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I know I’m not exactly timely with this blog post. I’ve been training too hard to be bothered with this nonsense.

However, I’m now tapering for this weekend’s CCCX World Championship Circuit Race, so I have a bit more time. Now that I’ve got my legs firmly ensconced in my Paul Mach Replica compression tights, let’s get down to business.

Apparently Time Trialing is Cool Nowadays:

As many of you probably know by now, my Cal Giant teammate Evan Huffman threw down an incredibly horizontal mullet vector in the Stage 2 time trial of last weekend’s Merco Classic Stage Race, pulling off a beautiful upset win over some of the best time trialists in the nation/world. This was no “2007 Mt. Hood Prologue, Devon-Vigus-on-a-road-bike, arithmetic aided performance enhancement” upset win — this was the real deal.

(Photo Credit: VeloImages)

Now, if you want to read about the usual “I’ve been working on my TT position all winter,” and “I really think I owe it to my gluten-free diet,” and “my power was good,” and “yeah, I mean, I guess I beat TOM F*&KING ZIRBEL AND BEN JACQUES-MAYNES IN A TIME TRIAL, no big deal” and what not, Lyne Lamoureux (Podium Insight) wrote up a nice interview with lil’ Huffers last Friday night.

Even the ever-professional journalist Lyne tried to get Evan to loosen a little bit by asking him if he ever has any fun, to which Evan responded:

“Yes, I have fun. I’m really serious about my training.”

That thump you hear is my head banging against my desk repeatedly.

A few more of my favorite lines from that interview are:

“But he was stumped when asked to identify his worst day on a bike. ‘I’m really consistent which I think is also my strength. I don’t really have terrible days physically, power-wise, I don’t know. I can’t really answer that, nothing comes to mind.’”

There you have it, ladies and gentlemen: Evan Huffman never has bad days on the bike. Another good quote was the following:

“Team Manager Anthony Gallino stated that … ‘[Evan's] not about school, girls, cars or anything. He’s all cycling.’”

You know it’s bad when your director says you have no game. Make no mistake, ladies and gentlemen, Evan Huffman is a serious cyclist and has the talent to merit such a monastic existence. However, I feel like it’s my duty to make sure the world sees more than just the digital readout of Evan’s SRM-like lifestyle.

And thus, it’s Story Time!

Let’s back up to late summer of last year, at the traditionally fast and miserable 2011 Vacaville Crit.

[cue fog machine fade-in]

It was a pretty standard pressure cooker of a day in the central valley, and the P/1/2 race was slated to start shortly. The Cal Giant guys at the time (Staz, Huffers, Tyler “T-Pain” Brandt, James “Bojangles” Mattis and Brandon “Crashton” Trafton) were all arranged around Evan’s mom’s car, filling water bottles, hittin’ the GSC’s, pumping tires, or in the case of Evan himself, sitting in a lawn chair next to his mom Lorry, his little brother, and their little dog Jack (who sports a Cal Giant bandana at races). A couple Yahoo? guys were milling around, as was Phil Mooney (Raleigh) and myself (Webcor).

As usual, the conversation turned to Evan and his aversion to women. And equally as usual, Evan muttered something about cooties being bad for recovery, or that girls didn’t know how to properly make a recovery shake, or some such nonsense.

I glanced around. Sitting in a circle about 100 yards away was the entire Webcor Women’s team, engaged in an intense post-race conversation. I knew exactly what I had to do.

I sauntered over to their circle, rudely interrupted their post-race meeting, and pleaded softly, gesturing in the direction of the hapless Huffman, “Hey, ladies, could I ask a huge favor? Would one of you come over here and — ”

Local standout racer Mary Maroon cut me off mid sentence. “Yes! Yes. I’ll do it. I’ll give him a kiss.” She hopped up quicker than Contador at a steakhouse, clickety-clicked her way over to him in her cleated shoes, and planted the most passionately awkward, moist-spandex-riddled kiss I’ve seen since Kirstin Dunst got all upside down make-outy with Spiderman in the rain.

Evan’s mother was not enthused by my shenanigans. Evan’s little brother was clearly impressed. Jack, the dog, whimpered away and hid behind a tree. Evan…well, Evan just sat there for about nine minutes, smiling and not moving much.

The P/1/2 race started shortly thereafter. I didn’t see Evan anywhere near the front of the pack the entire day, and even he admitted that the diversion of bloodflow away from his legs as a consequence of his pre-race activities likely impeded his performance that day.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that both the quotes from the PodiumInsight article are factually incorrect: Huffman does in fact dabble in “the ladies,” and consequently he has really bad days on the bike, power-wise and all. It’s not clear why Mary was so excited to make out with lil’ Huffers, though it’s been rumored that she’s attracted to male bike racers who ride Bento Boxes.

