Race Report

A Day In The Life

Traffic Court, Earthquakes and the Unleashed Pit Bulls of a Wannabe Hippy at Bryan Park

I just got a new iphone 4 for work.  I love it.  I am continually amazed at the myriad of things it can do.  It replaced a 2 year old Blackberry that died as a result of my using it while riding the trainer in my garage.  Apparently, Blackberries do not like moisture.  I perspire quite a bit on the trainer and as a result of my multi tasking I was not able to dial the number 5 for the last 6 months.  Being Scotch Irish I was too cheap to buy a new phone and I was also too cheap to cancel the contract for $200 and get a “free” phone with a new contract.  Some of you are wondering what the hell does any of this have to do with traffic court, an earthquake, and unleashed pit bull terriers …..read on.

When I purchased my new iphone the ebullient young sales associate gave me a quick tutorial.  The first and seemingly most important feature she shared with me was the “REAR FACING” CAMERA.  She went into great detail about how I could take pictures and videos of myself.  She then showed me how I could incorporate said “self” media with Face Time and Facebook .  I did use Facebook, right?  I said yes but I didn’t get it.  I just wanted to learn how to use email and make phone calls for work.  I eschew photographs of myself because whenever I am confronted by them I am reminded that I do not resemble John Book.  John Book was the character Harrison Ford played in the movie “Witness”.  In my mind’s eye I resemble Ford but I am not an arrogant and self absorbed Hollywood cocksucker.  Instead I “look” like Ford but act like the intrepid corruption fighting John Book.  Photos of me remind me that I indeed look like myself.   To date I have yet to use the rear facing camera on my iphone and I doubt I ever will but the sales associate made damn sure I knew how to use it. 

Woke Up Fell Out of Bed…..

I had to go to Traffic Court yesterday.  I got popped for going 62 in a 45 while driving to Bryan Park for the Tuesday night Crit two weeks ago.  It had been at least 4 years since I had stepped foot in a court room.  I was just about to take 288 to Iron Bridge Road and the Chesterfield County Courthouse when I noticed that the summons was from the City of Richmond.  Upon my arrival at 400 N 9^th Street I was greeted with a long line to enter the Courthouse.  I had arrived on “Lombardi” time, i.e. 15 minutes early.  However, I hadn’t counted on the line.  When I finally entered the building I was greeted by a sign that informed me that I wasn’t allowed to bring firearms (check) or ammunition (check) or a cell phone (oops) into the facility. 

Looking up I noticed I was late….

I made the bus in seconds flat.  I ran 3 blocks to the car deposited my iphone and then high tailed it back to the Courthouse.  I went through the metal detectors and then got frisked.  I then found my name on the docket which said what court room my “case” would be heard in.  I was instructed NOT TO TALK in the courtroom by a large “officer” who was standing at the door.  I wasn’t quite sure if he was there to keep people out or to let people in or maybe he was just there to tell people not to talk.  The atmosphere in the room reminded me of the catholic school I attended in my youth.  I became quite nervous.  I had no idea what to do.  There was a woman sitting next to the Judge who said that anyone who was pleading guilty should form a line behind the gate which separated the woman, the judge and another woman who told the defendants to get closer to the judge but not too close.  What to do…guilty or not guilty?  I decided that I simply wasn’t smart enough to get out of 62 in a 45 so I would plead guilty.  However, I decided to get in the back of the line that was forming even though I was seated in the front row.  The woman who told people to move closer and then move back from the judge saw this and gave me a funny look as if to let me know that she was on to me.  I didn’t want to be a guinea pig.  My thought process was that if I got in the back of the line I could at least get a feel for the proceedings and see what worked and what didn’t work, i.e. what made the Judge tick.  I began to see a pattern after about 5 defendants stated their case to the Judge.  The defendants who had a good driving record (check) and stated that they were remorseful (check) and that they were thinking of someone or something else at the time the officer pulled them over (check) fared a whole lot better than those who said “I’z” “Me’z” or “Minez”.  I had a game plan.  When the Judge asked me if I wanted to say anything I expressed that I was sorry.   I said that the only reason I could give for not paying attention to the speed I was driving was because I was on my way to a bike race and that I liked to check over my son’s bike prior his race to make sure he was safe.  I was going to add that if he had ever ridden with me then he would understand how important that was because anyone who rides and races with me understands that something inevitably goes wrong with my bike at the absolute worst time.  However, I didn’t want to push my luck.  The officer confirmed that I had a +5 driving record which I assume is good (this was only the second or third ticket I’ve gotten in my life) because they gave me a choice of going to driving school for a day or paying the fine and taking the points on my record.  Hello driving school. 

