5. Long line in the gutter. 1 mile in

-Break of 3 and 2 bridging. Masters 4 5. #Lelandkermesse

-Trio of leaders have good formula. Kill it first 2 gravel sections. Then settle in and cooperate Fireworks next lap #Lelandkermesse

-Our 3 leaders now taking on Km 75 thru 100. Lots of brave souls riding alone. #Lelandkermesse

-Windy and down to 40 F. At the #Lelandkermesse Riders are going hard and slow.

-Our 3 masters are shaking hands taking fluid fixing shoes. Ready to hit their 10 th gravel section du jour #Lelandkermesse

-2 masters still cooperating. 1/2 lap remain #Lelandkermesse

-Here we go. Masters 4 5. Gloves are off on gravel 2. #Lelandkermesse

-Hemme and proctor rider have dropped the Verdi Gris.

-They fist pump before the last gravel. And. It's on. Hemme all over his bike with 3 Jm to go #Lelandkermesse

-@chenzy007 The proctor rider wins the drag race. Mast 45. #Lelandkermesse

Edited from http://twitter.com/#search?q=%23lelandkermesse by Matt of Bike Heaven.

The Knowledge: Part 2

A multi-step program to winning races

Step 1: Get out of bed.

A lot of people fail at step 1.

Step 2: Finish your race.

Everytime a rider DNFs it makes Sean Kelly cry.


Works for me.

Huh?

I told them I don't deserve it, neither did I ask for it. But the results got corrected and this arrived in the mail last week.

Sometimes just turning up is half the battle. Sometimes turning up and finishing is it all.

The Knowledge: Part 1

I've seen a lot of this on the Internet.

Inverse proof by self-coprologisation:

A: "I claim such and such a thing."
B: "I don't agree, but I'm a piece of crap!"
C: "It's self-evident that you are not a piece of crap, therefore A is wrong and A must be a piece of crap."
B: "Thank you, C!"(with coprophagic grin).

Now you know how to win an argument on the 'net; and simultaneously call the other party a piece of crap without calling him a piece of crap.

Breathing Underwater in Steamboat

Greetings from Steamboat Springs. A large and expensive ski town lying at nearly 7000 ft in NW Colorado.

Steamboat Springs Stage Race (www.bikesteamboat.com)

Drinking gallons of water and peeing like a racehorse every hour on the hour to avoid the threat of dehydration.

Short version:

Day 1: TT. Ran out of Oxygen after 100 yards. Not good.

Day 2: Circuit race: Stayed with lead group. Ran out of oxygen on final hill. Into GC top 10.

Day 3: Road race: Stayed with lead group. Ran out of oxygen on final hill. Retained GC place.

Day 4: Crit: Blacked out on OTF effort. Finished in pack. Retained GC place.

Longer version:

Day 1: Cycling through Glue. Breathing Underwater at 7000 ft.

Friday was a 3 hour drive to Steamboat, then a rush to register and get bike together for the prologue TT. No TT rig but I managed to bring along an aero helmet and skinsuit, mounted clipons to the bars and dropped the stem as low as it would go.

Seems like a waste to have people take a day off for a 13-15 minute race, plus forcing people to bring along two bikes - discouraging carpooling. Might be better to run another competition as well, e.g. Street Sprints for time bonuses, and to do the TT Eddy Merckx style.

10k course. 8k Undulating out and back followed by a 2k 5% uphill.

Just couldn't get warmed up. I'm already breathing underwater after about 100 yards. Feels like I'm cycling through glue, have to drop down two gears below where I need to be.

Hit the turnaround at halfway and have made up no time on my 30 second man. Manage to recover slightly with a slight tailwind and get into something resembling a groove (although still in a stage of controlled hypoxia). Make up maybe 5 seconds as we hit the base of the climb. Keep shifting gears trying to find my happy place and alternating between bars, hooks and drops, I start to make up some time. 500 meters to go and I dump the chain down 3 gears, get in the aerobars and hammer as hard as I can. The finish catches me by surprise but I catch and pass my rabbit with a couple of yards to spare.

Not very happy with this effort - I know I can do a lot better. Well down on GC.

Hacked up half a lung afterwards.

Flatted a latex tube just after crossing the finish line

Day 2: Railing switchbacks moto-style. Whooping cough at 7000 ft

Bust the last of my latex tubes pumping it up before the start. Got there in good time so no problem changing it out.

