Beat

Cincinnati wasn't very kind to me. Sure, I had a great Christmas with my mom's side of the family, and Hanukkah last night with my dad's side was full of hijinks, excitement, and Thomas rowdiness. My brothers' absence from the weekend made things less fun for me, but with Ian in NYC and Eric in New Zealand, I think they had good times of their own.

Christmas morning, I went for a four mile run in my mom's neighborhood before we got on the road to the farm. No room for the bike meant that I had to do something before I gorged on a Christmas Day feast. I ate my fill and then some. Jim made a turducken; my mom a walnut apple pie in a pecan pie fashion. Amazing stuff.

The day after Christmas, did another four miles which was a bad idea. I felt good for a while, but my calves started cramping up on the return and the descent back to the farmhouse was walked. I did go into the run with the plan of doing six, but I bailed on that idea when I hit Rocky Point and I had the taste of breakfast in my mouth. Not fun.

Then yesterday I managed to nearly put myself into the hospital. The night before, I made plans to ride over to Allison's parents' house in order to celebrate Christmas with her family before going over to my grandparents' for Hanukkah. My mom's house is on the complete opposite end of town and the ride, if done directly is 30 miles. I have a circuituous route that goes 46, then I also have an 80 miler for those days when I have time to spare and I don't have to carry a bag. Being that I had a backpack full of clothes and presents, I planned on the 46.

Before doing all that, I tasked myself with coiling the hoses my mom had left in the yard and taking them all down to the basement. The outside entrance to the basement is down a set of eight sandstone steps under the back porch. Dragging the hoses down the steps, I fell forward and then backward onto my back and left elbow. The steps, being wet from rain and slick with moss and mud, were slipperier than a greased pig, greased lightning, or greased greyhound. Whatever. I let out a scream and my mom came a'running out thinking that I'd killed myself on something. I spent about two minutes rolling around on the muddy steps, blood running down my ankle from a cut, like some kind of pathetic worm.

Once I realized that I'd broken no bones and I wasn't going to die, I got up, downed three ibuprofen and finished the job, back throbbing.

That all done, I got on the bike and started over to Allison's. I felt good for most of the ride – my legs felt strong, I had a good amount of energy. With a heavy pack on my back, I struggled a bit with climbing, of which my route had some of. Up until the last climb, I was doing well, but at Mt. Carmel road, my legs cramped up horribly and I struggled hard up the hill. I'd only had two Hammer gels and some water for the duration of the ride, so I was low on energy, but I haven't felt that weak in a long while. 46 miles isn't much, but considering my circumstances (two days of long running for an occasional runner, lots of bad dietary choices, and a 25 pound backpack), I can say that I came into the ride handicapped.

Today was off; I didn't even bother with trying to get on the bike before leaving Cincinnati. I went for a long walk with Allison this morning, then walked again upon arriving in Chicago to get some groceries. Tomorrow I'm commuting in by bike, so we'll see what I make happen when I ride twice in a day.

Back to Cincinnati

The office closes at noon today, and once out the door, I'm meeting Kevin at his place of employment, getting his keys, hopping on the Blue Line to Logan Square. Then I'll pack his car up, load my stuff in, pick up Carley, go to Vienna Beef (maybe). Finally, head back downtown, pick Kevin up when he gets off of work, switch spots in the car and finally head back down to Cincinnati.

I'm bringing lots of thesis work with me. The light's at the end of the tunnel, as some might say. About time, because I've only waited until I have a full-time job to work on my research. I get home most days at about six P.M., hop immediately on the trainer because the weather's been too lousy the past week to commute in, and then after an hour or so of that, it's a short shower, dinner, and then work. At least I'm disciplined.

I've also got my pedals, shoes, helmet and other cycling accoutrements in the bag. I'm planning on running Thursday and Friday and then spending Saturday and Sunday doing long, slower, "tempo" rides. Y'know, to burn off all the pecan pie I'll inevitably gorge on.

A Love Letter

Adam Myerson Hodges says it so well. This almost made me shed a tear and listen to Avail.

I never saw someone put a full tank of gas in their car until I was a bike racer. I didn’t know people ever had that much money at once growing up; my mom never put more than $10 in at a time. My teammate in the ‘90’s, Kevin Monahan, had never seen anyone only withdraw $10 from an ATM machine until he saw me do it. You can’t even get tens from an ATM anymore, but when you had less than $20 in your account and you could get $1 burritos at Taco Bell, that’s how it was. And I lived like this for all of the ‘90’s, the same way punk bands toured in all of the ‘80’s, because I fucking love bike racing. This team is my band. This sport is my scene. I’m ready to come out with my guitar blazing and annihilate my audience that way Black Flag did in the ‘80’s, and in a way you guys who were just born in that decade might not fully understand. Search and Destroy.

and

We can make up what we lack in resources and experience with enthusiasm and commitment. If we do this right, we can’t be contained.

And this is why I love Half Acre Cycling. Hell yeah.

A Job

This morning I woke up at about 5:50 AM, as I usually do, spent some time coughing up some nastiness as I've come down with a cold, made coffee, showered, and set about taking care of the other mundane tasks of morning.

Oh, and I got dressed in some finery, because I finally have a job in my area of study and interest. And the workplace is in the Loop. And I have benefits, including health insurance (which I've paid for out-of-pocket for months now). I'm working at a small not-for-profit developing media communications and content for a new website. Just enough programming/webwork that I can handle, and plenty of writing, analysis and research to keep me happy and comfortable. I'm excited and finally feel a sense of relief. I've spent the past year working temp jobs, living off of savings, and as of late, loan money. I'm already in debt a fair amount because of school - and I'm glad that I won't have to go further in debt because of a butter-soft job market for journalism/media specialists.

I spent most of the day reading over policy papers, taking care of administrative tasks, setting up my officespace, and going to Maggiano's for the annual holiday luncheon. Yes, I was rewarded with 2.75 hours of work with a family-style Italian meal and a couple glasses of wine.

Tomorrow, I have the feeling that wine will not be the beverage of choice with lunch. A shame, because I am quite a fan of a drink with my mid-day meal: the Europeans do it, why not us? A long time ago, I worked for a lawyer in a small office. Often, all us in the office would go to lunch – a three hour lunch – and would come back adequately toasted, so much that the rest of the day's work was worthless. Those days were rare, but they were still fun, nonetheless.

...

Time for some oversharing, despite the pitfalls:

I have a lot of friends out there, lots of people who care. My apologies that I've been distant, unavailable, flaky for way too long. I reward dedication and love with a cold shoulder. Nothing against you – it's me. I forced the life of a semi-hermit upon myself and now I need to make amends. Think of things as a myopic scope – my field of vision has narrowed down to a small point and the focus of that point being finding a job and trying to move on to the next stage of my life, whatever that is.

Someone should've told me that I can bring other people along, too. I go back to Cincinnati and I end up sitting at home writing and hanging out with my family, but unable to make it out to see people I grew up with. It's pretty pathetic. Now that things are hitting on a much more positive note for me, and I'm finally finding traction, it's time for me to reach out and repair bonds.

So to all, expect more me in your lives, whether you want it or not.

Montrose: the day after

In response to Naz's post on yesterday's race:

You summed it all up perfectly. We’ve talked a lot this fall and maybe we got into each other’s heads a little bit. Talk like “We’re just doing this to have some fun.” Or “We’ll just race our own races and see how we do.”

That talk is self-defeating. And it showed. We did well this fall, but we know we could’ve done better. Maybe not podium, but at least in contention, and not in the purgatory no-man’s-land of the 20s.

There’s always talk of next year and next year is when we’re going to have to make amends. It’s too late now, but at least we can go out saying, “We made it to most of the races and had a ball nearly every time.”

If we weren’t at least partially dedicated, we would be riding up and down the LFP, cruising in the small ring, with lots of stops and breaks. We do this bicycle racing thing for so many different reasons, but the chief of them all is that we like to go fast. But if there’s one thing that’s better than going fast is finding a way of going faster.

Montrose Harbor

The last race of the ChiCrossCup series; the last race of the year. Capping off a ho-hum race year, albeit one memorable for so many reasons besides places. Forced to miss a few races due to budgetary reasons, I was forced to re-evaluate things and I realized that I was better off racing for fun and without the pressure to win. Not saying I didn't want to win, because I did and always will, but I took my battles to the more realistic level: beat my teammates, pick off certain friends on other teams.

That much I did and I was happier for it. Lansing and today's race at Montrose Harbor were raced with a clearer head and no case of the nervous jitters - I was out to have fun and fight a smaller fight. Next year will be different, because I aim to come into the season with stronger legs and lungs, but for right now, this is all I can do.

