Boise, I'm yer ho

Westward we march.

Leaving Cini in Fort Collins was bittersweet. Coulda put that prof in the van and hauled her on the bike racing adventure. She-da rocked it. The drive outta the rockies, via the Snowy Range of southern Wyoming was full of so many vistas, I had to close my eyes. I slept at least 3 of the 7 hour drive back to Park City. I'm a good sleeper, and I'm a good kid when I'm sleeping.

There wasn't much time in PC before it was off to the Tuesday night world championships - SLC own crit on a car racing track. Great workout, if only amid some very strong yet poorly skilled riders. Not only did they like guttering every one in the crosswind while trying to bring back breaks - then wondered why no one would pull through - but with two laps to go the second bloke of the night tossed himself to the ground in front of me. Forty five minutes of intervals was enough of the crit for me, I watched the last two laps and licked my still weeping wounds.

Aside from getting a burger in a pita (ever heard of that? I mean where am I supposed to put the mayo, mustard, lettuce, onions, tomatos...), dinner was swell with Kirsten and Nate - fine upstanding young citizens. Only thing is Kirsten can grate, like on your knuckles when the cheese is down to the knub and ya slip. Nate is a brave man. And not only did I find this out at dinner as she was unrelenting towards me (I did the awful deed of sending my burger back to get a real bun around it), but in the morning I fed Pow-dog a some scramble egg juice and just about got hung in the town square. Wowza. The hostess with the mostess took super swell care of us in the PC palace, so no complaining at all. At all. Can't wait to have those two out to Cali.

This morning the travels continued. Another climb up Royal Drive above Deer Valley to start the day with a 30 miler, at altitude with high heart rates, and then the pavement moved beneath us. I-84 doesn't offer much, but Boise sure does. Great city, so many outdoor play grounds and OMG, they's some pretty folk here in this town, and some ugly ones, but the purty ones sure is purty. And there's good conversation to be had in Boise, like at dinner when these two made up late 30's ladies sat down next two us, talking about being tipsy, having mouths like sailors, and then, the volunteered data;

"My husband of 15 years left me 3 months ago for my best friend!"

"Um, wow, no, that's terrible!" I managed to mutter.

"We have 3 kids, he's got them tonight so I'm out getting hammered with my friends, I'm so fucked."

"No you're not, you don't want him anyway, he did you a favor, made it easy on ya," I consoled.

"You're right," she said, "I'll try and keep that in mind. Oh, did I tell you he bought her a new rack?" she said as she glanced down at her own sagging self.

Without much else to say at this point, Craig and I managed to stand up and bid our farewells.

"Where you two going," she and her made up, equally losing equilibrium friend questioned, "we're just getting started?"

"No sure, maybe to bed, together, it is our honeymoon afterall!" The looks on their faces - priceless.

But no, I didn't say that. I only blogged it. But that makes it somewhat real.

It's late and I'm sleepy. I won't get into the conversation we had with the gal who, while strolling down the pedestrian mall, lined with lively music, bars and restaurants - a hopping Wed. night in Boise - wanted to (and did) show me how well her abscess healed, and where it was. I guess they lanced it or something? She was inspired by my arm bangages and figured we were abscess siblings.

Bend better not disappoint.

Colorado Imprecionado

I wasn't thinking too much about this state in its overall roll on this trip. Utah, Kentucky, Oregon were where I thought the good times would roll. Colorado has much to offer, in people, places, things and rides.

First off, it was a huge relief to leave Kansas. Lucas Euser was awaiting our arrival in Denver on Friday, the 4th. The plan was to arrive at our lovely hostesess Bree's place and head out for a ride. Lucas is still recovering from a nasty fall, nastier than mine, so a couple easy hours was all we wanted. The fact that none of us knew where to ride and that it was 95 out, did not deter. Every community should have bike paths, and lots of them. Los tres amigos explored the S. Platte River trail, leading south of the mile high city. A vibrant Latino community was present, all celebrating independence in their new, or not so new home country.

The ride was swell, and it ended it beers with lemonade inside at John and Jill's place. Lovely. The evening was filled with sushi (in Denver, I wondered... I guess it was fairly fresh, but...) and Sapporros. Bombs happened to be bursting in air. I didn't like it too much. Fireworks for fun. Although I was compelled to burst out with "DOWN with the British!", I couldn't help but think of many Iraqi families, and what they might think of us Americans watching explosives for fun. Jill and John are engaged, and loving life. It was great to meet such fun loving folk. I hope I get to see more of them. John will be at Cascade, running and rubbing for the Garmin-Chipotle team.