Saturday was a 29 mile circuit race on an unbuilt housing development. Nice closed course, nothing there but several miles of immaculate private road. One steep climb, one mile long followed by a helter skelter careening descent, a little bit of flat, a few more hills, another fast winding descent, followed by a long false flat in a cross wind to the base of the hill. 6.5 laps of a a 4.5 mile course, 500 ft of climbing per lap. Yes, that's 500 ft per lap.

Each lap I'm surprised that they don't call EMT everytime I crest the hill. I sound like a whooping cough victim. Might be contagious.

First time down the descent and I get gapped badly and have to pin it just to catch. Not fun. Manage to figure it out for the next laps. Drop it into the 53*11 and pedal hard whenever you get the chance, close any gaps immediately. My new Giant frame railed the downhills at close to 50 mph and 45 degree angles on the turns. What a rush.

First 3 times up the hill and I'm suffering. Barely hanging on - using the descent for recovery. Then the legs start to open up and I feel progressively better. Front group is opening a gap on the field each time. 4 laps to go I crest 12th, then 8th, then 6th. Bell lap - I'm in 4th and 6 of us have a gap of several seconds over what remains of the decimated field. Two fast descenders catch us on the downhill and we hit the flat as a group of 8 on each of the last two laps - including 3 riders from the local team. All that has to happen is that we drill it for 2 minutes and the GC for the race is decided. Instead the 3 local riders go to the front and set an easy tempo - 10 riders catch on before we hit the hill again.

This was a big mistake and it cost that team. They were obsessed with racing for places - it's a stage race, places don't matter, time does.

Last lap and we scream down the descent. One guy gets gapped off the front and goes for it, nobody chases. I take one strong pull but nobody comes around. Not up to a flatlander to do all the work. We give the win to the OTF guy - fair play to him for giving it a go - wouldn't happen in Illinois.

Ten more guys catch on before the final hill. Yes, they will be dropped, but will only lose 20-30 seconds instead of the several minutes they would have if we had tried to drill it earlier.

Halfway up the hill and the pace reaches frantic level. Ten of us left. 3 guys jump away, I try to follow them but simply can't take in enough oxygen and my legs seize up. Nothing I can do. I still have a lock on 5th place though. 400 m to go and my gears start spontaneously shifting. I upshift, downshift - nothing works. Have to drop it into the 39*15 before the chains stays steady. Lose about 15 seconds and 3 places. Jump into top 10 on GC.


Final climb - desperately trying to find a stable gear and losing places

pic by fitzgerald photography



Steamboat Pilot video

Day 3: Going hypoxic in 45 mph crosswinds. Death wobble at 7000 ft;

50 mile road race, Horseshoe shaped course. 27 miles out, 22 miles back. A mere 3500 ft of climbing.



Afternoon winds got up to over 30 mph with gusts over 45 mph. Developed death wobbles several times in crosswinds on hairy descents. Had to hang at back for safety's sake. Outward leg was mostly head and crosswind, pack kept together. Lots of competition for a good draft. One crash when competition for the white line got a bit too competitive.

About 3 miles into race I jump off the front to test the legs. Get a gap but start to hyperventilate. 1 other guy (Casper Wheelmen) jumps onto my wheel. Conversation as follows:

Me - "Pull through! (gasp)"
Casper guy - "I can't"
Me "Why not? (gasp)"
Casper: "You're Carlos, right? I'm working for my teammate, Can't risk you getting away. I'm just going to sit on your wheel."
Me: "That's the end of (gasp) that then" ...And I sit up.

Apart from the time Dan Hill nicknamed me "Ekimov", this is the highest cycling compliment anyone has ever paid me. It's official - I am now a GC threat!

Took me 30 minutes to recover from that effort.

About 5 miles before the turnaround the field gets gapped on a vicious crosswind descent. Only myself and another guy catch on. The field is now down to 25 riders. One huge TT guy goes OTF and and out of sight. We know he's extremely powerful but not a good climber. He stays out there for nearly 20 miles.

Hit the turnaround and feed zone and it's more uphill than downhill on the home stretch - but still all crosswind. I take care to find a good draft and stay in the first echelon.

3 miles out, 20 to go, I find myself gapped off the front. I punch it a bit to see what would happen. This initiates 20 miles of eyeballs out, punch and counter-punch, no-respite aggressive racing. Fun times.

