The Thing About Cyclocross aka "CX" (PART I)

I'm a relative newbie on the cycling scene. I just finished my third year of road racing; I raced my first real mountain bike race this summer; and I am launching into my second season of cycloross. My newbie status qualifies me to offer, perhaps, a fresh perspective on what CX (note that I am sufficiently educated to refer to "cyclocross" as "CX"; that is because I am innately hip) is and how to ride a CX race. Arguably, my "fresh" perspective differs and, depending on which way you look at it, is a bit more informative than one who is established and entrenched in the CX tradition. You can think of me as a John Calvin of CX, and think of Bart or Ali as the Pope. (BTW, Ali, are you muslim or are you related to that boxer whose name was Ali? Just wondering. And Bart, was Bart Simpson named after you or the other way around? Again, just wondering.)

Most of the time I try to be politically correct. I'm relatively conservative though I tend to lean toward the green (the trees, not the money). So although it pains me to say this, there's really no way of avoiding saying that CX is the mongrel bastard child of cycling. It's a "cross" between the elegant form of road racing and the highly efficient form of mountain biking -- mountain biking's achievement is taking the cyclist over mountains that used to require walking, which cyclists are adverse to, or horses, which cyclists . . . actually, no comment. For those CX purists, I know that cross existed before MTB and there is the argument that CX was quite possibly was the first form of RR, but this is my analogy and I believe that it is quite illustrative -- to a Newbie anyway. And the analogy actually furthers my argument that CX is a mongrel bastard. I ask you, if RR is CX's father, then why the knobby tires, and why the ugliness and messiness? If MTB is CX's father, then why the drop bars and why the skinny tires? Hah!! Clearly CX was abandoned in its youth by its father and was denied "proper" nurturing. By way of another analogy, CX is like the child of burly Alaskan husky and a sleak Greyhound. That's right, eeewe. . . .

Just because CX is the mongrel bastard doesn't mean that there are not compelling reasons to try it or that you shouldn't try it. After all, there is a lot of hype around CX. It is being heralded as the fastest growing niche in bike racing. Soon, any noteworthy stable will include a road bike, mtn. bike, and a cross bike. Of course, you don't want to own a CX bike just because it's hip, which leads me to an astute question: what is my cross bike good for?

What is my cross bike good for?

Any CX apologist, which I declare that I am, must be able to address this question. After all, face it, a CX bike can't keep pace with a road bike on the road or with a mtn. bike on the trails. A shallow-sighted roadie or mtb'er might immediately write off CX bikes as being "slow." Fair enough, but what if you want to ride the pavement AND the dirt? In a sense, only the pure cyclist will understand the value of a CX bike because the pure cyclist will be driven to explore and ride all roads and trails, whether paved or dirt. The value of the CX bike is that you can effectively ride the road and a lot of dirt in one ride.

I have to acknowledge, that in SLC, there aren't a lot of unpaved roads, and that the trails in the mountains are generally unsuitable for CX bikes. There are exceptions though. For example, I don't like to drive anywhere. So, it's convenient for me to be able to ride my bike up Millcreek Canyon, hit some of the mellow trails, and ride home. If you're inclined to ride from Jeremy Ranch to East Canyon, a CX bike can come in handy. However, if you live in a non-urban environment, I daresay that the CX bike is the ultimate machine. For example, I grew up in a rural town in central Utah where the only paved road was Main Street (if anyone from Gunnison reads this, you know this is an exaggeration and hyperbole on my part). If you were lucky, you could find a rough, pot-holed chip seal road, but usually, you were relegated to hard-packed gravel dirt roads. And in rural towns like Gunnison, there are endless dirt roads through the hills, linking other towns, mountains, and canyons. The possibilities are endless and all of these roads are suited to a CX bike. Of course, a mountain bike works, but in many cases, I think it is overkill -- a CX bike is actually faster. In fact, I dream of a road-style race on a CX bike on rural dirt roads. Maybe one day I'll try to make that happen.

I've postponed the obvious: perhaps the single, independent reason to own a CX bike is so you can race it.

What is a CX Race?