Saturday was Mt. Evans, 14,200 something feet. As a sprinter, I loved that ride. Mostly a gradual gradient, the first 3rd of which I kept pace with the little pro and roempile, but they left me behind. Before we were able to summit, as has been the case each of the last 3 days in the monsoon rockies season, the thunder rolled and we descended. I flew off that hill, even as the rain started to fall, passing cars and racing the precip hoping I could get back to the car before getting drenched. Mission accomplished. My confidence was high for handling in the rain. Dag gummit.

Post Evans, it was pack it up for Boulder. What a cool town. I could live there. Well planned, full of athletes and progressives, a veritable liberal island amid an ultra conservative state. A stroll down the famous Pearl Street entertained, and a falafel dinner went down well. The next morning it was up Canyon. Craig made me do a couple of hours before the crit. That is supposed to "open me up" for the race, but I just feared it would make me tired. I bet had I not crashed in the Master's race (which I got back on my brake rubbing, magnet clicking, banged up bike to finish btw), I bet the Pro race woulda sucked it outta me. All I really wanted (and feared) was to scrub the hell out of my wounds. Dr. Brown to the rescue. She gave me her key and after a stop at the farmacia to pick up the Tegaderm, we landed in Ft. Collins and took care of business. I got cleaned up, then dirtied the blood stream with a beer and 4 strong margaritas. Funny how that first night of sleeping with painful open and weeping wounds (poor Cini's sheets, I oozed all over them) wasn't so bad. Dr. Hassel and Dr. Brown were great dinner company. Craig had some UC Davis stories to share, as all 3 are alumi and seem to know many of the same folk. Too bad these gals don't live closer, I'd see more of them.

This morning it was all about Estes Park. An 85 mile mile round trip from Ft. Collins, this is a beautiful ride. The climbs around Horsetooth Reservoir were short and steep. But the ride up Big Thompson Canyon and up to Glen Haven was gradual and stunningly beautiful. Craig took the ride nearly to Estes Park, but my hip was begging for mercy. An Americano at Leah's was just what the doctor ordered. We booked it home though, losing elevation nearly the whole way. All in all, we did 70 Rocky Mt. miles in 3:45. Not too shabby. The evening is closing with a great stage of the Tour at Diana's. What a gracious hostess. Aside from killing a horse today, she's been so kind to us. I may have to seek some help with my biking problem.

Tomorrow, we'll do Salt Lake City Tuesday night world championships and spend one more evening with Kotval in delicious Park City. Then, it's off to Boise for a night, and the grand culmination of Cascade in Bend. Yahoo!

The Male Liz Hatch! Biatch

Niwot has a great crit course. Technical, two 120 degree turns, and super fun. I rode agressively, at/off the front and saw my opportunity to bridge up to a lead rider, take a $125 prime, and get him to come with for the final 5 laps. I was dreaming of winning, riding like I wanted to, right up until the rainy wet pavement told me that I can't lean that hard into the corner. Off the front, solo, I went down. And it hurts.

Off to tacos and margaritas (lots of 'em) now though, as soon as I finish this beer. Looking forward to some Ft. Collins riding tomorrow.

Oh and Bubba, I need a new skin suit, this one only got two races.

Nats and Adios Louisville, Hola Kansas

I’ve been meaning to write, really I have, but, I haven’t. Too much going on, not much time for sitting and hunting and pecking.

I’ve narrowed it down to two things, it has to be one, or a combination of the two that explains how it is that I got dropped at nationals road race; too much lube on my chain and/or a faulty pin job on my number. Either way, both can be attributed to Craig. After all, I am a bike racer, and anything I fail to accomplish on the bike, or any race I don’t win, or any bad thing that happens to me must be due to circumstances beyond my control, or at least, as a result of something external, like this is only my 5th race of the year, and it was the heat, the cold, the meal I ate, the pressure in my tires, the over training and lack of riding I’ve been doing. But alas, none of that applies here; it had to be the liberal application of lube (by Craig)! Yes, I was over T-9-ed, I sprayed too heavily and wiped too little. Don’t let this happen to you. The null hypothesis could be that those guys were freakin’ fast, faster than me even (gasp!). But we don’t talk like that, we’re too proud, we’re bike racers.

As I imagined, the course was spectacular. Fast, tough, technical and full force with lots of former pro’s who can pedal, handle and maneuver their bikes. I was thoroughly impressed with Team Specialized. They were savvy, aggressive and competitive in every category; a fun, talented group of guys to train and race with. Rob Anderson got away in his race with one other, for 5 grueling laps, dropping his fellow escapee with 8 miles to go and stretching his lead out to 25 seconds over a shattered field. The grittiest ride I’ve seen in a while and only to be caught, heart breakingly in the final 150 meters, losing the national title by seconds. Billy Innes showed some amazing talent, bridging up to a pro-powered 5 man break away and racing perfectly into a silver medal. His only downfall was the national title went to a 4 time national champion Paul Martin, who had a slightly bigger engine at the end. Kevin Metcalf, Craig Roemer, Wyatt Weisel, and Dean LeBerge all rode like pros. Kudos to them.