Yep. Huffman is destined for greatness, no doubt. He’s also destined to be blogfodder for eternity. You can follow his bizarre, often distressing, sometimes hilarious approach to fame and fortune on Twitter (@evanhuffman), but his mom is way better (@regulorry).

I Am One of the Vanderkitten Creepers:

I’m a big fan of women’s bike racing, and I really want it to grow. NCNCA race promoters are making strides toward equality by offering the same amount of prize money to both P/1/2 men and women; I’d like there to be equality in spectating, heckling, name recognition, and fanboyness as well. To that end, I challenge each of you to suggest to your carpool, as you’re loading bikes on the car and reminiscing about how hard your race was, “Hey guys, let’s grab some burritos and stick around for the W/1/2/3 race!” Do it. Become a fan.

Along those lines, last Saturday evening I elected to forgo my usual night time routine of nude, couples calisthenics with Steve Reaney in favor of the 2012 Vanderkitten Women’s Cycling Team launch party.

Attending this event was probably the hippest thing I’ve done since I accidentally wandered into Ritual Roasters and Bender’s Bar on the same evening. Held in a warehouse-chic Rapha dispensary known simply as “359 State Street” in Los Altos, and serving exclusively Pabst Recovery Beverages (PRBs), this was a pretty legit team launch party. There was funky music, the endless click of expensive cameras, lots of sponsor product and logos, a fully kitted-out team, and plenty of fanboy lurkers. Like me.

The event has been covered extensively (and professionally) on Cyclingnews.com, fanboy blogs similar to mine, and lunatic VK team rider websites. I can’t add much, besides to say that Vanderkitten is doing things better than most moderately-funded professional men’s cycling teams. They have extremely talented and charismatic riders, they have top level sponsors, and they have organized management and direction. F*&k yeah, Vanderkitten.

I think the best thing I can do is shut the hell up and send you to the team photographer Jason Perry’s Flickr page. That’s what you want to see, anyway.

Sorry, VK ladies. You just got a few more stalkers. Apologies.

I Won a Bike Race, Albeit an Insignificant One:

After having spent the evening at the Vanderkitten party, I awoke feeling remarkably refreshed and with remarkably sprightly legs. I assume it was one of two things:

1. The Pabst Recovery Beverages provided at the event were living up to their billing as recovery aids.
2. I had absorbed some cycling talent osmotically from that close contact with former World Cup leader Kathyrn (Curi) Mattis.

Seeing no reason to waste a perfectly good set of legs dancing around to Katy Perry songs all day, I showed up at a small, local P/1/2/3 crit hosted by my former collegiate team, Stanford Cycling. As soon as I got on my bike, I felt an almost Huffman-style level of consistent power in the legs. Additionally, it was windy and the course had a few choppy corners, a delightful combination for some good old-fashioned breakaway crit racing.

Mike’s Bikes had a few riders present, including Steve Pelaez and Tyler Dibble, while Chuck Hutcheson and Joe Iannarelli of Mcguire-ish Cycling were also threatening. The presence of Matt Chatalong (Team Sacramento), winner of the previous weekend’s Merced Crit bunch sprint against some talented sprinters, made me nervous that my breakaway goals would be dashed.

After a few failed attempts to get away from the field early, I settled in and let some other riders flail aimlessly at the front. Then, once the previously tireless chasers grew tired of chasing, I attacked hard up the right hand gutter and really pushed my legs to the limit.

Now, I don’t use HRMs or power meters or even clocks, so you might be wondering how I can possibly gauge “my limit.” As it turns out, I have a pretty simple metric: the LCT.

The LCT, or Lucky Charms Threshold, is defined as the effort that can be maintained while keeping a large, pre-race bowl of Ireland’s finest cereal below one’s Tonsil Limit.

What with my huffmany legs and all, I was able to stay at my LCT for upwards of 3/4 of a lap, and when I turned around, it appeared at first glance that I had succeeded in my goal. The field was nowhere in sight and, though my Lucky Charms were dancing tenuously about my throat, only three riders remained on my wheel.

You know that scene where Princess Leia blasts a hole in a ventilation cover like a boss, ensuring the escape of Han Solo, Chewie, Luke and the princess from the advancing Stormtroopers? But then it turns out the ventilation duct leads directly into a monster filled trash compactor? Yeah. That’s about what happened to me in this race.

I turned around to find that, while I had succeeded in escaping the Stormtroopers of the peloton, I was now in a four man breakaway with what amounts to a trash compactor monster. I was alone off the front with the three best sprinters in the race: Pelaez, Chatalong, and Hutcheson*.

With only about 7 laps remaining, my R2D2 of a bike (the S-Works Venge with Zipp 808s) stopped the trash compactor with its sass and its technical prowess, allowing me escape from the trash compactor monster alone. I attacked the monster, lapped the field solo, won the ensuing field sprint, and actually almost lapped my former breakaway companions as we came sprinting to the line.