I picked up Naz and Jen this morning and got a dozen donuts to hand-up. Got to the course, only about a mile away and quickly suited-up in the 10 degree weather (yes, it was that cold this morning) and got a chance to pre-ride the course. Any other day and the course would've been a fast screamer, but with a couple inches of snow and ice on the ground caution was the watchword. I found myself taking some corners rather wide and if I tried to bring the corner in closer, I would stumble and come close to crashing.

Spent the minutes left before the race in the car staying warm with the heater on full blast. 10 minutes to go, out warming back up and then it was to the line. A small speech from the organizer and then the whistle shriek brought me back to reality. All my talk of racing for fun went out the window and I was immediately back looking for some blood. Took a bit of time to get there, as a crash split the field and then my left shoe's velcro straps let me foot out just when I needed it to least. A small stop and I was back in.

Eight laps, most of which was spent by myself with about five visible riders in chase. Kevin Clark was up ahead and was not to be seen again until post-race. The rest of the team was behind, but visible, so they kept the pressure on. At the small sandramp, I took the angle wrong and nearly made myself infertile. Two laps left, my hands were numb, same with my feet and I was just trying not to crash. Never took a spill and I finished the race at 25(I think?)

Right after, got back into the car to warm up and then screamed my lungs out for friends and teammates, both old and new, in the following races.

Can't wait for 2009.

Seriously?

I just bought www.ZachThomas.org. In the next few weeks, expect to find this blog there, along with lots of other exciting things.

And yes, most pictures of me feature me eating. What can I say? I'm a hungry dude.

Bad Brakes

If you've ridden with me at all in the past four months, you by now know that my Voodoo has the most gawdawful brake squeal in the Chicago city limits, besides that from buses and cabs. A well-maintained bicycle is a near-silent mechanical wonder, with only the slight tick of the chain turning over and the solid clunk of a gearshift being the most common sounds. Grinding, cracking or squealing sounds are found on ill-maintained bikes, a category of which my bike sometimes falls. Until a few weeks ago, until it mysteriously went away on its own, a loud clicking sound came from somewhere in the headset every time I pedaled. It annoyed me, the rider, so I'm sure it annoyed all of my riding partners.

Sorry about that.

But I'm really sorry about my brakes. Because Chicago is so flat, the only time I really put any modulation into the brakes is on the descent from the pedestrian bridge crossing the Chicago river, when a jogger decides to run in front of me, or any time that a motorist comes too close with their car. Oh, and when I see a squirrel.

Any time that I use my front brake, my bike screams. I've played with the toe-in of the pads, but the Avid Shorty 4 brakes on my machine are notorious for chatter/squeal and I'm going to blame them rather than my sham bicycle maintenance abilities. The sound is piercing from where I am and likely louder for everyone else.

Lately, I've been using it as a horn, especially on the LFP. There, joggers, mothers with strollers, and squirrels like to dart in front of the fast-moving cyclist and when a fast-moving cyclist hits a jogger, mother with stroller, or squirrel, someone will end up hurt. Or in the case of squirrels, dead. Yes, I've accidentally hit and killed squirrels with my bike. Two, in fact.

Whenever I see one of these obstacles come close to putting themselves and me into peril, I slam on that brake and watch as they dart away. I'm not saying I delight in seeing a runner start at the sound of my bike as I come bearing down upon him or her, but, well, I kinda do. If people remembered the advice their mothers dispensed to them as a child, that being to always look both ways before crossing or entering into the street, then I wouldn't have to slam on my brakes to avoid them. The squirrels don't know any better, of course.

So, again, apologies to all my friends and fellow cyclists who have to put up with my noise. It's for our collective good, or that's how I'm going to rationalize my disinterest in finding a solution to the problem.

Montrose this Weekend

Yeah, I'm excited. I told the other place I write for all about it, may as well say something here.

On another note, I may not be so broke in the near future. Huh?

Boring

Out-n-back rides are never creative, but I forgot to plot out a course and I wanted to make sure I was back for a Thanksgiving feast. Rode a more interesting route yesterday, but the dictates of time meant that I had to be back sooner than I would have liked to go on a five mile deathmarch of a walk with my dad and brother, my dad leading the way, of course. I did get some new kicks out of the deal, so win-win.

Ate lots of pumpkin pie and turkey. Sadly, there was a lack of pecan pie. Looks like I'll have to whip up one or three.

I did realize that I love North Carolina. I'd do lots to end up somewhere in the Research Triangle area, but as of now, I'm slowly entrenching myself into the Chicago firmament. Something to think and dream about, I guess.

Cincinnati to Chapel Hill

Headed to North Carolina in five hours and I'm wide awake. I'll need the Venti tomorrow, durn it.

My dad promises Burger King. I'm leaning toward Krystal. Either way, the gluttony is going to be out-of-control.

I'll come back to Chicago with a gut.

A Conversation with Helge

Helge: you there honey
me: Awww, yeah
Helge: yo!
me: I heard yesterday's race was epic.
Helge: yeah, real fun
me: Something about an alligator pit and flames?
Helge: croc pit actually
me: Oh, dang, that's right.
Helge: 14 foot flames 4 feet wide
me: Were there any maneating plants coming out of green pipes?
And plumbers?
Helge: yeah but I ate some killer shrooms and blasted them with my balls
me: We need to have a Super Mario Bros. race next year at DeKalb.
Helge: I mean fireballs
me: ahhhhhh
Helge: nice
me: Set up a water pit. Or run the race into the river.
Helge: That'd be great
me: Woah...we should make it so that you have to swim across the river to get through the course.
Helge: I"m sure the dudes with 5K bikes would love that!
me: Those dudes on $5K bikes need to unclench those heinies a little.
Relax and let it all out.
Helge: that will never happen
me: Yeah. That's why they aren't on Half Acre. They aren't awesome enough.

Cold

Yesterday, I went out with good intentions to do the 33.8 mile ride to Promontory Point, which usually takes me 1:45-1:55 to do, depending on how lazy I feel and the wind.

I made it to Irving Park before I decided to pack it in. My hands started freezing up and I just felt uninspired. I think I'm finally sick of the bike, or maybe, just tired of training. The CX season is almost over and the next race on my calendar is the Schabobele road race in February. I've got tons of hours and miles in for the year and I'm just done with it. I have been running more, which I really, truly enjoy for some odd reason. I think it's the simplicity of the activity: it takes two minutes to get ready and I can get out the door and do my favorite three miles, with a stop for jumping jacks at Loyola Park. I oughta increase the mileage a bit, because I've been considering a duathlon or tri next year. Yes, seriously.

But I can't give up on the bike.

I woke up this morning and thought about getting out onto the road for a good jaunt to Northerly, but when I went outside to get the paper and felt the chill, I bagged on that idea. Set the trainer up for the first time since March, put on a Tour de France DVD to give me something to look at and loaded the iPod with Aus Rotten. Put in 1:15 and felt good. I guess I better get used to the trainer now – I'll be on that thing plenty for the next four months.

Epilogue:

Julie's already given me the hassle. I guess I should've explained: I need to get used to this cold weather business. In a week or two, I'll be out there plenty, bundled-up, and doing my thing per usual. I just need to ease into it, that's all. Last year, I was doing 65 milers to Wolf Lake with the temps. in the mid 20s. Soon, I'll be back to that business, but until then, I'm gonna be on that trainer. Sorry.

History (Part 2)

Ever since I moved away from my hometown of Cincinnati, first to Athens, then to Chicago, I've thought about time and how my glimpses of reality back home are snapshots, frozen into those monthly or bi-monthly visits. I make the drive down and the tomatoes that were seedlings in the spring have become full plants, heavy with ruddy fruit. The house on the corner, the one with the unmowed yard (a victim of the subprime crisis, I reckon) has a hole in the roof from a fire whose origins are still a mystery. My experience is a common one, one that's been discussed ad nauseum, but yet, it's my own experience.

Last week, I went down to Barlow, Ohio with my mom and her boyfriend Jim to celebrate my grandparents' 60th anniversary. A short trip – I brought my bike along to revisit a favorite route of mine – we were only gone for two days and one night. When I finally arrived at the farm from my ride, I was just in time for some eating and the unveiling of the gift of an overgrown golf cart to help my grandparents get around on the farm. When the excitement had all died down, I went off for a walk.



