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.