There are no photographs of the finish because no one cared to be there. This is what I think it probably looked like.

(Photo Credit: Veloimages, I think)

Yes, I pasted my head onto the body of the Merco Classic Stage 4 winner and friend of mine, Logan Loader (Exergy). Logan’s been racing like a fiend of late, and I hope that someday I can win real bike races like him — races where there are photographers and money and shit.

Nemesis Watch 2012:

Last time I posted, I briefly mentioned that the search committee for my new Road Nemesis position has been assembled and is accepting applications. I mentioned a few potential applicants: Tyler Brandt (Mike’s Bikes), Roman Kilun (Kenda – 5 Hour Energy) and Chuck Hutcheson (ex. McGuire, now Marc Pro – Strava). Tyler and Roman responded quickly, each seemingly anxious to ensure I never win another bike race by accepting the position as my official nemesis.

Chuck responded in his own way, first by being beatable at the aforementioned crit, but also by stepping up his internet heckling game to levels previously unseen in this district. He singlehandedly quadrupled the membership of the “Official Heckle Rand Miller Fan Club” page on Facebook within a day. Ben Jacques-Maynes and Roman Kilun (both real PRO bike racers) are now members. Why aren’t you?

I’m not ready to begin polling just yet, as I’d like to get a few more races in — and a few head-to-head grudge matches against my fellow racers — before I really settle on some favorites. At that point, I’ll compile a list and poll you readers. In the meantime allow me to emphasize that I want you to comment and suggest people you think would make good nemeses! It’s the beauty of the internet: no one even has to know who you are, so you can’t possibly say anything dumb.

I’ve had a few good suggestions thus far: preeminent shittalker Rob Evans (McGuire), anti-breakaway-artist Beth Newell (Novartis/NOW), Me (I am my own worst enemy, it’s true), Dibble/Pelaez (Mike’s Bikes), and then some bad ones like Pat Briggs. It was even suggested that Reaney might make a comeback and play the role of Nemesis Teammate a la Prost v. Senna at McLaren F1. Now that would be fun.

May my worthy opponent make himself known!

*I suppose “out of the frying pan and into the fire” would have sufficed, but that analogy was way more fun.

I’m embarrassed.

Not only am I embarrassed that it’s been over two weeks since I posted, but also because during that two weeks I’ve been summarily trounced in bike races.

Here’s a Venn diagram that describes the entirety of my life:

And here’s a list of what has taken place in that tiny sliver of an intersection between “Me” and “Bike Racing” since we last talked.

1. A few local crits in which I sucked hard (Folsom Crit and Early Bird Crit).
2. Cal Giant Team Camp (This did not suck)
3. A local Road Race in which I sucked harder (Snelling RR).
4. A local Crit in which I sucked (Merced Crit).

That’s a lot of suckage in bike races, but it’s been noted by countless readers that I tend to write more entertaining posts when I fail at bike races, so hopefully this portends a few good posts at the very least.

Believe it or not, I’ve also been summoned to write an official Cal Giant Team Camp writeup for the team website, which I’ll self-plagiarize here for your entertainment sometime later this week. [Cue cringes from Cal Giant's lawyers]. It’s likely I’ll be banned from both the team and from the internet pretty soon thereafter. Until then, here comes my usual drivel.

Somehow, I ended up registering for the traditional NCNCA crosswind throwdown, the Snelling Road Race — rather, I was registered by my team. Those of you who are familiar with “my style” know that it does not typically involve road races, but the Cal Giant team management was eager to enrage the entire district by entering as many riders as possible.

Hence, I found myself raging to the far side of the Central Valley with an always amped-up Phil Mooney (Jamis - Sutter Home PRO Cycling), who was dancing to his own personal Spice Girls mix for a warmup while I remained stoic as always.

Mooney, while a professional cyclist, is also an incredibly intense carpooler.

After I cooled down from the Katy Perry Dance Party that ensued in the parking lot, I picked up my number and did a few laps of the venue, talking shit to all my competitors, most of the W/1/2/3 racers, and a few hapless Juniors. Then it was game time. My team and I got kitted up in our new, rather fluorescent, almost flamingo-colored kits and headed to the start line.

(Photo Credit: Alex Chiu)

So, in case the twelve Cal Giant riders registered wasn’t enough of a hint: our team plan was to put all our riders on the front on the first straightaway of the race, which is nearly always buffeted by a strong left-to-right crosswind. This year, however, the wind was an absurd headwind coming slightly from the right, but which was not angular enough to wreak havoc.

(Photo Credit: Alex Chiu)

Now, I’ve already received a lot of flak from local riders for our team’s actions: for registering 12 riders, for putting our riders on the front, for not putting them on the front enough, for putting them on the front in the wrong places, etc., etc., etc. Now I know why Steve Reaney was grouchy all the time.