Growing up, the farm was a big playground for me, my brothers, and my cousins. We'd get into something we shouldn't have gotten into, usually something with an engine and sharp. Or we'd end up getting chased by the bull out in the pasture. The barns are still full of tractors, balers and other dangerous machinery, but the cows are gone, sold off long ago.



I wandered first toward the old farmhouse, which is slowly collapsing in upon itself. The foundations solid, but holes in the firmament and roof have let in water and raccoons. A large crack splits the brickwork, the inside smells of must. There's talk of restoring the house, the cost is prohibitive, but by no means a barrier. Regardless, something, anything will have to happen soon or else the house will fall into its cellar and cistern.



After talking to Jim and my uncle Bruce (both pictured in the photo of the house above), I went into the toolshed. Mostly just storage for dead weed trimmers, a drill press, and buckets of old, rusty nails and bolts, this small building with its oil-stained wooden floors that buckle and sag right in front of the toolbench where one would stand while rebuilding an engine or sharpening a spade.



I then took some time to mess around with the John Deere bulldozer. Someone changed the oil a while ago and a spider had built a web from the edge of the oil bucket to the filter. My grandparents acquired the 'dozer about six years ago and it gets pulled out on occasion to dig a trench, make a big mess. One of the funner pieces of heavy machinery I've ever had the pleasure of operating. Just like everything else on the farm, it's old – it rolled or clanked off the assembly line in the late 1960s.



Oil too is a part of our land – under the fields and grass lie some shale foundations and under those gas and oil. My grandparents' house is blazing hot in the winter, owing to the free gas that comes off a stand pipe somewhere on the hill behind the house. Tucked away behind that hill is the oil pump that supposedly turns on automatically, but it is covered in rust like everything else metal on the farm, and it looks as if it's not pumped in years. We get royalties from the oil, not much because there's not much under the ground, but the proceeds paid for my Christmas gifts as a kid.



After dinner at 5:00 (farmers, even retired ones, eat early, I guess), I went down to the basement and garage and rooted around in the toolbins and boxes, looking for pieces of who I am. Went out to the garage and studied my grandfather's workbench, looked at all the tools lined up in even rows, and peered under the covered 1933 Ford Model T that he spent years restoring.



Next time I'm back, I hope to bring a better camera with me. The Powershot's good for general use, but it struggled mightily with lower light levels. I tried touching up the photos, but they all turned grainy, so I mostly just tried balancing the color to compensate for the overcast conditions. I do have about 10 rolls of high-end film I need to use up, so maybe I'll shoot some over Christmas.

Lansing, IL

After a month off from racing, I decided to make today's ChiCrossCup race in Lansing, IL, down in the far southside, my big return. Predicted conditions were 35 and windy, which it was, and the course was said to be flat – a "grass criterium" – which was also correct. I don't like the cold, nor do I like flat courses, so the fact that I was so pumped about this race somewhat surprised me.

I picked up Naz at 8:10 – after missing St. Charles because of bad directions and a late departure, we made sure that we would not have another repeat. After a short drive down LSD and I-94, we got to the race with time to spare, and I had a reason to do well in the race – I saw the promise offered by a Dairy Queen a few blocks away from the race.

After registering, Naz and I were able to get out for a few laps. The course itself started at the east end of the park, swung north, where it travelled along the side of 178th st., then came back into the park for some sweepers and a hairpin. Then, two barriers set about 50 feet apart got one off of the bike. A long paved section led to another barrier set about 30 feet in front of the long sandpit. After that, the course swung around a tennis court to the start/finish. A quick, short blast – nothing at all technical, but certainly a hard workout.

Tim, Adrian, Helge, and the Killjoy crew all arrived eventually and sooner rather than later, it was time to get psyched-up to ride. Naz let me have a schmear of some Mad Alchemy embrocation, which I used to dose my toes and fingers, which always suffer so much in the cold. Almost instantly, my hands were tingling (and right now, eight hours later, are still tingling, despite the use of lots of soap) and I started to see how some of those crazies are able to go bare-legged in the cold. I'm a wuss, so I had on a jersey, fleece-lined jacket, two bib shorts, leg warmers, Craft lobster claws, and a cap. I don't like being cold, and I like even less riding my bike while cold. My philosophy: it's easier to unzip a jersey than to have to suffer even more than necessary from the chill.

After calls-ups, us peons jostled for a solid spot, which didn't serve me especially well because my start was terrible. I found myself in the back 1/3 and because the course was especially tight, I wasn't about to move forward until after the first lap. By then, I had passed all my teammates and found myself picking through a few stragglers who had gassed it all in the first go around the course. Of course, the leaders who had both gotten a good start and had good fitness were already way up ahead. So, I was out racing my own race and did so for the next 9 laps. I only bobbled once, in the fourth lap, when I botched a remount and struck my right ankle against the left pedal. Hurt it pretty bad, so I had to soft-pedal for a minute, but the pain subsided to a dull throb and I got back into the swing of things.

Near the end of the ninth lap, I could see the race leaders only a little bit back. I don't like being lapped, like most every other cyclocrosser, but I was determined to hold them off so that I could finish the race on the same lap. I put some extra gas into my pedal stroke, took the corners a bit quicker, and managed to avoid being lapped by a Burnham Racing rider by about 20 feet. Ended up finishing 20th out of 27 finishers and 33 starters. Not great, but I feel better about completing the rest of the race series, so today was certainly a success in that regard.

After a mediocre lunch at a Mexican joint, Naz and I got some Baskin-Robbins and got back in time to see off the Men's 4 races. Lots of dollar bills were handed-out, and Hemme got yelled at by the organizer. Awesome. I love this sport.

Suited-up

I had an interview this afternoon for work at a NGO as a communications specialist, doing web content development, research, and editing. I had time to kill beforehand, so I ducked into a Borders Books and browsed through the magazines. Picked up a Maximum Rock 'n Roll, probably the first time in about five years, read a column about the death of Matt Odietus of the Candy Snatchers, and skimmed the reviews.

Funny thing, was that I was in my suit, tie and a sharp blue shirt. If my 17 year old self caught glimpse of someone like me, dressed professionally, with a punk 'zine in hand (stalwartish, irrelevant, or whatever), I would have either mockingly laughed, or thought about how awesome it was that someone could still be into the punk rock AND work a real job. Back then I wasn't much the churlish type, so I really want to believe that I'd fall into the latter.

I remember being mightily impressed that the singer of the Twerps, an amazing Cincinnati punk band, was a professor at NKU. And that the bassist of the Slobs, another equally great band, worked in finance. Being that I was going to shows in punkhouses, covered in sweat and beer, I was affirmed that I didn't have to discard my ideals if I wanted to do something with my life.

Not saying I'm doing much with what I've got, but I'm doing something.

Taking Stock

Going down to Cincinnati tomorrow night. Allison wanted to go down home to work on a photo project in her parents' backyard; I'm headed to Barlow, Ohio early Saturday morning to spend some time with my grandparents, who are celebrating their 60th anniversary. My grandfather is 85, my grandmother 81, and they're both doing well enough. Thing is, is that now that I live in Chicago, I don't get to the farm so much to spend some leisurely hours talking to them, or in the barn, picking through centuries of detritus. My bike's coming along, so if I'm feeling the itch (and don't I always), I'll get out and do my favorite loop. I always look at my time in Barlow as a way to get perspective on things, take my life into account. Sifting through old photos of my great-great-grandfather, or digging into the innards of the blown tractor gearbox in the garage is therapeutic, in a way.

If we get back in time Sunday, I'm doing the John Bryant OVCX race in Yellow Springs. Went there three years ago and broke a crank on the first lap, ending my race. I've been itching for revenge ever since. Up here in Chicago is the Northbrook melee and the weather's looking promising, CX-speaking, for once.

And there it is

Big B's the next President of the United States.

I'm not cynical enough to say that good times are on the way.

Now to go to bed.

Monday, 11/3/2008

I've resisted discussing here the election with which we've all by now become either completely engrossed-with, or have completely tuned-out. One or the other. I fall in the former camp: my homepage for the past three months is for all intents and purposes Politico, Pollster and Wonkette. I diddle with all the electoral maps, figuring out all the possible schemas for Democratic defeat by landslide, Republican loss by slim margins, or a comeback by Ralph Nader to sweep the entire pot of 538. The last scenario about as unlikely as the natural return of hair on the top of my head.

I've devoured all the commentary on this year's horse race, including that on the National Review, Drudge, and other conservative blogs/websites. All that mostly for perspective and insight – I like knowing how the other "side" thinks, but I'm not stupid enough to think of Republicans as enemies or nemeses. We're all Americans and like it or not, we all share a common interest: to live a good life in the unperfect beauty that is the United States. We just have different ideas on how to do so. I prefer taking the post-structuralist approach to political life, anyway.