CX races, like CX bikes, are the mongrel, bastard child of road and mtb. races. If you think about it, cyclocross courses are comical. That's because everything in CX is a paradox -- yet people, for some weird reason participate. In a CX race, the sprint comes at the beginning of the race, not the end; skinny, but knobby tires are used; parts of the courses are on pavement, other parts are on dirt, other parts are on grass; mud and single track is involved, yet road racing tactics sometimes come into play; good CX'ers use lots of fast twitch muscles and sprint several times a lap, but competitive CX'ing requires major slow twitch endurance; and then there are the barriers. Who the heck invented barriers? Barriers are, in and of themselves, paradoxes; is CX's father a horse? I mean, horses jump barriers, but why cyclists? Perhaps this is what happens when a bunch of drunk Belgians on bikes get together in the off-season. "Hey, let's ride our bikes through the mud in the park. . . . Bet you can't ride your bike over that barrier. . . ." Note that I've refrained from even mentioning sandy run-ups. All these characteristics, and many more, combine to make cyclocross so comical, so gruelling, and so paradoxical that doing it is actually fun. To the dude whose idea of fun is a bag of chips and Sportcenter, whatever . . .

How do I prepare for my first cross race?

(TO BE CONTINUED)

Two Crazy Kids

Some Fall Chillin'

Jon and I had grand plans for a ride at Snowbird. So, we started at the Tram, rode up the frontside, and through the tunnel:









FYI, the tunnel is closed during the week, but we were lucky enough to run into Tunnel Guy who let us through. The tunnel puts you in Mineral Basin; coming out of the tunnel,





you are rewarded with some sweet views:







We rode a bit down into Mineral Basin:







And back up to Alta:

The views on top were sweet. Timp loomed in the background. Who needs to go to the Tetons?

At the top, we met some ATV'ers.

ATV Dude took our photo in Black and White:

Then we dropped back down into Alta:

and we rode up to Germania to ponder the lines on Mt. Superior. It doesn't look so steep when you're skiing down.

Jon guessed we had ridden 26 miles.

Even though we had grand plans for today's ride, our total miles after 3 hours of "riding" was 13. That's because it was simply a fall chillin' day. Do I look fat?

DOES ANYONE KNOW IF THERE IS A TRAIL TO RIDE A MTB FROM ALTA OVER TO BRIGHTON OR BIG COTTONWOOD CANYON?

Sure, Why Not?

We're doing the 24 Hrs of Moab in style -- two motor homes, from what I've been told. Looking forward to the "off" season . . . cyclocross, trail running, mtn. biking, nordic skiing, bc skiing . . . and, depending whether Cousin Chris is successful or not, there might be a possible goose hunt or fly fishing trip worked in somewhere. I'm going to have to retire from the "off" season in order to recover for the "on" season.

Two Days After LOTOJA

And I'm drawing a total blank when it comes to thinking of reasons why to do LOTOJA again next year. That's because I fought the hard fight, got dropped, and DNF'd. I have some serious respect for Mark Z., Al Thresher, Ian Tuttle, Taylor Hansen, and Robert Bennion. Nice job guys.

For the record, by the time the Cat 3s started up Strawberry, we were mixed in with 1, 2, 4, 5, Masters 35, Masters 45, Tandem, and some guy riding with a big Garfield stuffed animal taped to the back of his bike. We went up Strawberry pretty fast. Right before Montpelier, Mark Z and Schaffer attacked the mob and never looked back. That took some serious gumption and strength.

After Montpelier, a Cat 3 (Al) got away in a split that formed after the feedzone. We cruised up Geneva at a brisk pace and going down, Nate Page and Sam Krieg put out some serious watts to bring the split back. But as soon as we hit the back of the split, another group broke free containing 4 Cat 3s (Al, Robert, Ian, and Taylor). And those guys ended up rallying all the way to the end.

Robert and Taylor: I doubt you read this, but I think everyone thought that you'd blow up since you were riding so hard. You proved everyone wrong and proved that you have the stuff.

To Ben and Clint: what the hell were we thinking? Seriously. . . .

The Day Before LOTOJA

The last two posts on this blog have been negative. That's because I think I spent most of my summer in an overtrained slump and was generally in a bad mood. Things are better now though.

Tomorrow is LOTOJA. I've told friends that I look forward to the second Saturday in September more than any other day of the year. It represents the end of a season and, hopefully, a pinnacle of achievement. It represents a culmination of a full year's worth of training and practice. It presents an opportunity to learn about myself (and others) and perhaps to prove something to myself (and others); it also presents a risk of disappointment, e.g. hypothermia at LOTOJA 2005. I suppose it represents a tangible point in time where I get to experience all the reasons I am a cyclist.

1. The People: Starting in a few minutes, I will see and socialize with my training partners and reunite with people I haven't seen for a long time. It's enjoyable to be friends with people who share common interests and have common goals.

2. The Preparation: Training for LOTOJA begins the day after LOTOJA. From the day after LOTOJA, my mind refocuses on next year. New commitments and goals are made. New strategies are formed. It's like being born anew and given a new life. Though it sounds somewhat pathetic, the day after LOTOJA, I have a new purpose in life.

