It's spring classics season in Europe and we here on the East Coast have an annual right of passage known as the Tour of the Battenkill. One day a year the normally peaceful village of Cambridge, NY is turned into the mecca of road/dirt racing with all of the teams out strutting their stuff and massive amounts of high style bikes rolling through the streets. We were sending a field of storm troopers, covering the classes from U35 to 45+, with most of the characters being veterans of the Bear Mountain Beatdown. Top young gun in the U35 would be Mike "Spring Classics" McConnell (aka fancy shoes) with Tom the Hobo Slayer intending to decimate the field with the climbing prowess he has displayed in the early season training rides. Of course attempting to remember how ride a bike and bring shades of glory to the older set were the dynamic duo of Paul and Chris (with his new Ti hip making it's race debut). Sadly Griff was unable to make the event instead closing on a spread of land that is destined to be the new home of Beer Cross.
Arriving at the Hacienda de Paul we immediately set about reviewing the profile of the course. The conclusion - it was going to hurt, plain and simple - lots of dirt road sections and countless steep climbs over the similar terrain. Along for the race was the newest member, Eyegor, famous for his wandering eye (and not in the lady sense but in the Shanghai gallery sense)
Eyegor is a veteran of the Central Park morning rides and decided that it was time to pop his cherry on the road racing scene - nothing like choosing the "Queen of the Spring Classics" (perhaps the only thing dumber was Chris doing the W101 for his first mtb race). Piling into the assault FJ and with no idea where we were going (what a surprise), we turned to our good friend Serge, the alternative lifestyle road buttie voice from Tom Tom.
Eyegor is a veteran of the Central Park morning rides and decided that it was time to pop his cherry on the road racing scene - nothing like choosing the "Queen of the Spring Classics" (perhaps the only thing dumber was Chris doing the W101 for his first mtb race). Piling into the assault FJ and with no idea where we were going (what a surprise), we turned to our good friend Serge, the alternative lifestyle road buttie voice from Tom Tom.
Knowing our destination would have oodles of men in spandex we were confident that Serge would get us there, having just as strong a desire to be there as we did but for different reasons.
Well the weather was perfect, the bikes were hot but we all noted that the chicks on bikes were hotter then ever. Gone are the old days of the East German nut crackers
replaced instead by the sexy French Canadian wonder women.
Not nearly as sexy but making a welcomed appearance was none other then Bill Lobster, rolling around the streets on the classic Bottechia, despite having a terrible winter with 10 broken ribs, a cracked pelvis and a few other malfunctioning parts.
replaced instead by the sexy French Canadian wonder women.
Not nearly as sexy but making a welcomed appearance was none other then Bill Lobster, rolling around the streets on the classic Bottechia, despite having a terrible winter with 10 broken ribs, a cracked pelvis and a few other malfunctioning parts.
Paul preps for battle
Chris ready to roll
All I can say is thank the Gods and Allah that there is a neutral zone at the start of the race, albeit a short one. No sooner did the car signal an open course then the hammer went down and went down hard. Just as Paul experienced in his grouping the pace was immediately up to 30 mph and the entire group was strung out like it was a chase to catch the breakaway near the finish and not the start of the race.
Well we stayed, as Paul Sherwin would say, "on the rivet" right up to the first climb of the day. Following the advise of Paul I stayed on the front and crested in second place, well positioned for the ensuing descent and pace line to follow. Well that plan worked to perfection until about 2 miles later when we came to a wall of dirt that shattered both me and the pack.