I remember getting into a discussion a few months back with someone at a dinner party, when the returns for the Iowa Primaries were coming in. Everyone at the party was rooting for Obama, as was I. We all had some wine in us and delicious food on the way, and of course, the conversation was about the Big B. I got to talking to with one of the fellow partygoers, a guy I'll name Sam. Sam was from the south, North Carolina I think, and lived in Chicago for a couple of years, working in the arts. The topic of family and origins came up – I have an avid interest in rural issues, especially that of Appalachia, seeing as how half my family and all of Allison's is from West Virginia and southeastern Ohio. I'm some part Hatfield, for what it's worth.

So I asked Sam if he missed NC and if went home often. The answer I got was something like, "Well, not so often. Me and my family don't get along in politics." And I thought that odd as the games of politics, at least for me, are unable to usurp blood. Certainly, there could be other issues at play, of which I didn't ask.

My maternal grandparents are socially-conservative agrarians; my paternal are working-class Jews from the city, and I'm some sort of amalgam that's come out liberal in most aspects. But maybe my passion doesn't run so deep, or my ideals are flimsy, because I could never begrudge my maternal grandparents, or any of my other family members, for voting for McCain/Palin. Seems shortsighted and ridiculous.

I suppose that all of this is somehow related to my journalistic background – I'm trained to see things with a skeptic's eye and to keep emotion out of the way. I've made the study of media bias (real or otherwise) a keystone of my academic research and I try to avoid letting my heart take rein of my political beliefs. Maybe I shouldn't be critical of those who live their beliefs passionately; maybe I should see the strength it takes to take a stand for what one feels. I so feel ambivalent sometimes, especially after the tragedies of 2000 and 2004. And while I've not gotten to the point where I see the democratic process as a sham, (which is a subject for another day), I am certainly wary of lofty claims and overly ambitious plans.

However, tomorrow, if Obama takes the 270 electoral votes he needs, I'm going to gloat and maybe I'll let some of the elation I'll likely be around as I watch the returns sway me – just a little bit.

Ha!

Out of Chicago by 9:00 AM with Allison, Jen, and Naz so that me and Naz could race the St. Charles 'cross race. Allison was going to explore the woods and work on some photos and Jen was going to hang out and spend some time out of the city. Thanks to GoogleMaps, my directions to the park where the race was to be held were completely wrong, sending us through a subdivision where there were no cyclocross activities to be seen.

At 10:45, with our race due to start in 15 minutes and still no idea where we were, we came to the unanimous decision in the car to bag it. It was disappointing, as we had come all the way out, but we were all stressed-out, aggravated and just plain mad. So we went to Caribou Coffee, where Allison was able to hit a deadline for her school thesis. After all that, we went to Chili's, where we had the most disgusting lunch ever, and then came back to Chicago. Naz is a huge fan of Chili's, which I find both amusing and mystifying.

We didn't race 'cross, nor did we make it to the race, even. So, yeah, it was something of a bummer. However, we still had a good time – which isn't all one can really ask for anyway?

We have a team open house tonight, and I think Naz and I may roll out for a workout beforehand. It might serve us right, seeing as how we didn't get sweaty with the team earlier. Penance can be a beautiful thing. Apologies to all my friends who I haven't seen in weeks – hopefully you haven't totally written me off just yet. Despite what you think, I'm not that much of a flake.

Halloween

I have yet to decide upon a Halloween costume, so maybe I'll just go as a vampire. Or Dave Vanian. I think that Nosferatu may be easier to pull off, you know, because of the hair thing (and lack thereof).

Heartbreakers

Yeah, the above is solo Thunders, not the "L.A.M.F." era Heartbreakers, but I'm on tangents today.

Just like last week, I didn't race today. It's a heartbreaker, because I wanted to, I really wanted to. However, I've got to pinch some serious pennies, because I'm waiting on some grant money and it's all slow in coming. So just like last week, I did a solo thing to Lake Forest to take out some frustrations. Hard winds, some chill, but it was a solid three hours by my lonesome.

And because the journalism/media market in this town has just about tanked, I need work, of any kind. I've tended bar, managed a record store, served at a French restaurant, and sold cars. I was good at all of those jobs, even the selling of cars. I'm not so sure I want to do that again, especially with that industry facing severe troubles. If anyone has a lead on something, anything, I'd love to hear it.

The 2008 Presidential Election

The Tragedies of Progress

If you've ever stood on the southbound platform of the Loyola El stop and looked to the southwest, you might have noticed a small, wild garden of crabapple trees, sunflowers, and grass, ringed by a wrought iron fence. Tucked behind a sterile block apartment building, and next to a Loyola dormitory, the garden looked so out of place – like a deer in the middle of Michigan Avenue, or a flower growing out of a crack in the pavement.

And if you ever decided to walk into the garden, say if you had a spare minute or two on the way home from work, and sat at the bench in the back, next to the bed of beets and tomatoes, you might've felt that all things were right in the world. That no matter the pressures of everyday life, careerism, and commerce, by taking a moment to ogle something resembling the natural state of things, one could let loose a bit, gain a sort of perspective. Sometimes it seems that humans were never made for the concrete pillars of big cities.

Tended to by children from the nearby Waldorf, on land lent by Loyola, the garden has shrugged along for the past 10 years. It's going to be over soon, though. The wrecking ball is coming for the apartment building bordering the eastern end, and likely development will take over the whole plot, garden and all. Condos and mixed-use retail, they say. When Allison and I heard the news about a month ago, we were heartbroken – we both spend countless hours in the garden when it's not being used as an open-air natural laboratory. I take my coffee and paper there; Allison has shot dozens of rolls of film amongst the greenery. Allison took the news especially hard – she's set up a blog in concert with Waldorf parents to try to save the space.

It's all admirable, but rumor has it that it's all for naught. No matter, though, because the outpouring of support from neighbors unaffiliated with Waldorf, Loyola students who disagree with the Loyola's master plan, and of course, active parents, has really shown me how a community can come together to try to make a difference. And yes, if the garden goes, it will be a tragedy, but I'd like to think that I've learned something of a lesson.

Mediocrity

Because we all question why we race bikes when we just aren't as fast as we wish we were. Quoted from my response to Kevin Clark's post, here.

Face it, we all suck at this sport, but once you realize that you're not going to get paid to do it, you realize real quick that it's probably one of the most fun things you can do on land.

Racing is fun because it's a personal test. Yeah, we've been hanging out midpack in the 3's, but so have a ton of other people. Mediocrity is comforting, and boy am I comfortable.

Yeah, I tell myself that my goal is Cat. 2 by the time I'm 30. That's two years from now – we'll see if I can make any miracles happen.

Don't ever quit.

Racing and not racing

For several reasons, none particularly important, I didn't race Carpentersville yesterday. Yes, I'm bummed out that I didn't; no, I have no real regrets, though.

I instead went on a solo ride to Fort Sheridan and explored some of the terrain in the North Shore. Three hours, with one stop at Starbucks for hot chocolate and a piece of cake. Yeah, the beer tent in Carpentersville would have been more fun, but I think I needed a hard solo ride by myself to clear the legs and mull things over while moving along at a solid clip.

History

The family farm is full of haunted places. The wet, sunken basement of the ancient collapsing farmhouse where my grandfather grew up; the massive barn that still smells of cows, even though they last lived there well over a dozen years ago. The toolshed next to the drive, with floorboards soaked in oil, grass clippings and cobwebs in the corner.

All those places have the touch of history, of 200 years of Lawtons being born, living and dying on the 250 acres in Barlow, Ohio.

When I go home, my true home, I'll take a walk past the tool shed, past the barn, and turn left to go up the hill. To the top, where one can summon a view of the surrounding county. Off in the distance to the south are flames in the sky from the petroleum plants of Chemical Alley. Directly to the west is the blinking red eye of the cell phone tower that went up three years ago.

Up on that ground, on the top of the hill that overlooks the farm is the cemetery where my blood lies buried, bones turned black under layers of ivy, moss and lichen. I'll sit up there for a while, not in the graveyard itself, but close enough, and listen.