Look, haters gonna hate. However, sometimes the haters is right: as a team, we did not adapt to the unexpected conditions as well as we should, and as a consequence we did not shred the field like we had hoped.

Furthermore, I’ve received a lot of flak personally for doing exactly what people ought to have expected from me: cracking 2/3 of the way into a road race and DNFing. Max Jenkins (Competitive Cyclist Fred Squad) even blamed my blowing up in the crosswinds for his failure to make the winning move, though the true failure on Max’s part was being behind me in a ROAD RACE. Ever.

Yeah, I did as much work as I could, then cracked early in the 5th lap.

Nevertheless, our team placed two of our strongest riders in a break of about ten. One of these riders was Nate Wilson, a CU Boulder college kid who I respect for several reasons: 1. he’s one of the best climbers I know, 2. he’s one of the few climbers I know who races crits like a man, 3. he looks good on a bike, and 4. he can eat an absurd amount of food for a climber.

(Left photo credit: Alex Chiu)

Nate did a ridiculous amount of work to keep the four Mike’s Bikes riders present the break in check, kept the break strung out for most of the closing km, and helped our strongest rider on the day, Chris “Staz” Stastny, finish 2nd. Barely. Just barely.

(Photo Credit: Fiona Winder)

He was narrowly beaten by a savvy and strong effort by Christiaan Kriek of the Simple Green - Bike Religion team, and finished ahead of Tyler Brandt (Mike’s Bikes), Chuck Hutcheson (McGuire), and my former teammate Joel Robertson (Webcor). If Chuck hadn’t been so busy swinging his metaphorical…uh…54t chainring around for the first four laps, he might have won the race. Alas, true to my prediction, he remains the guy who gets beat up by the bigger local teams. I have to hand it to the Simple Green guys, they raced really well this weekend, particularly given how few of them were present.

Not to be overly analytical about this, but given that Staz has finished 2nd twice already this year, it looks like he’s contracted the deadly Randmillis secondplaceus infection, an affliction which has plagued my racing career for half a decade. Don’t ask how he got it — you really don’t want to know what we do in team hotel rooms.

Having been cured of R. secondplaceus myself, however, I have come nowhere near a 2nd place finish this season, much less a win. Infection free, I am now relegated to finishing approximately dead last in every race I enter, should I manage to finish at all.

I’ll work on that.

The following day my teammates and I decided to race the Merced Crit.

Now, I like the Merced Crit. It’s got a few nasty right-hand corners and what is best described as a Tunnel of Doom behind the Merced Courthouse, wherein riders fling themselves through a less-than-one lane alley lined on both sides by stuccoed walls and floored with singularly awful pavement. It’s not just technical, it’s almost adventurous.

Just before our race started, I sat down and watched the ladies race. For about 90% of the day, Moriah McGregor (Colavita) destroyed herself off the front solo. It crushed my soul a bit to see her caught, but at least I got to watch my friend Marissa Axell (Touchstone) finish a close second to the previous day’s winner Rhae Shaw (Exergy Women’s PRO), while my female NCNCA Crit Champion counterpart Vanessa Drigo (Vanderkitten) came in a respectable third.

(Photo Credit: Mark Sasser)

After heckling the Stevens - Pactimo girls (the name-heavy duo of Mary Ellen Ash and Heather Drake Lipana) for not winning, it was game time yet again for the P/1/2 men.

I should note that my teammate Staz and I are very similar. We’re similar enough that I’ve wondered whether we might be brothers or something. One of the things we both have in common is our love of a laid-back, lighthearted, jovial attitude about bike racing. This is then quickly followed by an irrational and fierce intensity about bike racing. The dichotomy was captured brilliantly by local photographer Alex Chiu on the start line of the Merced Crit.

(Photo Credit: Alex Chiu)

What were Staz and I making gooney faces about in the laid-back, lighthearted, jovial frame of that animated .gif? Oh, just the fact that perennial shit-talker Rob Evans (McGuire Cycling) was in the process of missing the start of the race. Yep, Rob spent so much time talking about how badly he was going to beat me, he forgot to show up to the start line. Well done, sir. DNS.

Each of the past two years at the Merced Crit, I’ve managed to get myself into a breakaway that stayed away to the finish, and my teammates (Nate Wilson, John Hunt, Staz, and Evan Huffman) were intent on a similar arrangement this year.

The Mike’s Bikes team, the two Simple Green - Bike Religion guys, and Brandon Trafton (Full Circle Cycling Team, winner of this race last year) made it very difficult to acheive that goal. Every time a break went up the road, Trafton would spearhead the “I’m gonna bridge that gap halfway then blow up” effort, and the Simple Green guys would finish off his handiwork. The Mike’s Bikes guys were just there to ensure that every breakaway was loaded in their favor. F*&k. Tactical bike racing is hard work. You gotta like, think hard and pedal hard, at the same time.