3. The Pain: Pain is supposed to be good for you. I suppose it is. I can guarantee that tomorrow, when I am in pain -- when my legs are filled with lactic acid, when my feet hurt, when I'm dehydrated and on the verge of cramping -- I may ask myself what the point of it all is. And I will tell myself that the point of it all is that I am able to endure it. One of the reasons I like cycling is that -- like life -- it presents a challenge to push through and to endure. You have to figure out creative ways to "get through it." Like life, sometimes you have to rely on others to get you through it. And like all achievements, once you get through it, you not only feel a sense of satisfaction, but you learn something about yourself. That something often can be drawn upon to get you through the next challenge -- whether it is on or off the bike.

I need to go and pack now, but I wanted to put something positive up -- just in case I return from LOTOJA in a bad mood. Perhaps when I return I may have additional reasons for why I like LOTOJA and why I keep coming back.

Left for Dead

I'm back. Sadly, the season is almost over. In fact, a few weeks ago, after some disappointing finishes at Wolf Creek and Huntsville, I had declared that I was retired -- for good. I went into retirement for about 6 days, but got bored, so decided to come out of retirement with the goal of doing a decent LOTOJA. So, last Saturday, I rode the Snowbird Hillclimb. The day after that I rode from my house, up Big Cottonwood, up Guardsman's, down to Park City, to Jeremy Ranch, to East Canyon Resort, up Big Mountain, down Emmigration, and back home. The day after that, on Monday, I rode from my house to Provo, up the Alpine Loop, over Suncrest, and back home. I rested on Tuesday, and on Wednesday on somewhat of a whim, I rode the DMV. Surprisingly, at the DMV, I had a fair amount of energy and felt ok. That's what retirement will do I guess.

The last little block of my out-of-retirement/LOTOJA prep was the Sanpete Classic, a 100 mile road race. The course doesn't suit me, but it holds a special place in my heart since I grew up in Sanpete County. In fact the pictures below of Ethan and the fish were taken at our cabin, which is close to Spring City, the start and finish of the Sanpete Classic.

The Sanpete Classic starts out with a guy yelling, "fire in the hole" and lighting off what looks to be a civil war era canon. I don't know how it got to Spring City. In any event, the canon adds to the character of the race and is something my kids look forward to. In contrast with last year when the Cat 3s raced with the Pro/1/2 group, this year we started out fairly civil. Team Vanguard was there en masse and looked strong, and I quickly understood that I would either be in a break with a Vanguard guy, or be in the field dragging some Vanguard guys around Sanpete County. So, just after Milburn, and after a Vanguard guy had been brought back, I made an acceleration and got a small gap. That didn't last long. I sat at the front for a couple minutes, and went again, knowing that there was a small climb ahead. Todd (Vanguard) and Nate came with me, and the group let us go. A few miles later, two Porcupine guys joined us, and the winning break was formed.

Since I was just coming out of retirement and had put in a hard week, I was pleasantly surprised that I was in the break. We worked well together and by 70ish miles into the race had a 5+ minute gap. I was happy and began thinking of possible ways I could get to the line before my breakaway companions. Unfortunately, things didn't play out as I hoped.

As we came into the Moroni feedzone for a second time, I grabbed a musette bag from Karen. It had two bottles and a Coke in it. I put the bag around my neck and, riding without hands, began pulling out the bottles. As I pulled out the first bottle, I saw an orange flash. Just as I saw the orange flash, I heard my bike slam into what turned out to be an orange construction barrel, and then I felt myself flying over the bars and onto the ground. After I hit the ground, I lay there for a few seconds, a bit stunned. One of my breakaway companions said my musette bag was on my face and that he thought I was unconsious. But after a few seconds, I realized that I wasn't hurt all that bad -- just a few scrapes and a bit of road rash. I hopped on the bike and started chasing after my breakaway companions. My front wheel was a bit wobbly, but as I rode, I opened up my front brake and loosened the brake cable.

I never caught my breakaway companions. And I have to admit that I was a bit bothered that they decided not to wait for me after our wheel support guy told them I was 30 seconds back and the group was over 5 minutes back. But in the end, I don't blame them and only hold a small grudge. :) I mean if a guy isn't smart enough to avoid pile-driving an orange barrel while riding a bike with no hands going 18 miles an hour, does he really deserve to be in the break? After a futile chase, I joined up with what was left of the main field and they pulled me back to the finish. Nice job to all those who were there. It was fun.

And so I'm out of retirement and looking forward to another LOTOJA. Bring out the mallet. . .