Louisville is a decent town, fairly well planned and full of history. But as soon as our race was over, we were over it. Boulder was calling our name and our great pal Lucas Euser, as it turned out, was to be awaiting our arrival in Denver, fresh off the plane from a half season of racing in Europe with Slipstream Chipoltle. Turns out he had a rough go when he got clipped by the medical car in a race there, going down and breaking a scapula. He’s on the mend now, and rumor has it there’s a chance he could be spotted at the San Luis Crit on July 20th. But let’s wrap up with some travel tales.

Life on the road is always boring, until it gets unbelievable.
We knew we’d end up in Kansas, we’d hoped for KC, MO, which is like Kansas, just a tad shy. Of course one of the only ways to get there from KY, is through St. Louis. That’s the way we went. We filled the tank again for way under $4, and hit a drizzly, flooded waterfront city just before 5pm. We got some close ups of the Rio Mississippi and the Arch, both were larger than can be imagined. It was also fascinating to see the old riverfront warehouse district, now defunct and abandoned, and think about what it looked like in its heyday. From there, it was rush hour, pre-4th of July, get outta town west on I-70 along with several million others to get to some destination where we’d be sure to be blowing up some fireworks. It was an LA-ish traffic jam. So I slept through it, awakened by the occasional Craig-curse at an obscene mobile gesture. Our dinner stop including a conversation with a hostess that wanted to steer us in the right direction, after all, she had gotten such a great deal, $500 worth of explosives for just $200. Hard earned money up in smoke?

My chauffer was a trooper, blowing through KC, MO and lighting out for Lawrence. We were ready to sleep by then, but the exits for Lawrence (home of KU, I had imagined a happening college town on Massachusetts Ave.) were closed and we couldn’t get off the highway. It was strange. But we figured Topeka is just down the turnpike (toll road, cost us all of $2.15 end to end). West of Topeka, we debated throwing sleeping bags down in a corn field for an 11pm to 6am snooze, but instead we opted for a much stinkier, dirtier, noisier, and completely revolting Motel 6. The non-smoking room smelled of bong water, the carpet was soggy wet with a dripping compressor, the downstairs neighbors were just getting started emptying vodka bottles into themselves – which they had completed by the time we left in the morning – I could tell because they staggered about the lawn with those empty bottles cursing other guests for looking at them, and best of all (not counting the cigarette burns in the linens or the cockroaches on the floor), the car alarms kept going off all night which kept me leaping out of bed and imagining $30,000 in bikes/wheels being stolen. I stayed in better kept places for $2 in rural Burma, where squatting over an open hole was the only way to relieve one self. Dog bless the capital of Kansas. From there, we knew we’d make Denver by the afternoon, and couldn’t wait to get the freak outta dodge.

Manhatten seemed like a logical stop for coffee and breakfast on the morning of the 4th. The Kansas St. university town likely caters to lovers of coffee and breakfast, if not a quaint bar and restaurant. So I thought. I can be wrong sometimes. Turns out getting kids into sports through Jesus is much more their style. The place was dead. It was a holiday, and summer time with school out, but even at its best, that place sucked. We left soon after arriving, and thought the flat lands of Kansas for the next 300 miles would be much more exciting. It was. Tales of riding with the pro-kid, meetings with stellar folk, and being surprisingly impressed with sushi in Denver and pedestrian planning Boulder, forthcoming.

Life on the Ohio, in Kentucky and Indiana

Sunday was a travel day, but the shortest leg yet. All we had to cover was the 3 hours from Mt. Vernon, Illinois to our eastern most destination, Louvull, KY. Aside from a burning semi-tractor trailer on the side of the I-64, a man asleep? passed out? drunk? slouched upright on his pick up tailgate that was parked just on the highway median a foot inside the number one lane being approached by an officer with weapon drawn, the family picknicking in the grassy median in what looked like a 3 car pile up, and the motorcyclist doing wheelies, taunting a following truck by dropping his pants and wheelie-ing some more – it was an uneventful drive. Right up until some kind folk were trying to help some other stranded fellas change a flat tire – on the other side of the highway. Rather than wait for the lane to clear, or even to take the next exit and double back and park behind those in need, they just pulled over on the opposite side, sauntered across 4 lanes of 75 mph traffic, rolling a spare truck tire and causing braking, swerving and 4 near collisions. Dem dars some kind harted folk doin’ some dumb deeds. Darwin awards await.