With about 4 laps go go, my team engineered the perfect scenario: Tyler Brandt (Mike’s Bikes) against my teammate Evan and I in a promising break of three. Evan was doing a large portion of the work, Brandt was wisely watching us both with wary eyes, and I was preparing my super-aero Specialized S-Works Venge for an intense finish. Alas, we were brought back heading into the last lap.

Here’s a video delineating about the same thing, courtesy of the ever-present Mike’s Bikes GoAm Cam.

At this point, I’m never quite sure which of the ~7 Mike’s Bikes sprinters is intending to lead out who. Perhaps that’s their game plan. To date, their poly-sprinter approach has netted them a few 2nds, 3rds, 4ths, and 5ths. This time, it was Eric Riggs sprinting to 2nd place behind recent upgrade Matt Chatalong (Team Sacramento), who raced conservatively all day for obvious reasons: he’s got a really good finishing kick. Congrats to Matt for beating two separate teams of >5 riders and a few SoCal ringers.

As is customary of late, I finished pretty much last. Get used to it.

At this point, it’s time to start thinking about nemeses again. As you may recall, I’m constantly in need of a nemesis in order to race effectively. For the past several seasons, while I was racing for the Webcor Cycling Team, Steve Reaney (Ex-Cal Giant) was my nemesis on the road. Last ‘cross season, by virtue of an internet poll and his general shitshowness, Derek Yarra (Ibis - BuyCell.com) was designated my ‘cross nemesis.

In both previous cases, the presence of a nemesis heightened the drama of any race, no matter the size or prestige.

However, with the retirement of 2010 National Criterium Champion Steve Reaney — and his status as Teammate Emeritus at Cal Giant — I am in need of a new road season nemesis. I encourage nominations via the comments section, and I’ll be setting up a provisional poll soon.

Please keep in mind the International Nemesis Committee’s “Rules for Selection of an Appropriate Nemesis, 2011 Edition”:

• Must be beatable (though not without significant dedication).
• Must be charismatic.
• Must want to beat you in return.
• Must do humorous, bloggable shit.

For now, I think Chuck Hutcheson (McGuire), Tyler Brandt (Mike’s Bikes) and Roman Kilun (Kenda PRO Cycling) are solidly in the running for this position. I’d love to see my ‘cross season nemesis runner-up Keith Hillier (Marc Pro - Strava) race a few more crits, because he’d be a good choice as well.

Readers, please let me know who you think would be a good 2012 Road Season Nemesis. Until I get one, I doubt I’ll get anywhere near the podium.

See y’all soon!

[Editor's note: I know it's Friday night, and that this shit is wicked late. Alas, it's better to post it now rather than after the new race weekend has commenced. I hope it makes for some light Saturday morning pump-up reading over a nice Mimosa or Bloody Mary.]

Earlier this week, it was brought to my attention that Maxim Jenkins (Competitive Fred PRO Cycling) had been featured on Slam That Stem, a Tumblr account dedicated to the narcissistic, euphemistic practice of photographing your bike’s overcompensatorily long stem as it teabags the headtube*.

In fact, it’s the second time Maxim’s low-slung cockpit has been featured on the site, making him something of a Ron Jeremy in the bike porn industry.

However, this time my custom Clean Bottle could be seen cradled softly in his bottle cage.

In the ‘online bike nerd niche’ world, that’s like accidentally having your arm show up in the background of a Playboy photoshoot. Max is all about the stem-slamming; in fact, there are even photographs of Max caught in the act of getting his stem slammed by his team mechanic.

Euphemistic nonsense aside, ladies and gentlemen, there is the proof: real PRO bike racers ride CounterattackingReality.com Clean Bottles. Thanks for the publicity, Max**! If any of you readers want in on the action, I’ll have oodles of bottles tomorrow in Folsom!

Anyway, this talk of slamming stems has got me all excited about the theme of this post: leadouts and bicycle technology.

It seems that everyone is talking about leadouts these days. I wrote about leadouts last week. Tyler Farrar (Garmin – Catfish PRO Cycling) has been letting loose some tirades regarding his team’s inability to lead him out, though I fail to see the correlation between a team’s leadout capacity and his ass’s pinch-flat propensity. Finally, NorCalCyclingNews.com recently lauded the local Mike’s Bikes Cream Puff Team leadout attempt at the Cherry Pie Crit.

What’s all the hullabaloo about leadouts for? As it turns out, every W/1/2/3 and P/1/2 crit in the NCNCA this season (all four of them) has come down to a bunch sprint. What is this, SoCal?

