Who wants an obnoxiously long race report?!?! That's right, YOU DO!!!

Beth, Peter, Luke and I sign in Friday night after a fun-filled 10-hour drive down to Fayetteville. The guy hands me my number. 411. Someone dial information and find out what the hell I’m doing here in these mountains. This gon’ be silly.

Despite the hesitancy, I wasn’t coming all the way to Arkansas to dilly-dally around, and I knew a time trial suits my abilities; I hadn’t done one since college days, when I was a buck-seventy-five or more and brand new to cycling. Since then, I’ve realized what I’m fairly decent at is pounding on the pedals, real hard, real long. So I was coming into this stage race with a blind optimism, hoping maybe to figure out just how good or how strong I really am. Who knows how I’d fare, who knows how other Cat 4s would fare. Maybe I’d nail it and get 1st. Ha! Hope's a wonderful thing. Since the TT was going on before the road race, I knew the time trial would figure to be real important to the GC, perhaps determining it outright if no breaks were to get away during the road race or crit.

So I gunned it.

Time Trial

It’s a 2.5 mile, uphill time trial, at about 6.8%. It starts on a flat, and both Luke and Peter, who had already done the course, directed me to NOT bomb through that flat part quite as hard as I may desire, as there’s much more time to make up on the uphill. There were 30 second time gaps between riders, but somebody missed his start time and thus jumped in front of me, maybe 10 seconds before I took off. He proved to be a carrot that was a bit too close, a bit too tempting.

First time putting the Powertap to good use for pacing, other than in training. From all the prior workouts and couple races I’d done with power, I surmised to stick around 350 W up the hill, and whatever happens happens. Well, that aforementioned dude being so close ended up making me gun up the first steep incline, trying to catch him instead of riding within myself. Whoops. Averaged 442 W for the first three minutes or so. Good use of the power meter, Liam. Moron. Thus I intentionally dropped off in power for the minute after that, in fear of blowing up big. But after that initial mistake, I took it real steady and felt really good. So good, in fact, that I disregarded that 350 figure I’d assumed was appropriate, and kept it up around 370, 380. I passed one guy, then passed the guy who was 10 seconds ahead of me, then another, hit the steepest bit where my local friend Kevin was running up the mountain ringing a cowbell and yelling my name (I was, for those 20 seconds, totally Euro), and put out an effort like I’d never done. What a great feeling to feel that bad. I passed two more guys, five in total, grunted and threw the bike across the line, had no idea what my time was (still don’t have that whole interval thing down on the computer read-out). I knew I killed it, though, because of all the guys I passed. I rolled back to see if anybody caught my time, and one guy goes, “Hey, are you the guy who got 9:58?” Uh, I dunno, am I?

Turns out I was. Well, it was 9:59 officially. 2nd place. Eleven seconds behind the leader. Two seconds worse than Luke “I am a Climbing Machine” Seamann. I was quite pleased in the scheme of the race to be sitting second. But in the grander scheme, knowing I was only two seconds off Luke’s time (which was good enough for 7th in the Cat 3) was an even bigger morale boost. Averaged 387 watts for those 10 minutes. Apparently I was a bit conservative with what I told myself I was going to do. Luckily I listened to my body and not the TomTom, I mean, Powertap.

Later that day…

Road Race

Neutral roll out from town, onto some rolling country roads. Enter the antagonist, Mr. David Coats. The man with 11 seconds on me. He had that Southern accent, that face-hogging Arkansas smile, that kind, gentle manner. I wanted this man to be my arch rival, to be a total dick so I could hate him, and here he is playing nice. No, in all seriousness, he's a good guy and a great competitor. He knew I’d be trying to go off the front at some point, and I knew he knew. He definitely knew that I knew that he knew.