And somebody spoke and I went into a dream…….

I like racing at Bryan Park.  It is as if time stands still for the 30 or so minutes that it takes us to complete the “B” race.  I really do enter a dream like state when I am racing be it crits, cross or time trials.  On most nights I decide where my fitness is and what kind of mood I am in.  On that basis I find where I want to race in the pace line and enjoy myself.  Yesterday evening Jack Dove and another racer who wore a white jersey and rode a Cannondale awoke me from my slumber and forced me to change my plans.  I love Jack and 99% of the time we ride together I feel safe.  However, last night Jack and the dude in the white jersey were bobbing and weaving like Ali and Frazier.  After about 7 or so laps of ducking Ali and Frazier I decided that I needed to be in front of them.  After we made the turn at the bottom of the hill I made a quick sprint up the right hand side of the pace line and took a spot next to Chris Harvie.  He and another big RVS rider were somewhere around 3 or 4^th wheel.  I figured I would settle in behind the big boys (at least as big as me anyways) once things got strung out a bit at the top of the hill.  Upon rounding the corner at the bottom of the hill we were greeted with the sight of 2 people walking in the middle of the road.  I’m pretty sure it was Chris who proceeded to yell quite loudly “bike race….get out of the way….bike race coming through”.  The walkers saw us and heard us and did….nothing.  They made absolutely no effort to get out of the way.  Worse yet 2 large pit bull terriers emerged from the woods on the port side of the road and joined them dead smack in the middle of the road.  Chris screamed “DOG” then “DOG’s”!!  I yelled “slowing” as the one dog turned towards the peloton in what appeared to be an attempt to defend its master from the oncoming hoard of spandex clad spaceman.  When the dog realized that this was one big mother of an alien coming at him he went into the fetal position right in front of my Fulcrum Racing 5.  Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, I only had my right hand on the bars as I was giving the “slowing” sign to the riders behind me.  The only thoughts I had were: if I’m going to go down and it appears that I am most decidedly going down then I hope to land on the grass and not the pavement.  I swear the pit bull looked up at me with a look that said please don’t kill me Mr. Space Alien I really am a good dog.  At this point I swerved and hopped or maybe hopped, swerved, hoped and prayed that I wasn’t going to be the jelly in a dog and pavement sandwich.  Clean living!  Miraculously, I landed on the dirt.

Well I just had to laugh……..

This was the third time I had fallen off my bike in my illustrious cycling career.  The immediate thought that has greeted me each time is one of embarrassment.   I got up as quick as I could and tried to look cool.  Yea I just fell and probably looked like a dork but now I’m up….and I’m dirty and my chain’s dropped and my bars are at a 45 degree angle to my front wheel.  As my brain awoke from the crash induced fog and my adrenalin level came down a notch (or maybe went up a notch) I realized that I was staring at the owner of the dogs.  She was staring back at me.  I love dogs.  I own 3 of them and I would probably own more but it is against the law in Chesterfield County to own more than 3.  Subconsciously, I was thinking about what I would have done and what I would be doing if I were said dog owner in this situation.  What amazed me was the fact that she was doing….nothing.  I have most definitely let my dogs off the leash at lots of bad times.  In this situation I would have had them back on their leashes as quick as possible.  Furthermore, I would have apologized until everyone was sick of hearing me apologize while I was assisting anyone who appeared hurt.  This woman stood defiantly in the road. Her dogs remained off the leash as she watched me dust myself off and reassemble the Mafia machine.  I politely (I think it was politely at first) asked her to put her dogs on their leashes to which she replied:

FUCK YOU.