I’m not innocent, of course, having led out my teammate Sam Bassetti for the season-opening Cal Aggie Crit win two weeks ago. This is notable because I’m a breakaway guy. Everyone who races with me knows it: I have no tactical skills and I have no sprint. My only hope for a win is to get off the front of a bike race, something that has proven hard to do because frankly, I have little athletic talent. Rather than requesting that I train harder and become a better athlete, Cal Giant, Specialized, and Zipp have simply outfitted me with what amounts to a solid wing of carbon fiber that propels itself forward at startling speed: my Breakaway Bike, a 2012 S-Works Venge with Zipp 808s and a stem that’s fully slammed against the badass, faired top cap.

Now, my ability to draft behind my own stem is great and all, but the Cal Giant team directors did not bring me onto the team because they love breakaways; after all, it’s common knowledge that such nonsense hardly ever works.

Therefore the team has invested heavily in large, meatheaded sprinters like Sam Bassetti, Eamon Lucas, and Benny Swedberg. Eamon is depicted here attempting to draft off me in Breakaway Mode.

Clearly my usual approach fails here.

Following my attempt at a leadout at the Cal Aggie Crit, I was castigated by several of my teammates for being “too small,” ” really tiny,” and even “f*&king midgety.” Apparently I don’t make much of a leadout guy, and a super-aero bike isn’t going to make things better. I mean, look at the size difference between Eamon and I in real life.

(Photo Credit: Veronika Lenzi)

See, my photoshopped Eamon is actually smaller than the real-life one. At best, I’d be leading out one of his shins.

In order to combat this problem, when it becomes clear that a bunch sprint is imminent, I have been instructed to fake a mechanical (or ride full-speed directly into a square-edged curb to generate a real one) and switch into “Leadout Mode” aboard my 2012 Specialized Allez Fred Edition.

Eamon now fits nicely into my slipstream thanks to my exceedingly upright position.

Given that I try to do everything in my power to be the opposite of Maxim Jenkins, this bike conveniently has its stem anti-slammed. Screw stem-slamming: being counterculture is hip these days, so I imagine this is the next big trend you’ll see on Valencia St. in San Francisco.

So let’s get back to bike racing here, shall we? All this technical jargon comes to bear on last weekend’s Cherry Pie Crit, an inexplicably hotly-contested event every season. It’s got a small hill, it’s got a hairpin turn, it’s got a chicane, and it’s got wind. I’m a sucker for hairpins and crosswinds, so I was pretty amped up to race.

I was so stoked, I decided to go for a bit of a pre-race warmup ride with my friends Gino Zahnd (a Chico transplant and strong beer drinker, like myself), Starla Teddergreen (injured reserve Vanderkitten sprinter extraordinaire and all-around badass) and Maura Kinsella (my Vanderkitten kindred spirit: a loud, amped up, attention-whoring attacker). There were muffins and a quiche involved, so my level of stoke just kept skyrocketing. It was on this muffin ride that we randomly happened across Derek Yarra, my ‘cross season nemesis, who was out for an incognito road bike training ride.

Yarra, who has been hinting on Twitter about his intentions to become a card-carrying, power meter-sporting roadie, seems to be trying to sneak in some secret training. However, the presence of deep-section carbon wheels on his bike highlight his inner Tri-dork, and undermine any credence his “training plan” might have had. I assume he had a 10-mile run planned post-ride.

Stick to ‘cross, Yarra. At least in ‘cross they can’t tell that you stole those baby blue Oakley Jawbones from some poor, unsuspecting Team TIBCO II girl.

Once the pre-race ride was over, Maura and I loaded bikes on her Corolla and raged over to the race course in Napa.

Apparently that’s what it looks like to “rage” to a bike race in a Corolla: a dude with absolutely no facial expression whatsoever, and a chick with way too much of one. Jesus. We look like we’re driving to Napa to commit a heinous crime or a massive bank heist or something.

OK, back to the action. The women’s P/1/2/3 race was pretty solid. The field was full of top-level talent and the race looked pretty fast. I was particularly stoked when local youngster Ruth Winder (Vanderkitten) went out for a solo attack midway through the race.

“Solo breakaways are doomed to FAILURE,” I screamed in my best heckling voice. Sure enough, she was brought back. Told ya’!

She must have sensed my smugness, because she subsequently won the race from a bunch sprint. It was a formality after the beautiful leadout from her teammates, but it was also one of the fiercest sprints I’ve seen in a while.

(Photo Credit: Tim Westmore)

Nicely done, Ruth. Go beat Beth Newell now, eh?

Immediately afterward, about 75 guys lined up for the ensuing P/1/2 event. The official told us we had to wait for the national anthem to be sung. That’s right, apparently they were planning on having someone sing the national anthem before our race, which is actually pretty cool and pseudoPRO for a local race.

However, our field was anxious to get going and so, without any kind of prompting, the entire P/1/2 field began singing the national anthem in unison. I’m serious. I’ve never seen anything like that. It didn’t totally suck, either. Does anyone have a video of that?

The official paused awkwardly, said, “OK, that was pretty cool,” and then he blew the whistle. The bike race was underway.