Death Disco (October Playlist #1)

SWAN LAKE (aka Death Disco)

Seeing in your eyes
Words can never say the way
Told me in your eyes
Final in a fade
Never no more hope away
Final in a fade
Seeing in your eyes
Seeing in your eyes
Never really know
Never realise
Silence in your eyes
Silence in your eyes
Never really know
Til its gone away
Never realise
The silence in your eyes
Seen it in your eyes
Seen it in your eyes
Never no more hope away
Final in a fade
Watch her slowly die
Saw it in her eyes
Choking on a bed
Flowers rotting dead
seen it in her eyes
Ending in a day
Silence was a way
Seeing in your eyes
Seeing in your eyes
Seeing in your eyes
I'm seeing through my eyes
Words cannot express
Words cannot express

Wednesday, 11:20 AM

My first real ride since the weekend: 29 miles before the rainstorms rolled in, 1,100 calories burned, one hour and 36 minutes. Nothing exceptional, other than the fact that it felt good again to go for a ride. Went for an easy spin Monday, did nothing yesterday, so my legs were fresh and I was itching to get some exercise in.

Tomorrow's some stairstep and pyramid intervals on Northerly Island with Naz.

Sometimes it feels nice to go to the park and do 250 jumping jacks while your girlfriend takes pictures of trash.

OVCX: Cincinnati UCI Cyclocross Festival

All photos by Naz Hamid, from here.

Naz and I left Chicago Thursday at about 11:30 AM in order to head to Cincinnati, Ohio, my hometown, and race the OVCX UCI Cyclocross Festival, a three-day series of races. The racing started Friday with the Darkhorse Cyclostampede in Burlington, Kentucky, then moved to Middletown, Ohio for the Java Johnny's race, and finished with the Biowheels/United Dairy Farmers UCI-1 race in Harbin Park, located in the Cincinnati suburb of Fairfield.

I've ridden two of those courses before – last year doing the Burlington race with Ben Popper and the Harbin Park race back in '05 as my first race ever as a 'cross racer (and getting seventh in the process). Last year, Burlington was a brutal course: rutted, dry and hot. Harbin Park, more wooded and with substantial terrain, was hopefully as I remembered it: a real sweetheart. I had no idea what to expect of the Middletown race, which is what I like, as I like being surprised. Actually, I had no idea to expect of the entire weekend, as racing CX three days in a row is quite a test of ambition, legs, and equipment. I could crash badly in a race and be forced to forgo the others, or I could overdo my efforts in the unseasonably hot weather that was predicted for the three days and ruin my legs. The rules of the weekend were to stay hydrated, eat lots of food and have a good time. Normally I have no problem with abiding by these laws, but as any competitive cyclist, amateur or professional knows, sometimes things go exactly the way you don't expect them to.

Ben, Julie, Tim and Devon had to wait until after work before they came down to cincinnati. While waiting for them, Naz and I hung out with my parents, went to Melt for dinner and checked out Shake It!, where I bought a used copy of Mudhoney's "Superfuzz Bigmuff" for cheap. By 11:30, the rest of the crew was in town and in my mom's kitchen, eating ice cream and talking up plans for the next day's race.



Friday morning, we got the day going at a leisurely pace. Naz and I went to Kroger's and bought groceries and set about reading the paper, tweaking our bikes and gathering together all our materials for that afternoon's race. After arriving and registering, I put on my cleats and helmet and got out onto the course. Just as last year, the ground was rutted, bone dry, but fast. A long pavement straightaway led to off-camber ess-curves through trees, then to a series of short, sharp rises which had to be taken out of the saddle and slow, down to a long straightaway to the UCI-dictated maximum of two artificial barriers, then down into a small gulley that at speed threatened to crack forks. After this, a long pavement section led toward the back side of the course, which doubled back over an even more rutted section and around an off-camber corner. Then the course headed down the hill with a log at the bottom of the turn and back up to the start/finish.

Because I preregistered, I got a call-up and secured a spot on the second row. Pat Kelly, a former teammate of mine from the Midwest Flyers/Campus Cyclery squad was close by, and we made jokes and self-deprecating comments before the gun was to go off. And hardly a minute went by and the UCI official was in front of us, giving the rundown and then shooting off the starting pistol. I took my initial sprint aggressively, cutting in behind the front line of riders and setting myself up for the race. Things were going well by the time the group got to the bike path on the back side of the course – I was in about the 10th to 12th position in a good draft. Then, as we transitioned onto the dirt and back onto the pavement for a short climb, I stood out of the pedals, heard a clunk, and then I felt no resistance from the pedals. I looked down hoping to see a dropped chain, but instead my chain was laying on the pavement, getting run over by the 40 riders that were behind me.

So there I stood, waiting for all to pass and occasionally hearing "Oh, MAN, does that gotta suck!" And suck it did. My race was over and I hadn't even completed a lap. So, I walked the bike back in, cussed and sulked a bit, and tried to not act like a brat. Julie came through with a new chainpin and I went for a good ride on some beautiful Burlington roads to clear my mind and burn off some of the excess energy that I had reserved for the race.

Afterward, we went over to my dad's house and cooked a big family-style dinner of spaghetti, garlic bread, and salad, with beers to wash it all down. Got to hang out with my dad and talk about life, my future, jobs, and so on. Our lives are so busy sometimes that the only time we get to talk is when I come in town for a race or he gives me a holler on his way home from work. This is all matter for another blog post, though.



Saturday morning didn't start off so smooth. I had set the alarm on my phone for 6:45 AM, but I'd made a mistake and the alarm didn't go off. Naz woke up at 7:23, looked outside and said "Zach! Get up, we slept in!" So I jumped out of bed, got myself together and we were out on the road to Middletown by 8:00. On the drive up, I was able to showcase some local Ohio attractions including Touchdown Jesus and Trader's World. Shortly after, we got to the venue and Naz and I both remarked, "This doesn't look promising." Middletown's Sunset Park was the race venue and it was a small patch of greenspace tucked in a residential neighborhood, maybe a quarter mile on each side. From the street, it looked like a mess of tape, congested, and not at all well thought out.

Once registered, we got on our bikes, went out to recon, and found that our expectations were rash. Yes, the race was tight and congested, but it was a wild trip. Short power sections would transition to off-camber switchbacks. A small climb up a gravelly service road would immediately drop down into a swooping descent past the shelter and through a severely rutted and rooty transition area. To race well on this course, handling skills would be needed, along with the ability to get out of the saddle and sprint every 20 seconds. Oh, and the kicker? A sandpit with a 180 degree turn at the end, which was entirely rideable the first half, the second not so much. In pre-race, riders left and right were crashing or stalling out in the sand and forced to dismount and run the bike at a hefty cost of energy and time. The strategy we all came to was to bomb the short descent into the sand, ride hard and dismount for the second half. Easier said than done, of course.

At 11:50, I was at the staging area, sucking down a gel and taking one last drink of Heed. By then, the heat was really coming on strong – a high of 85 was forecasted for the day and by the time of my race, it was about 80 and not a cloud in the sky. So much for the sodden, wet misery of fall cyclocross – the day was shaping up to be a steamer. I felt sorry for those who had to race later in the afternoon. Much like Friday's race, I got a call-up to the second line, where I again talked smack with Pat Kelly. Unlike Friday's race, I had a bad start and couldn't get the legs spinning fast enough to sprint to the front of the first, fast pack. At the off-camber switchback ascent, I got stuck behind a succession of crashes, forcing me off of the bike and into a run.

As the laps went on, six of them for the Cat. 3 men, I settled into a solid rhythm, not getting passed, but also not able to pass the few riders dangling just feet in front of me. Brent Emoff of Team Hungry (a former Midwest Flyer and friend) was just 20 seconds ahead, and a Team Louisville rider who responded well to Julie's heckling was maybe 10 seconds. No matter how I tried, I couldn't reel them in and that's how I finished the race – 42nd of 53. Not that good.

After an extended spin with Kerry Nordstrom and Brent, I cleaned-up and changed, and watched the Elite Women and Men tear it up. Katie Compton flashed a grin at me when I called her a "killer" and I heckled all those fast dudes that get paid to ride cyclocross professionally. Ben started off strong, but he lost some placings to the heat and fatigue. After his finish, we packed the cars and headed back to my mom's, where we cleaned ourselves up. A trip again down to Northside for Melt, a beer from the Northside Tavern, and Graeter's capped off the night and we were all in bed by 10:30.



I woke up Sunday morning at about 6:15 after a night of fitful sleep. Coffee and a small bowl of oatmeal was all that I could stomach, but I had time to fuel before my race, so I wasn't much worried. We all drove to Harbin Park in Fairfield, which incidentally is where I first raced cyclocross back in 2005. Much like the day before, after registering for the race and getting our numbers, Naz, Tim, and myself went out to ride the course to see what it was all about.