Her statement probably did as much to knock the wind out of me as the fall had.  Huh?????  I then not so politely told her that I was a dog owner and that I forgave her but could she please put her “expletive” dogs on their leashes?  To which she replied:

FUCK YOU.  There are a lot of people who walk their dogs here off the leash here even though the signs say not to.  Go FUCK yourself.

Suddenly the familiar face of John Messersmith stepped between me and the dog owner.  All I remember is John saying “Let’s go Jimmay we have a race to catch”.  I can’t tell you how many times John has pulled me or others back to the peloton or a group ride and how thankful I have been for it.  We rode like the wind and nearly caught the peloton.  However, I insisted on sprinting a couple of times when I probably should have paced myself a little bit better.  The race ended with me in second to last but I had finished.  Thanks again John for the selflessness and the assistance.

I read the news today, oh boy…….

Oh yeah we had an earthquake yesterday in Virginia.  It registered 5.9 on the richter scale.  The house shook like holy heck in the afternoon.  I had recently replaced a toilet and I was convinced that as a result of my faulty plumbing the shit was truly about to hit the fan.  I told my son to get the heck out of the house.  The shaking subsided seemingly as quickly as it began.  The media reassured the public that there was nothing to fear while delivering this message with all the fear and sensationalism they could muster. 

While I drove home last night I realized that I had dodged my share of bullets that day.  Clean living seemed to have won the day.  I made it through the legal system, an earthquake and a head on collision with a pit bull in a bike race with 20 other riders.  If there is a next time I might not be so lucky.  A theme which has been playing out in my mind that I haven’t been able to put into words suddenly crystallized as I thought about the reaction of the dog owner at the park.  She didn’t have the slightest care in the world that her actions and inactions had just put multiple individuals at risk.  Two beings (me and her pooch) and two world views collided.  What mattered to her was her.  In her warped and twisted world our bike race had interfered with her “right” to break the law.  This individual was absolutely devoid of any empathy.  I guess this lack of empathy or obsession of self or neo-narcissism is what I have been watching and witnessing for the last several years in the culture or lack of a culture that we call home, i.e. America.  It’s all about me these days.  I’z gotta get “minez” and the heck with you.  I guess that goes double if you’re wearing spandex and you ride a bicycle. 

If there is a takeaway from yesterday’s events for me it is that sometimes you just don’t know what may or may not be around the next corner of the criterium.  I guess the best that any of us can do is prepare both physically and spiritually for whatever may greet us.  If I’m smart I’ll choose to ride with other selfless riders like John Messersmith.  I’m betting that if he has an iphone he, like me, isn’t all that interested in the rear facing camera.

RACE REPORT STATE TT

The Basset Hound; the Pit Bull; an “everything” bagel; and the Stony Creek Time Trial

The VA State Age Graded Time Trial was held Sunday at Stony Creek, VA. I competed in the 40+ (almost old fart) Division. I had the 9:25 am start time. Cloudy skies and light winds greeted me as I loaded the truck and headed down Rt. 288 to do battle with the clock and conquer the race of truth.

For the second year in a row I greatly underestimated the distance and travel time to Stony Creek. I arrived in the parking lot with enough time to register; pin my number (48) on the right side of the sleek black Mafia skinny; have Tom Brookfield graciously assist me in re-pinning my number after the pin’s popped upon zipping up my skinny (it’s tough being ripped); ride to the end of the road and back to the start line before Bill Battle held the “mafia missile” while the official counted me down.

On my drive to the race I contemplated how to best get “in the zone”. Earlier this year Justin Manville emailed us a “diatribe” by what I took to be either an elite racer with some pretty serious self-esteem issues OR an elite racer who had unfortunately become addicted to FIRST ENDURANCE’s PRE-RACE aka “liquid crystal meth/crack”. In the diatribe said racer imagined that “he was a rat with a broken neck trying to get piece of cheese”. He went on to inform us that he had crushed his competitor’s using this mental image especially his bigger more powerful rivals (Napoleon complex?). What the heck I figured? Humming Grateful Dead songs (Going Down The Road Feeling BAD/Not Fade Away Jam) only got me to 4th last year. Today I was going to be the paralyzed and starving rodent with a mouth watering hunk of swiss just in front of my nose.