It’s been a really warm winter here in Northern California, and it shows. The entire P/1/2 field was racing like Cherry Pie was a mid-July NRC crit. People were destroying themselves off the front, and folks behind were mercilessly chasing them down. People were crashing their faces off for a taste of a pie they probably oughtn’t eat anyway. I dare say there’s a bit too much fitness in the NCNCA for February, but time will tell.

I did my best to go Breakaway Mode on the field, but it was not happening. Other notable breakaway folks were the likes of Phil Mooney (Jamis PRO Cycling), John Wilk (Webcor), a couple of the Full Circle guys, and some of my teammates.

After a late-race crash and a (unwise) neutralization of the race with 4 to go, the Mike’s Bikes team took to the front. I’m going to be completely honest and candid here: the first lap of their leadout was ungodly slow and it was rather dangerous. I assume they were going that slowly because they were too busy assembling for their rear-facing GoPro video op to pedal hard.

I would prefer if we all left the GoPro cameras out of the race dynamic from now on. It’s really cute that the Mike’s Bikes guys planned that — and yes, it’s obvious you planned it given the production of a YouTube video about it — but come on, it’s a bike race. Just race your bikes and look for sweet leadout photos afterwards. To be fair, no one in the field (myself included) did anything to wrestle control away from them at this point, so I guess I can’t complain too much.

After their team videoshoot shenanigans were over, the speed picked up significantly and it turned into a pretty damn decent leadout train.

If I’d had my Fred Edition Allez — and if my teammate Jared Barrilleaux hadn’t undone his quick release mid-race, rendering his bike terrifyingly useless — we would have tried to go “Leadout Mode” and help my sprinter Sam Bassetti. However, I didn’t have the bike set up yet, Jared was busy yanking his wheel out of his dropout at speed, and Sam was doing a fantastic job of surfing the back of the Mike’s Bikes train by himself. In fact, I moved up next to Sam to see if he wanted help, and he swiftly chopped me into a curb. Point taken.

I got out of the way, as did the rest of my teammates, and we let The Bassetti Hound sniff out the trail on his own. Just like that, Sam came off the right wheels and won his second consecutive race with a nice bike throw over Andy Goessling (Mike’s Bikes). Andy’s Mike’s Bikes teammates Dana Williams and James LaBerge came in behind, with Chuck Hutcheson (McGuire) rolling through for 5th. I get the feeling that Chuck is going to fill the void I left behind: the guy on a small team who is always in the mix, but consistently gets trounced by the big teams. He’s one of the fastest guys out there, and a feisty one at that, so I’m sure he’ll be just fine.

(Photo Credit: Tim Westmore)

I’d like to congratulate Sam for winning that sprint by virtue of his own instincts, with little help from his teammates, and I’d also like to say that Mike’s Bikes did a good job of controlling the front of the race in spite of coming up just a bit short. I’m not gonna lie, that kind of late-race organization should strike fear into the hearts of the local P/1/2 scene…and particularly into the hearts of late-race breakaway artists. Like me. F*&k.

But you know what? Screw breakaways. Having a teammate winning races is what really matters, so I’m happy for Sam and his ungodly, early-season sprinting ability. What an asset, that bASSETti.

See y’all this weekend in Folsom and Fremont for some flat, nearly cornerless criteriums! I’m slamming my stem as we speak in preparation for more failed breakaways!

*I am not going to explain the imagery to you, mom. Figure it out on your own.

**Just this afternoon, I was summoned to start a Max Jenkins Appreciation Day.

I’ll work on it. Stay tuned.

Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of writing about science. This is an excellent thing for my real, scientific career, of course. However, readers who have been with me for the duration of this blog’s existence will remember that the dry, concise, pristine world of scientific disclosure is what drove me to start this nonsensical, meandering, illogical, and factually iffy internet endeavor in the first place.

Writing about science is all about good form, smooth delivery, and few mistakes. Literarily speaking, it’s like taking a nice girl to a fancy restaurant, having a good glass of wine each and engaging in charming but appropriate conversation, all while listening to string quartet music. It’s something that would make a mother proud.

This blog, on the other hand, is the written equivalent of an all-night, sloppy, air-guitar on the dancefloor, greasy street-vendor sausage at 2am, wake up on a mattress in the closet of someone you don’t know, tequila-driven bender. Mothers do not approve.

Well, Mom, there’s a time and place for each. Tonight, it’s blog night.

Every year, the NCNCA collectively forgets that it ran a Hill Climb on January 1st — let’s be serious, that is not a real bike race, no matter what climbers tell you — and inaugurates the true racing season with the Cal Aggie Crit: a low-budget, family affair hosted by perennial collegiate powerhouse, the UC Davis Cycling Team.

This race is held in William Land Park in Sacramento, home of a zoo, one of my favorite crit courses of all time, and a relatively lowbrow golf course inhabited primarily by fratboys playing a game of “Dude, did you just see that? I bounced that shot off six trees and a stroller! HAW HAW HAW!” So, another zoo.