The racecourse was at a UCI-maximum length of 3.5 kilometers – which didn't seem like so much because it was so goddamn fast. From the start/finish, a short uphill sweeper led to an uphill sandpit that was only able to be ridden by the pros, then through some off-camber curves in a stand of trees to the barriers. Then, up a long climb to the top of a hill and across a ridge, to a series of switchbacks that dropped down to a small ravine that ramped up the speeds to the high 20's. A climb up a rough patch of double-track led to a series of fast sweepers that dropped back down to a U-shaped turn that promised severe bottlenecks in the first several laps. After that, a climb back up the side of the hill, only to descend at high speed through the other side of the sand pit, which there was rideable with a minimum of pedaling. Then, more sweeping curves that begged for riding in the drops, a treacherous off-camber dirt corner, and a slow slogging climb in the grass to the start/finish.

If the previous day's race relied on anaerobic sprint strength and handling, this course demanded the ability to climb and descend without hesitation. In the Men's C race, Naz and Tim both put in great efforts, with Naz taking 17th in a field of 48. Afterward, he gave me a few pointers, the most crucial being that it was imperative to attack on the uphill pavement section where most riders would try to recover after pushing too hard in the barrier and sand sections. I love climbing and finding my rhythm when the route heads uphill, so I took his advice seriously.

At the staging area, all us Cat. 3 riders were circulating around the parking lot in some strange kind of crit, abuzz with the sound of knobby 'cross tires rubbing on pavement. As I had all weekend, I got to talking with Pat Kelly, Kerry and Brent about the race and who to watch out for. We'd all been finishing mid-pack all weekend, so it was kind of a discussion of which one of us we were going to target. I wanted to take out Brent, who had beat me the day before. Pat wanted to win over all of us, because he's just that kind of guy. Either way, it was a good example of macho posturing and bravado – and I realize now that I miss riding with these guys a lot. At least I get to see them once a month or so, whenever I come home.

And before we knew it, it was time for us to line up and race. I was sketched out by the thought of the pack sprinting on the narrow pavement of the staging area, which turned a sharp left into the course. Once the gun went off, I stayed in the front pack, but let myself get pushed out of the way as we went into the grass. That wasn't such the mistake as it would have been yesterday, as this course with its wider trails and less precarious corners was better suited for a more passive sprinter such as myself.

Once I settled into a good pace, I started passing a few of the riders that had ridden by me at the start. One here, two there, it was a game that I played on the climb to the water tower and on the ridge thereafter. This race also allowed one to recover some – I could catch a breath on the descents, the climbs allowed me to take a drink from the bottle that I had the foresight to stash in my jersey pocket. The heat was brutal, but the shade helped. Altogether, I was riding better than I did the day before and unless I had a mechanical, I would bring it home in a decent spot.

For the last lap, though, I had two riders breathing down my neck, just seconds behind. I couldn't shake them, nor could they bridge up to me, and so we were as we all came flying through the last trip in the sandpit and down the sweeping curves. As the course tilted upward toward the finish, I geared down, got in my drops and sprinted as hard as I could. And I came in without being passed. 36/57.

After cooling down and showering as best I could using a drinking fountain, I went on to see Devon take 7th in the Elite Women's field. As I had yesterday, I live-blogged for Cyclocross Magazine during the Men's Elite race. Check out my dispatches here. Powers came in for the win, just ahead of Wells who had to sprint on his own two legs due to a chain broken (seems kinda common, doesn't it) in the final stretch. It was inspiring to see pro riders go at speeds I couldn't dream of attaining, and riding with a smoothness that will take years for me to develop.

As soon as Ben had cleaned up, we were on the road back home to Chicago. A stop at Waffle House in Shelbyville provided much needed carbs, grease and grits, and by 10:00 PM, I was home and pestering Allison.

Final thoughts:

Playing pro cyclist for a weekend is fun. Forget about the lifestyle. I don't like bikes enough to spend my waking hours racing and then eating. I mean, I love to eat and ride, but on my terms. If I feel like doing a five hour endurance ride in cyclocross season, I can do so and my Sunday results aren't likely to suffer. If I feel like eating a bowlful of icecream, I can do so, too.

My parents are awesome. I didn't think so back in high school, but I think most kids don't get along with their parents at least for some times of their lives. I have had epic battles with my parents, but I'm closer to them now than I have ever been before.

Waffle House is good, but for post-race junk food, Chipotle is king.

OVCX: Darkhorse Cyclostampede

Long story short: I broke my chain in the first lap and DNF'd. Had a call-up and awesome start, but popped the KMC masterlink when powering off of a dirt section onto a paved path.

I'll post up more about the trip later, but yeah, a bit of a bust. I did get my picture taken with Barry Wicks, so all is good, though.

Enrolling for 2009

Half Acre Cycling will be hosting an open house of sorts. That is, if you're interested in riding with us for 2009. Sunday November 2nd, we'll be having a meeting open to the public who would like to ride with a beer swillin', hard ridin', enthusiastic team.

Please contact me directly through here for specific information, or shoot off an e-mail to our team address.

We have big plans for our second year and we're looking for folks who want to take part.

ChiCrossCup #2: DeKalb

Picture by Amy, from here.

Today was the cyclocross race that my team, Half Acre Cycling, volunteered to work with North Central Cyclery, out in DeKalb about 65 miles due west from Chicago. The amount of work that went into putting this race together was immense. The logistics of planning is easy to underestimate – the legwork with which we were tasked kept all of us busy for the past couple of months. I have a renewed appreciation for the work that those people who love cycling do so that we all can race.

Last night, when I went to bed later than intended at 11:10 PM, with the alarm set for 5:00 AM, I thought that it all was set up as well as I, and the rest of the team, could make it. We had food to sell, prizes to give out, permits paid for. This morning at 6, with Curtis and Allison in the car, with rain in the forecast, and the air cool, it was looking to be a good day for a CX race. We got to DeKalb, found the park and got to work setting up registration. I sat down at the table and didn't get back up until about two hours later.

I'd gone into today wanting to race, but willing to give up the chance to race in order to facilitate the operations of the race itself. At 10:25, just a few minutes before registration for the Cat. 3s was to close, Naz came up and said, "Why are you still in your street clothes?" I said something about "Well, if I got changed, I wouldn't even have a chance to warm up and I haven't even seen the course." As it were, I was cold and sore – not exactly race-ready condition.

Then Allison came up and hassled me, too. Said something like "What the hell?! This is your team's race; you're going to race!" So, I thought of it for a moment and went to the bathroom to change into my race kit. Then went to my bike, let some air out of the tires and went to get warmed-up. A few minutes later, it was at the line, making jokes with Adrian and Kevin, and shaking with the pre-race jitters. I kinda knew I was going to end up racing, just needed a kick in the ass to get there.

At the whistle, it was clip-in, sprint and get lined-up behind the really fast guys (and girl!) for the fracturing of the peloton that occurs so quickly in CX racing. This never goes according to plan, especially not today. In the first fifteen feet, I was squeezed into the tape by some rider whose team I cannot remember – then, about thirty feet later, Kevin squeezed me into the tape again, leaving me to chase back on to the leaders. As I was going into the course blind, I was watching the wheels ahead of me to see what was going on, where the traction was bad and where the terrain was rutted. So, I played it cool and traded places back and forth with Adrian for the first two laps. The off-camber descent after the run up, which plagued the later races with some of the best crashes I've seen in a while, was dry and could be taken at speed.

For the most part, the race was uneventful – I didn't lay the bike down, I felt decent once the first lap was over, and I had a great cheering section. For six laps, I pushed it hard, kept my heart rate at about 188 BPM. I wasn't gaining ground, but besides being passed by Luke Seeman of xXx, I didn't fall backwards in the standing. At the final lap, I worked it harder in the corners, and came in by myself, 21 of 29. Not great, but I can't complain considering the circumstances.

The rest of the day was just fantastic. A good rain came down on the Pro/1/2/3 race, and Mike Hemme, who is part of my circle of friends who makes me feel so, so slow, and who won the 3 race, took 6th, being bested by Kevin Klug, who crushed it for 3rd. In the 4's races, the men of HACT kept it together and looked great out there in the massive fields. Due to a bad alternator, Ben and Julie were unable to make it out – and they were sorely missed today. Being broken down on the side of the highway is hardly an enviable position, especially on race day.

As I find pictures, I'll add them.