First order of business was to preview the TT course, and ride the TT bikes. I know there are harder, longer, hillier races, but the TT is the most painful version of racing. I don’t care if it’s a 1 km pursuit, a 112 mile iron man leg or a 40km national championship, that f-in race is all about pain and suffering. The course was windy, rolling, and right along the Ohio River in southern Indiana. Roads narrow, pavement smooth, rollers rolling, we had seen enough to know what to expect the next morning. So it was off to the check in. The Galt Hotel is a splendid house high on the river in downtown. It’s home for these 4 days in Louie.

The next morning Craig popped outta bed as though he has missed his start (I made mine with 15 seconds to spare). And we arrived at the course with plenty of time to true wheels, place numbers and warm up nervously. Metcalfe and Innes of Team Specialized are here with us, each looked to have a good day and a shot at the stars and stripes. As it turns out, they had two very fast times and each earned bronze medals as the 3rd fastest soloist in the country in their age groups, impressive rides with podium finishes. I was more out to suffer for the camaraderie aspect and perhaps to set a time to beat in future years. In my particular case, my glute was hurting like nobody’s business. That muscle is simply not well developed enough for hard efforts in the TT position. I rode as hard as I could, for an hour, in the rain and stiff wind and finished not last. I couldn't walk after the race, literally.

As for Craig, he put in a great ride, a PR to be exact. And no one can say he doesn't put safety first in the shower. In the TT he put out a consistent high amounts of power, averaged 30 more beats per minute than I could muster and put a good ten minutes into me. Ouch. His great ride, however, was good for no better than 7th. Turns out about six fellas in his category were just faster yesterday. That’s the way it is some days. The afternoon focus was a coffee stop and a road race course preview. Some words and descriptions for Thurdays epic RR; this course is classic (pdf to course map), and for those (me) who aren't pure climbers, it is a blast. Not a single flat section, fast, technical descents and sharp, short power climbs - trust that the winners of RR Nat's may not be the purely strongest riders in the country, but to win on this course you need an excellent combination of power, savvy, patience, descending and bike handling skills. It should be fun, fun, fun.

Having pedaled for all we were worth in the morning and an awesome recovery ride slash road race course preview in the afternoon, we were 50 miles of calories burned and all set for a pub feast of beer, seared ahi, curry chips, salads, codfish and chips, Sheppard’s pie and tall tales of the day’s seconds lost.

Tuesday was a true vacation day. After breakfast, we had ride plans. But at breakfast, Sharon was pure entertainment. She asked what I wanted to drink, oj, coffee... I asked if she had any bourbon (this is Kentucky after all), and she was thrown off.

"It's a bit early, dontcha think?"

"Well it's 4 o'clock somewhere."

"Where?"

"London."

"Is London that far away?" she wondered. She asked where we were from and proudly let us know that she knows California, it cost her $200 in gas to drive her Geo Prism out there one time... to Riverside. I let her know that Riverside was not representative of California. That took us to a lively discussion about what we were doing here.

"Ya'll came all the way out here, to ride bicycles?"

"Sure."

"Don't ya'll have to work?"

"No, Craig's taking 6 months off, I'm taking two."

"Well, ya'll must be rich, I dunno how ya'll can afford to do that." I think she's right.

Another 50 mile spin along the Ohio River. We did most all of it single file due to lack of shoulders, presence/speed of cars and perhaps less than stellar route choice.

But when all you have on your agenda for the day (Billy also had digging for gold on his agenda) is sleeping in, eating breakfast with coffee, riding, showering, having lunch, having another coffee and laying around the pool reading a great book, then you know it, you know it is a great day. .

"The last clear definite function of man – muscles aching to work, minds aching to create beyond the single need – this is man. To build a wall, to build a house, a dam, and in the wall and the house and the dam to put something of Manself, and to Manself take back something of the wall, the house, the dam; to take hard muscles from the lifting (riding!), to take clear lines and form from conceiving. For man, unlike anything organic or inorganic in the universe, grows beyond his work, walks up the stairs of his concepts, emerges ahead of his accomplishments. This you may say of man – when theories change and crash, when schools, philosophies, when narrow dark alleys of thought, national, religious, economic, grow and disintegrate, man reaches, stumbles, forward, painfully mistakenly sometimes. Having stepped forward, he may slip back, but only a half a step, never a full step back. This you may say and know it and know it."
– John Steinbeck

All you feminist out there don’t fret a second, the heroine of this story, the strongest, wisest and lovingest person, is, as we might expect, a woman.