About 3 miles into the race just before the bridge I hit the point where my body was communicating to my mind (or what’s left of it) that this f-ing sucked and wasn’t that much fun. However, my mind was fixated on the paralyzed rat. My dilemma was if I were paralyzed would I have hunger pangs, i.e. if I didn’t have any feeling from the neck down would I still get hungry? I thought back to my Biology class at H-SC. Was I hung over when we covered this? Hmmmmm. A loud whistle from my backside suddenly brought me back to reality. I was being passed (John Hessian) and the darned race had just started. After 2 other Old Fart In-Training’s whizzed by me on the trip out I knew that the rodent imagery wasn’t working.

As I neared the turn around my mind started telling me to “mail it in”. I contemplated getting out of my aero position. The lazy devil on my shoulder told me that the “race” was over. Luckily, my mother didn’t raise a quitter. Suddenly, I thought of an image of true determination and courage I had recently witnessed. A few weeks earlier my family embarked upon our annual trip to my birthplace in Upstate NY. Accompanying us on the voyage were our 2 old faithful canines, Daisy (90 lb. Basset Hound think “pony keg” with short legs and a powerful nose) and Sebastian Labradora (85 lb. lab). In a moment of extreme weakness the weekend before Father’s Day I brought home a “RESCUE” dog from RAL (Richmond Animal League). Bastogne was said to be a “Boxer/Chocolate Lab” mix but his powerful square build and chiseled good looks had “Bad Newz “ Kennels (Michael Vick) 100% pit bull written all over him. Over the first weekend of our pilgrimage I witnessed true commitment and furthermore, I now steadfastly believe that while “the fight in the dog” is definitely important it’s best to bet a person’s hard earned dollar bills on the “dog in the fight”.


Said fight erupted when my daughter tried to get our “pack” to get into the Honda Pilot after we spent an evening camping at my family’s cottage on Skaneateles Lake, NY. Unbeknownst to us the Pony Keg with a powerful nose had hidden an “everything” bagel beneath the passenger seat of the Pilot. She has a history of hiding food for hunger “emergencies” (the rat image would work VERY well for Daisy). Bastogne got too close to the bagel while jumping into the Pilot via the rear passenger door for Daisy’s comfort and she let him know by clamping on to his muzzle. As the poor pup reeled from the pain being delivered by the “pony keg” instinct took over. As I arrived on the scene I saw a 50 lb. pit bull swinging a 90 lb. basset hound by the neck. What amazed me was that the pony keg wasn’t giving up. She was prepared to relinquish her canine existence in order to eat that bagel. NOW THAT WAS THE IMAGE I NEEDED!

Upon making the turn in Jarratt, VA and heading north on the “Blue Star Highway” I imagined that I was a starving Basset Hound with an “everything” bagel being chased by a pit bull hopped up on PRERACE. Bingo. The Irish wolves (aka my poor skinny pale white excuse for legs) responded as though my existence depended on speed. My mind tricked my olfactory system into believing a salt/pepper/garlic treat lay just within my grasp. However, a demonically possessed pitbull galloped behind me nipping at my heels forcing me to put more power into the Speedplay’s. The Garmin started to register numbers in the high 20’s. I was climbing short inclines at 26 mph. Damn you Michael Vick. You’re abused and PRERACE addicted dog wasn’t going to get my BAGEL!!!

The Garmin read 1 hour 00 minutes and 27 seconds at the finish line. My “official time” would be 1 00 minutes and 30 seconds which is pretty darn close (maybe I could trust officials going forward). No time was made up on my competitor’s on the trip home. I finished 5th out of 6 but I had discovered my mental edge. Old Fart’s Beware in 2011! This Basset Hound means business!