With that, it's autumn

Fed up with our respective performances at Jackson Park, Naz and I have been going out bright and early during the week for interval efforts and sprints out on Northerly Island. I love early morning riding – with the rise of the sun, I'm getting a workout in and setting a good tone for the rest of the day. I beat the heat during the summer and a crowded LFP, which during the height of the season, fills up full by 8:30 AM.

This morning, I was out on the bike by 6:55 with Naz, passing Mike as he was coming back in after his workout, and the sun was just starting to peek above the horizon on Lake Michigan. And for the first time since about April, I was cold. Kneewarmers and armwarmers were on, but I felt chilly. And it felt great. I love this time of the year, when the air is crisper and smells of fallen leaves and smoke. Well, here in Chicago it smells of rancid chocolate, hot dogs and smog, but elsewhere, it smells of a sweet tang as people burn their leaves. And just two weeks ago it was 90 and humid – now I'm wearing a sweater, feeling a bit of unease as I realize that snow and cold is only a few short months away.

Until then, I'm out riding and trying to bring together some late season fitness so I can finish a 'cross race or two somewhere in the top 10.

My Bloody Bad Seed

The past five years, my weekend priorities have gradually shifted from late-night carousing with friends watching live bands, usually lousy punk rock, and swilling cheap beers. Sunday morning was recovery time and spent on the couch, digesting a lousy breakfast and contemplating a day that wouldn't get going until well after noon.

Then I got into the bike thing and my weekends were upandatem mornings, where I was out riding by 7:00 at the latest, doing 50, 60, 80 miles, or whatever. I have different priorities now than then, and to be perfectly honest and clear, I much prefer the way I feel after a weekend now, with tired legs and a sort of mental clarity than before, where I struggled to return to a semblance of normality after blasting my eardrums at a concert and blasting my stomach on Skyline cheese coneys at 3 AM.

But this past weekend was something of a return to those days, albeit on my own terms and in adherence to the New Me. Two of my absolute favorite bands/musicians came rolling into town for two rare concerts: My Bloody Valentine on Saturday, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds on Sunday. I saw Spiritualized two weeks ago, Wire's coming up, so I've almost satisfied seeing the entirety of my absolute-favorites live, seeing as how Black Flag ain't never getting back together in any semblance of the original band, and XTC is a studio trick today, only.

One of my better friends from back home in Cincinnati, Michael Coates, came up for the MBV show. He, just as much as I, love droney, noisy, experimental stuff that substitutes static and din for melody. Not saying MBV's a sheer noise act, because within the gauzy fuzz there are details, scripts, and beauty, but to take the whole package in on a cursory level, the first thing one'll notice is the diaphanous quality to the music. Coates' likes Mogwai, Godspeed! You Black Emperor, Ride, and other shoegazey, orchestral acts and so do I. That's not the reason why we're friends, but at least I know with him that if I'm forced into his car for a drive, the music will always be within my favor.

Before the show, we went walking around Lincoln Park, just to kill some time and stretch the legs in anticipation of standing around for a long time without moving from a five-foot circle. We got dinner at http://www.yelp.com/biz/hai-yen-restaurant-chicago on Argyle in Little Vietnam and stuffed ourselves superbly for an altogether decent price. We shared shrimp spring rolls, some kind of crepe; chicken coconut curry for him, and an eggy, shrimpy noodly thing made up our main courses.

A short walk and we were at the Aragon, passing all the smokers gathered outside taking in their last drags before admitting themselves. We would have been out with them a few short years ago, but that habit got kicked roundly out of the rotation with the help of the bike thing.

We stood through the opening band, and right at 9:10, MBV took the stage and tore into their set, starting with "I Only Said". The light show was painful, just as the volume of the music itself. Earplugs were gratis and were gratefully accepted. With eyes closed, the combined effect of the flickering strobes and thick, noise made for a certain sensory experience that I have never really felt before. The comparison that I want to make is "womblike", which is not entirely apt, but that's what comes to mind and is probably the most accurate descriptor.

The setlist wandered back and forth between songs from "Loveless", "Isn't Anything" and the "You Made Me Realise" EP, and since those albums are all that I have by the band, and the ones most familiar to most MBV fans (albeit not completists), it was an experience full of familiarity, but yet, so new. "You Made Me Realise" finished the set with 21 minutes of sheer, visceral noise and flashing lights. A guy in front of me started a freakout-dance and I had to push him away. He was onto something, caught up in the power of dozens of high-output speakers cranked to the point of break-up.

Yesterday was a change of pace. Allison and I had tickets to the Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds show at the Riviera Theatre. The Black Diamond Heavies opened things up – I remember being at one of their shows at the Comet about a year or two ago and I didn't go in to see them, opting to hang out on the sidewalk. I missed out. These two guys, one on drums, the other on keyboards, are absolute pounders, kicking out bluesy pounders steeped in gospel, '70s hard rock (Humble Pie, Small Faces, and some Bob Segar?), and of course the garage-punk kick.

After the BDH set, and a short introduction consisting of a reading of a poem titled "Nick Cave", the man himself and his band assumed the stage. I own a number of Nick Cave's concert videos and onstage the dynamic of the band is unlike most - Cave and violinist/guitarist Warren Ellis are hyperkinetic, the rest of the band stays in one place, hardly moving to the beat. To that, it's a perfect pairing – foils and foundation to the seemingly stumbling and aggressive movements of Cave and Ellis.

Unfortunately, I've not yet had a chance to get acquainted with NV&TBS's "Dig! Lazarus! Dig!", so some of the newest songs were not yet familiar. But, with a repertory as large as Cave's, it wasn't long before the hits starting coming in off of the stage. "The Weeping Song" amazed; "Red Right Hand" and "Tupelo" showcased Cave's creep side, which I find so much more interesting than his romantic aspect.

I made no attempt to write the setlist down, but I do know that he closed with "Stagger Lee", which like MBV's "You Made Me Realise" a certain tradition, crowdpleaser, and trademark. Amazing.

Hardcore

Gotta say, having friends such as Ben Popper, who absolutely tore the CrossVegas race up on Wednesday, simply makes me happy. Back in the spring, I was dropping him on nearly every climb – now he's so goddamn fast that he makes me look like I'm standing still when I'm putting in a sprint.

At least seeing him race against the likes of Ryan Trebon, Barry Wicks, Jonathan Page, and yes, Lance Armstrong, is inspiration enough for me to put in another interval effort, not have that second helping of ice cream, and squeeze that workout in before the sun rises. I know full well that I'll never line up and do well in a UCI Pro-Am CX race, but I do know that I could make it to Cat. 2 if I try really, really hard. And I know hard work is what this sport requires. All summer long, Ben was out from 4:50 AM to 6:30 AM training, then running home to shower, eat and get on the train to his job in the suburbs. Me? The guy who was freelancing and had all the time in the world? Well, I would train, but I wasn't training hard. I was lazy. And now it's fall and Ben's racing with the world's best and I'm midpack with the local Cat. 3s.

Next year, though, next year. However, I'm making this year count – I'm feeling better about things and I'm going to be realistic. I have my goals, however lofty, but I know that sometimes I just gotta do the best I can and be satisfied with 14th place and a bloody knee.

Starcrossed

Starcrossed Cyclocross 2008 from bce on Vimeo.

Amazing video from a race that I hope to do sometime. From Race.CX.

CCC #1: Jackson Park

Had a good start, was well warmed-up, in a good position, with a great kick. And then things went downhill.

First trouble spot: I botched a remount on the second lap and ended up with another rider's crankset stuck in my front wheel. Sorry about that. Lost a bunch of places there.

Second trouble spot: I felt slower and slower with each lap. I was putting out good power, my heart rate was plugging along at a gawdawful 180-185 BPM, but I just couldn't get the bike to go. I was getting passed by riders I'd passed earlier in the race and I felt like I was going to explode. One lap to go, Mike and the rest of the leaders passed me and then my race was done. I was lapped. I've never been lapped.

Pulled in and went for a walk stewing in my own juices. After a few minutes of fuming, I walked back to the team tent, got something to eat and decided that it'd be more worthwhile to have fun than get all bent out of shape about a bike race.

Still sweaty from exertion, I rode over to the lake to get water from the fountains. My bike still felt slow, even on the paved path. At the fountain, I looked at my rear brakes and noticed that the spring that keeps the driveside brake in tension had popped out of its proper position, thus allowing it to slam up against the rim. I looked a bit closer and saw that part of the spring was cracked. Could this be why I couldn't get the bike to pop? Why I felt like I was riding in mud when I was on pavement? I put the spring back where it belonged, rode around and all was well. Slammed on the brake and the spring popped back out. So, looks like I need new brakes then. Pauls, maybe?