I was left wondering if I could even make it without getting off, definitely well into the red zone at this point. With no one around I suffered in silence and hoped that the carnage behind would reassemble itself and sweep me up into a nice pace line. Well it did, but not until almost 18 miles of slogging into the wind across dusty dirt roads which felt just like this -
The pace line lasted all of 6 miles and when we turned onto a mild dirt climb suddenly explosions went off all around and it was just one other rider and myself navigating the soft dirt sections. Finally back out on the asphalt I came up on the most feared rider of all, the wheel sucker, and this guy was the king of them. No matter how many times I pulled to the side there was no way he was taking the lead. I gave up, let him ride me like the bitch that I was until the last climb when he started to ride away. I was pissed and wasn't about to roll over and play dead, sucking it up I rode him down and on the final pitch hammered it over the crest and down the backside for the final 5 km flat run in to the finish. With forearms on the bars I did a TT to the finish and managed to catch one last rider in the final 50 meters, crossing the line in 12th with nothing left in the tank. In fact I must have looked so spent that Paul, who was waiting, had concerns for my health and immediately pumped me full of some herbal amphetamine drink so I could ride back to the car. The final tally for the crew was -
Chris ready to roll
All I can say is thank the Gods and Allah that there is a neutral zone at the start of the race, albeit a short one. No sooner did the car signal an open course then the hammer went down and went down hard. Just as Paul experienced in his grouping the pace was immediately up to 30 mph and the entire group was strung out like it was a chase to catch the breakaway near the finish and not the start of the race.
Well we stayed, as Paul Sherwin would say, "on the rivet" right up to the first climb of the day. Following the advise of Paul I stayed on the front and crested in second place, well positioned for the ensuing descent and pace line to follow. Well that plan worked to perfection until about 2 miles later when we came to a wall of dirt that shattered both me and the pack.
I was left wondering if I could even make it without getting off, definitely well into the red zone at this point. With no one around I suffered in silence and hoped that the carnage behind would reassemble itself and sweep me up into a nice pace line. Well it did, but not until almost 18 miles of slogging into the wind across dusty dirt roads which felt just like this -
The pace line lasted all of 6 miles and when we turned onto a mild dirt climb suddenly explosions went off all around and it was just one other rider and myself navigating the soft dirt sections. Finally back out on the asphalt I came up on the most feared rider of all, the wheel sucker, and this guy was the king of them. No matter how many times I pulled to the side there was no way he was taking the lead. I gave up, let him ride me like the bitch that I was until the last climb when he started to ride away. I was pissed and wasn't about to roll over and play dead, sucking it up I rode him down and on the final pitch hammered it over the crest and down the backside for the final 5 km flat run in to the finish. With forearms on the bars I did a TT to the finish and managed to catch one last rider in the final 50 meters, crossing the line in 12th with nothing left in the tank. In fact I must have looked so spent that Paul, who was waiting, had concerns for my health and immediately pumped me full of some herbal amphetamine drink so I could ride back to the car. The final tally for the crew was -
Mike "Spring Classics" McConnell - U35 Blue 10th @ 3:10:08
Hobo Slayer - 35+ Yellow 19th @3:25:06
Muttonchops - 35+ Yellow 35th @ 3:55:00
Eyegor - 35+ Yellow 38th @ 4:00:03
Paul - 45+ White 21st @ 3:32:50
Chris- 45+ Blue 12th @ 3:26:01
Serge provided guidance to the walking dead and soon we were on the highway actively following the route directions for a dinner bash at The Country Inn, a fine establishment near Casa de Paul. Well the old Paul was feeling no pain and despite being just miles from home he was unable to locate the turn off to food nirvana. Finally in the parking lot it was going to be a 30 minute wait for the table so it was time to belly up to the bar and start the consumption of fine yeasty malted beverages and the house speciality, horseradish vodka shots. Well these babies took any edge off the pain in our legs and no sooner had the shot glasses hit the table then Griff appeared at our side with Kate and her family in tow. Being the new land baron in town Griff was fast establishing ties with the local watering hole and after dropping Kate and Co. back at the house he had the Audi doing double time to get back to the bar for a round with the boys.
By this time we had managed to get a table and order but after a couple of fly-bys with trays of food for other diners I felt like I could eat the table.When the food did hit the table it was like an attack by the Romansand my burger was gone in 3 bites followed by most of the fries before I went into a red meat trance. Eyegor and Paul were close behind and it was off to Paul's place for a hot tub session, Deviant Dales and some of the best homemade strawberry ice cream. With the clocks passing the midnight hour I headed down to the sofa and an ibuprofen/percoet night of bliss.
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