My attack gets dragged back quickly, another guy counters, noone responds and he takes off to bridge to the solo guy. In a magnificent effort he catches him, they work together for 10 miles, he drops him and soloes home the final few miles for an amazing win, securing the GC overall in the process.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, we're attacking each other like crazy, really booking it at speeds of up to 50 mph in tailwind and 5 mph downhill in a headwind. Gaps are forming and being closed down. Alliances formed and severed. I look behind and the group is down to 14. A few more miles and we're down to 10.

The GC leader attacks to save his lead, we reel him in after a couple of miles. Hitting the first of a series of hills we catch the first OTF guy and feel it's only a matter of time before we reel in the other guy. He's got a lead of about a minute. Hit another hill and the group detonates. Down to 8. Get gapped in a crosswind, fight back on, hit another hill, and the man with the hypoxic hammer strikes. The legs lock up. I'm only two seconds behind a group of 4 but it might as well be two hours. No way can I close it and they ride away from me.

The last hill I expected to be a couple of miles long. The other riders are only about 30 seconds ahead. I settle in, find my happy place and wait for the guys in front to blow up. Round the first corner there's a line of cars, someone shouts 200 meters, the line is right there. Race over. No signage, no nothing. All a bit sudden.

Field blown to smithereens. They straggle in over the next 30 minutes. I vault over 3 guys but 3 others vault over me. Retain same place in GC.

Only hack up a 1/4 lung this time.

Yet another mechanical - loose front hub causing death wobble.

Day 4: Breaking wind is hard to do. Blacking out at 7000 ft.

Image Eddie Clark- Mountain Flyer

Downtown crit. 40 minutes. Classic rectangular Midwest-style crit. Easy-to-pedal corners. Kicker hill plus false flat into strong headwind to finish line.

First 10 minutes were among my hardest 10 minutes on a bike. Going hypoxic each time up the kicker. Hanging on for dear life at the back. Finish with the pack and I keep my GC place - get gapped and I'm out of the money.

After ten minutes things slow down. GC is already decided. Everyone knackered. Gentleman's agreement not to attack except to sprint for primes. That's ok by me.

I recover. 3.5 laps to go and I sneak off the front. Noone reacts. I punch it into the headwind and 500 m finishing straight. Get a big gap ~ 15 seconds. Noone chases. Now's my chance for everlasting glory - just keep this gap for 3 quick laps and the win is mine. I punch it up the hill ... and start to black out. It was the definition of the CBDHS (Crash & Burn Dan Hill-style). Can't finish when you're lying in the ditch. I sit up, let them catch me and finish the race mid-pack.

If I was living at 6000 ft instead of 600 the story might be different.

All in all: more good luck than bad. Top 5 in GC. Ok for a flatlander. I'll take it. My best result ever.

Steamboat Pilot video
CO races always have a good emphasis on safety and are blessed with excellent officials. I like that. CO has famously poor payouts, but this doesn't deter half a dozen pros and a 13 times womens world champion (Jeannie Longo) from coming out and racing the excellent courses. I like that also.

Still a Thrill!

Ronald Reagan Criterium 2010

Dixon, IL

I remember the 80s as a mostly dismal decade of Greyness, unemployment, blue eyeshadow, perms and shoulder pads. Musically, there was a golden age from 1978-83, then it all started to go horribly wrong. The charms of the Linn drum machine waned, to be replaced by hollow formula music and computerised farting.

Amongst those memories, Ronald Reagan stands prominent. In my opinion he was one of America's worst presidents. In foreign relations he did great harm to America's reputation in the world. Before Ronnie most of the world actually liked America. After Ronnie and his innovative policies, America's name was dirt. By effectively codifying the Fifth Freedom - the right to screw over your fellow man unimpeded - he initiated an era of naked Capitalism that made us feel good about ourselves for being selfish and greedy. We're still paying the price, both politically and economically, for his presidency.

That said, Ronnie was certainly no elitist. From a humble upbringing, he is probably the last American President not to graduate from Yale or Harvard, was president of a union, and certainly didn't care about your background as long as you could screw people over better than the next guy; and make money doing it. He also was The Great Communicator - he could tap into a place in the hearts and minds of the American people that no other post-war president could find and sell his city-on-the-hill hokum to great effect.

What's this got to do with bike racing? Not much, but it wasn't enough to put me off participating in the Ronald Reagan Memorial Crit in Dixon, IL (his hometown) last Saturday. I already had done the Hooverfest race (commemorating an underrated President) so I might as well do this one. Smalltown races are the best anyway.