Still, excuses aside, I could've put in a better effort. My transitions sucked. My remounts sucked. I handled the tricky corners well, but I could've pushed things harder in cornering and made up more distance.

Next race won't be a DNF, that's for sure.

Hell, maybe in a few races I could be persuaded to do the 3 and then double-up and do the 1/2/3 so that I could be absolutely humiliated by people actually good at this bike racing thing. Whatever, I'm always into a good humbling and right now, humble is what I am.

Tomorrow

Jackson Park tomorrow. Here's hoping that I don't stack it on the first lap or end up with a case of the pukes.

The weather calls for 78-75 temps and sunny skies. Like last week, I was hoping for some mud and gruel. I know I'll get my wish soon, but dammit, I want my misery now.

The thing is, is that I know the period key works because it was used to type out the company URL. Not so sure about the shift and caps lock keys.

OVCX#1 Riverview Park, Loveland, Ohio

Oh, god, I need not ever again eat half a Dewey's pizza and a serving of Graeter's raspberry chocolate chip the night before a race. Those things are wonderful most times, hell, all times, even, but let yesterday's performance in the first race of the 2008 Ohio Valley Cyclocross Series at Riverside Park in Loveland, Ohio be fair notice that gorging on said items won't lead to a podium finish, but rather, a final result somewhere in the teens to twenties, with the hot shivers, an ashen pallor, and a bit of bitter disappointment.

I came down to Cincinnati on Friday night with Allison after she got done with school. She wanted to work on some photographs at her parents' house; I wanted to race my bike. So I pre-registered for the Cat. 3s, got the rig together and we got in late after a pleasant drive through Indiana. The ragged remnants of Ike suggested that the weekend would be a sodden mess – I'd come down prepared with arm warmers, knee warmers, my fleece jacket and wool socks. Little did I know that by Saturday night, the forecast was tipped-over and reversed: Sunday was calling for highs in the 80s and wind. At least I had my sunscreen.

An easy ride on Saturday morning went disastrously: I was about to bomb the short, steep descent down Eagle Creek, when my rear tire blew out. The bead to the three year old Ritchey Speedmax had finally decided that it no longer wanted to stay in good repair, so it went to tire heaven at one of the more inopportune times. At least it was the day before the race, on a slight ascent rather than at 40 MPH, and on a day that a bike shop was open. Tried to do a field repair using some duct tape and patches, but no luck. A quick call and the SAG wagon was on its way, i.e. my mom had to come and bail me out. While waiting I was called "Lance" once and had offers of help from three cyclists. Funny to see so many riders in the Westside, when a few years ago I could go weeks without seeing any other riders.

Later on, took a trip to Campus Cyclery, my old team shop, and hung out for a while. Got a killer deal on a complete set of Vredestein Campos – $60 for 'em, plus new tubes. Arranged a ride with Michael Chewning and a bunch of other guys from Campus the next morning at 8:30 in Clifton. After checking out a bike polo match, I had the aforementioned dinner at Dewey's with Kenny Roa, Shorty, and his girlfriend Vivian. And after eating ice cream, I got myself home by 10:00, and in bed by 10:45 with an aching stomache.

Woke up at 7:00, showered, had some coffee and tried to eat something, anything to get the blood sugar up and myself ready. Got a banana down, but the pizza had hardly budged from the night before. Loaded up and got on the bike to ride to Clifton. The legs felt decent, especially the climb up Straight, which is a bit of a kicker and nearly impossible to ride easy. On the way to the race, I had some more coffee and a bowl of oatmeal from Starbucks which didn't seem to help things in the gut. Since I'm the Oatmeal King, I had to have some or risk completely psyching myself out.


From here.

We all got to the racecourse nice and early, giving us lots of time to do practice laps, hang out, and for me, catch up with some old friends. As for the course, well, it was reminiscent of the course last time I rode it back in 2005, when I came in 2nd in the Ohio State Championship. The course started off on a slight uphill, jogging to the right, then hairpinning to the first set of barriers. Down a short straight, then hooking left and then right through some trees and over a protruding manhole. A short pavement section sweetly promised a chance to recover, but due to a terrible headwind, this wasn't so likely. After the paved section, a couple of hairpins through a stand of short pines, and then back onto a paved driveway to the far SE side of the course. Over some gravel and up a short ascent was the runup – it was rideable if you were strong, but having done the same runup before, I knew I'd be off the bike through that portion. Descending down back into the course, there were several more hairpins, including some wicked off-camber corners. After that mess, it was back through another set of barriers, a badly rutted section and some more hairpins. The course was technical, slow-going in spots, and just a good shock to the system after a year spent screwing around on a road bike, going mostly in a straight line.

Dave "Auk" Aukerman showed up after a little while and we got to talking about the course – both of us agreeing that it was going to be a bit of a soulcrusher. Watched Brent, Tim and a few other Campus guys absolutely crush the Cat. 4 race and then warmed-up again with Kerry. Got a Hammer Goo down the hatch, drank some water and psyched myself up. I was positioned next to Auk, in the second row back; not quite the ideal place to be, but I was late to the start and I'm not one to bully my way to the front of the line, preferring instead to pick 'em off one by one in the ensuing laps.

At the start, 45 seconds, 30 seconds, 15 seconds...heart rate at 120, sweat on the brow. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1...and off I puttered, like I was going off from a traffic light on a recovery ride, as opposed to sprinting off the line in a CX race. My heart rate shot to 185 BPM and stayed there. My dinner from the night before lurched menacingly and eventually settled down as I got into some semblance of a groove.

For the next seven laps and 47 minutes, I was in my own personal bit of hell. The wind had picked up enough that barrier tape, signage, and tree branches were all coming down, and all the recovery points I'd plotted earlier in my preliminary laps were rendered useless by the weather. All I could hope for was to stay in the race, pass a few riders and avoid being lapped, with a good finish just whipped cream on the pie. I passed more than a few riders and not a single rider came around me again, so on those accounts the race was a success. But during the exercise, all I could do was hang on for dear life, stare at Auk's rear wheel and butt and hope that I didn't pass out from sheer exhaustion.

I was most challenged by the run-up – with each lap, I was getting off my bike lower and lower on the hill. The first time up, I made it nearly to the top before I lost traction and had to unclip to run; the second time I made it halfway; the third, about a quarter. Each lap after that went from running, to jogging, to walking, to near crawling. Misery quantified is about 35 degrees, 30-40 feet long and slick with dog doo and grass worn by foot and tire.

As for how I did? Well, the results aren't even up yet. As I find 'em, I post 'em. I'd guess I got 20 out of 30. Maybe I'm optimistic? I know I didn't do as well as some of my friends did, but no matter, they have hills to train on. There, that's my excuse – hills – something just about out of my control.


(45+1 lap of hell, graphed. I'd include the power data, but I was losing the signal due to a badly placed transmitter and I want to save a semblance of face.)

This weekend is Jackson Park, part of the Chicago 'Cross Cup and I'm looking forward to a grassy crit.

Electric Mainline

From here, among other great shots.

Monday night, with sodden feet earned from wandering around downtown Chicago with Kenny Roa and Kevin Warwick, I saw Spiritualized play a brilliant and incendiary set at the Metro in Wrigleyville. First saw Jason Pierce and etc. five years ago on the "Amazing Grace" tour and pined for their return ever since. Almost never got a chance, due to Pierce's coming down with a nasty case of double pneumonia and nearly dying.

But I nearly almost didn't go, just because I didn't want to fork over the $20 for a ticket. Yeah, I know...$20 is pretty much a drop in the bucket, but I've been hemorrhaging cash lately and discretionary spending is down.

Glad I decided to pinch the pennies and go, because the show was an absolute kicker. The show five years ago was better, only because the setlist then was based more around "Lazer Guided Melodies" and "Pure Phase." This time around, "Cop Shoot Cop" didn't make an appearance, neither did "Electricity", but "I Think I'm in Love" and "Stay With Me" did. Oh, opening with an explosion of noise that segued into "Shine a Light" was magnficient and set the tone for the rest of the show. Right at the moment of the climax, as the sound exploded into the slide-guitar intro of "Shine a Light", I couldn't have been happier.

I think I need to start going to more shows. I've got My Bloody Valentine's reunion show and Nick Cave on my calendar. Anything else I should dig?

PRO

Dang, I look like I should be getting paid to do this bike thing. I guess it's also obvious that my seatpost was slipping throughout the race. Fixed it on the go, albeit at the loss of some spots. Whatever.

Thanks to Naz for the sweet shot.