But I had to attack, so I went ahead and launched up one of the bigger hills about 20 miles in. I got a good jump, and made some quick separation. Brian Hill from Get a Grip (4th in GC) acted as my teammate and blocked (we Chicagoans discussed things beforehand). Yay makeshift two-man team that ends up controlling the majority of the race! But I got away and immediately re-entered time trial mode. I looked back a couple of hills later and sometimes the pack would be out of sight, but often they could see me. Which isn’t good. My lead grew a little bit as I hammered up another larger hill and onto a sort of plateau that was the highest point of the course. I stayed away for a good 18 minutes (I think? Who knows), maybe six miles or so, but, as I would find out later, David apparently felt it appropriate to spoil my fun and jumped to the front to lead the peloton charge toward me. They caught me and I reintegrated into the pack, and no one countered, which I thought was strange. I probably would have been popped off the back. I was ready for it. But rather than that, they sorta caught me and then slowed down to my speed, practically. From that point on I don’t think I spent another second out of the top 10 positions. There was all sorts of stupid riding up front, no one wanted to pull so we’d go real slow, hear the Cat 4 “slowing” yell in back, then someone would ride up the side, get in front, hammer for three seconds like it was an attack, and then just sit up, like it wasn’t an attack. I didn’t know what the hell those people were doing half the time. Arkansas tactics? The guy who was sitting fifth took off on a flier, and I knew he was strong so I darted with him, but by that point, the group wasn’t about to let anybody go. I think that one stayed away for all of 30 seconds before we realized it was futile. So we all rode like a sucky bunch of idiots, doing a ultra-fast 20 mph, chatting it up at a conversation pace, and I was able to catch my breath completely, cool off a little bit, get some gel, some water, and then maybe five miles after being caught off the front, we get passed by the pros. And they make us stop. Completely. For a solid minute or two. If only I’d have been off at that point, right? I’d have had three minutes on the group. But, bike racing’s chock-full of woulda/shoulda/coulda, and it obviously was coming down to a pack finish. I made one last-ditch effort to Cancellara off the front with about 1.5k to go, but they immediately ate me up and thus began the dreaded Cat 4 1k sprint effort. I don't know what it is about us Cat 4s that makes us sprint full speed as soon as the finish line is within sight, but it happens. [Insert crazy sprint mayhem jive here]. Got 11th, didn’t crash, no time changed on the GC, all was well. Frustrating. And it would be the only time all weekend I’d beat the evil, sinister David Coats.

The next day…

Criterium

Well, still down 11 seconds on GC, and with a first place time bonus of only 10 seconds, I needed to break if I wanted to win. Pack finish wouldn’t benefit me at all. I was initially concerned the third place guy, who picked up a time bonus in the road race and was now within three seconds of me, might pose a problem, but that thought was quickly laid to rest. The gun went off (there was no gun, I’m totally lying) and we went around a couple times. The course was great, six lefts, two rights, huge downhill on the back stretch into a 35mph left turn, then a flat piece, then it pitches up slowly, turns right, and that’s where people get in spots of bother. Uphill finish a la Downers Grove, except this one’s steeper, and the finish is at the top rather than halfway up. Destined to see if the road race possibly ruined David’s legs more than it did mine, I took off at the top of the hill (I think Obi-Luke Kenobi gave me that advice), and it hurt. Oh I can still feel it. I was convinced someone had hacked my quads with a butcher’s knife. Everything felt torn. New types of pain. Fun. Turned out everybody else took a hatchet to the legs, because when I attacked, David followed, and the only other guy to give chase was Brian from Get a Grip -- sitting 4th in GC, he needed a break of his own to make up 17 seconds on 3rd place -- David ended up coming around me, and for maybe a lap he had five seconds on me and I had ten seconds on Brian. I just was feeling so bad that I decided to keep a leash and wait for David to slow on the uphill, thinking maybe Brian could close the gap. From the way it was going and the way my legs felt, I knew I’d need Brian if I wanted to have a chance. Well, Brian wasn’t moving up, so I ended up bridging to David on the uphill home stretch, and the two of us would be gone for the remainder. I thought once I got him that, for sure, he’d sit in the whole time. He had nothing to gain by taking pulls. But after the start/finish he jumped in front of me and pulled. He really wanted the win, so I just hoped maybe I could attack, get a small gap, and take first in the crit and the GC. I knew he’d nail me on that finish, so I had to get away earlier than that. I tried attacking a couple different times, at the top of the hill as the bell was being rung, after taking the hill at a nice clip, but that didn’t work. He was just way too strong. Nothing worked. So I eased up (we had over a minute on the field at this point, and Brian was too far back to catch us), and we took it really easy that last lap. After the fierce downhill, we started the slow ascent before the last turn and the uphill sprint. “So what do you want to do?” he asked, essentially offering to concede the stage since he had the overall, but it’s a bike race, and I don’t want to win that way anyways. “It’s a bike race, let’s race,” I said, knowing I’d just sealed my fate like a moron. We took the last turn, he stood and reeled up the hill, and I had nothing in the tank. Too much time off the front the day before, too much time pulling and going up that stupid hill. And, quite bluntly, he was just that much stronger than I. I sat up, climbed slowly up and took second place, again, and cemented a second place finish in the GC. Strange feeling crossing the line. Immense satisfaction at taking my best result yet (this was better than my win at Glencoe last year), but knowing I was so close to winning it all gave it that slight bittersweetness. I wish I had won, but damn. That was awesome. And what a great race. Well-attended, well-volunteered, well-run, great courses, food and water and Gatorade everywhere. I hope I get to come back. Now if only they can get Arkansas closer to Chicago.