The race was well-organized, reasonable entry fees (with a nominal $10 for a second race), safe, with plenty of volunteers and top notch race commentary. It received a deserved boost in attendance. Due to downtown reconstruction the 0.8 mile course was somewhat changed, L-shaped, it was faster and eliminated a couple of sketchy corners. Running it clockwise and moving the start/finish line meant that the roughest portions were uphill and the finish was safer. The main feature was a bumpy rise into a headwind, good to launch an attack, followed by two corners and a long tailwind section to a slight rise to the finish, all the corners were wide, so accordeons were not played much today.

Masters 4/5: About 30 starters. Cat 4s don't really start to tire until 25-30 minutes, so a 30 minute race is always going to be difficult for a non-sprinter like me. The first 10 minutes were the usual over enthusiastic surges at the back, so much so that I chose to tailgun it for several laps, moving up to the middle when the panic had died down and everyone was a bit more used to the course. After 15 minutes nothing much had happened, I sensed the pack start to slow a bit and started to move to the front to see what was going on. Just then the announcer announced a prime for a 20-pack of something or other. It had to be beer! So I hammered it off the front, got a gap, maintained it for the lap and sprinted for all I was worth for the last couple of hundred yards, just to ensure that no-one surprised me at the line. Noone did and I won my first ever prime.

Had a big gap with noone chasing. Might as well go for it. Stayed out there for 6 laps but needed 7. They let me hang as I expected them to. The time gap decreased then increased, but never more than about 12 seconds. I put myself in too deep a hole going for the prime, never properly recovered, and it was controlled pain management and oxygen deficit disorder until I succumbed. I did manage to pick up a second prime for my trouble though. Being in front meant that I could choose the best lines and pedal through all the corners, which was a lot of fun, but only prolonged the agony. Meanwhile, the Cat 4s did what Cat 4s do best - nothing - and they caught me coming up to the bell. I retired to mid-pack which is where I finished.

Had I measured out my effort a bit better, I could maybe have surprised them, or at least forced them to work, but it was another Cat 4 criterium condensed to a 20 second effort.

Zero attacks, initiative or willingness to work.

1st half of race 24.5 mph, 2nd half 25.3 mph.

Open 4/5: More of the same. Several solo OTF efforts left to dangle. At least 3 or 4 people turned up to race anyway. I made several abortive efforts that didn't get anywhere. One half lap effort getting hauled back by an unattached rider who then sat up. Found that a bit strange.

With 5 laps to go they announced a prime for a Ronald Reagan T-shirt. Nothing, not even the guy 15 seconds off the front, was going to stop me from getting that T-shirt. I just wanted to see the look on Mrs F's face when I presented her with the special prize I won for her.

I launched up the hill, railed the corners and put it in the 53*12 for the last 300 meters. Caught the leader with yards to spare and snagged my prize. Ok, that done, time to work together and set up a break.

I zoomed around turn 1, ready to get organized .. and started retching violently. Ok, forget about the break. Time to recover. Apologies to Eric of BH for getting his hopes up.

The pack caught me, I tried to latch on but only managed to get on the very back. 3 primes in a row kept the pace high so no recovery for me. It was a full field, apart from the two guys who nearly killed themselves in a collision when sprinting for a pack of Jelly Bellys, that started the last lap together when the pace eventually ramped up. I managed to move up to halfway for the final corner, but the larger field meant more chances to hide for the sit-ins and too many fresh legs made it was a much faster sprint than the previous race.

These races were notable for the complete lack of aggression and willingness to work shown by the riders. Honestly, why do you race? If you weren't hanging on at the back for dear life it was easy to get to the front and make things happen. I race with the hope of getting better, going faster, trying to learn and enjoy. If I don't learn from a race I don't enjoy it, and I don't get better.

If you come in with complete lack of ambition, with the intention of feeling good about yourself by not getting dropped, staying anonymous mid-pack for the duration, laughing at those who give it a go and then handing the top spots to the three pure sprinters and the couple other strong 500m effort guys in the field - what's the point? Why not stay at home and wrestle with your granny for control of the remote? You may not have a greater chance of winning but at least it will fulfil that competitive edge that you fail to bring to a bike race. I have DFL'd more races than I can count, but I have never turned up to a race with the intention of not racing and not doing my best. How many of the Illinois Cat 4s can say that?

That said. Very enjoyable event. Great atmosphere. Can only get bigger.

That 20-pack? Laxatives, I think. Same effect as the Ronnie shirt.

My wife's reaction when I presented her my very special prize? Let's just say that I'm glad I built a very luxurious doghouse - that's where I'm writing this right now.