After I retrieved my race number from the multitude of cute college girls at registration — OK, let’s be honest, we all know I can’t talk to girls, so I had my teammate Sam get it for me instead — I had a cup of coffee with my parents and pinned my number to my fruit-covered spandex. Shortly thereafter, I was ready to roll around idly and scream vulgarities at the women’s race taking place directly before mine, which is the part of my pre-race routine I refer to as “warming up.”

My fellow bicyclogger Beth Newell (NOW/Novartis) was sitting on the back of the W/1/2/3 race, pretending to be cool with her National Champion stripes on her sleeves, while real bike racers like Emily Kachorek (Primal Wear), Maura Kinsella (Vanderkitten), and seemingly dozens of Stevens/Pactimo and UC Davis girls were attacking furiously and aimlessly like I prefer. I yelled at Emily — she glared. I yelled at Maura — she grimaced. I was striking out in the heckling department. Finally, I screamed “You’re racing like a little [expletive], Beth!” when the ladies passed through.

(Photo Credit: Dale Tapley)

Sure enough, the next lap she came by me, Beth was drilling it on the front with the whole field sitting idly on her wheel. I guess they don’t teach track sprinters how to “attack” in the criterium sense of the word.

Now I feel kind of guilty, because Beth ended up losing the finishing sprint — presumably, it’s because she wasted all that energy at the front trying to prove me wrong. I don’t know the exact finishing order, but I do know that Heather Lipana (Stevens/Pactimo) won convincingly over a pretty strong women’s field.

Congrats, Heather. I’m pretty sure I couldn’t beat Beth in a bike race; in fact, I chickened out when given the chance for a match sprint.

Sorry Beth, I won’t heckle quite so hard next time, and you know I have the utmost respect for you. Perhaps I should heckle more viciously? What would help you win better?

With the women’s race over, it was time for my first real race of the season, a 60 minute P/1/2/3 clusterf*&k of an affair.

I was pretty pumped up on the start line. So pumped up, in fact, that Jan Stastny (father of my teammate Chris) was overheard saying, in his thick Czech accent, “I am going to put a Valium or two into Rand’s bottles, because he is way too excited right now.”

I guess I just love bike racing, and I really enjoy the people involved. I don’t think I’m the only one — I just might be the loudest. I also caffeinate a lot.

I have to say, this race felt pretty fast. I no longer have any electronic devices on my bike: my speed sensor died several years ago, my HRM strap died shortly therafter, and finally the head unit of my Polar flickered and died in the middle of the 2011 season. Now it sits uselessly on my stem, an emblem of my former dedication to the sport, not willing to tell me how long I’ve been riding nor even what time it is. Thus, I have no metric by which to measure the 2012 Cal Aggie criterium — no “kJs,” no “watts,” no normalized bullshit whatsoever, not even an average speed.

But I can say this race felt pretty fast at the front end.

Now, not more than a few minutes ago, I called my blog “factually iffy,” but I feel as if I ought to set the record straight given that some well-read sources have been posting factually iffier things elsewhere.

For example, “Nor Cal Cycling News,” which is now curated by a fat, old man who lives in Wisconsin, made the following claim:

“In the Men’s race Sam Bassetti attacked late in the race for a solo win off the front.  It was a win stylistically approved by teammate Rand Miller who was monitoring the chase group on Bassetti’s heals (sic).”

False. I stylistically disapprove of solo victories, always. Here’s what actually happened.

My teammates (Nate Wilson, Robin Eckmann, Sam Bassetti, Jesse Moore, Chris Stastny) and I tried as hard as we could to force a breakaway — if you can imagine that. I think you can tell by the look on my face in this photograph that I was not happy with my inability to brute-force a move off the front of the anxious group behind.

(Photo Credit: Dale Tapley)

Time and time again, riders would attack with reckless abandon, only to find the field mere seconds behind. Even Max Jenkins Pro Bike Racer (who is racing for Competitive Cyclist this year, ironically making him a fred) became frustrated with the way others were racing. He was overheard saying,”Well, since I’m the only PRO in the race, I’m kind of obligated to yell at people.” Classic.

Allow me to illustrate why the breakaway contingent was so frustrated. Here is a graph plotting “Frequency of Attacks” vs. “Gap Over the Field.”

That is annoyingly flat.

Further analysis doesn’t make it any better. This time we’re plotting “How Much The Breakaway Hurt” vs. “Gap Over the Field.”

Clearly, I was confounded by the inability of a breakaway to get more than 5 seconds up on the field, but as the inimitable Susannah Breen (Stevens/Pactimo Sideline Squad) is fond of saying, “I guess you just had too many dicks on the dancefloor.” Tru dat.

And so, for pretty much the first time in my entire life, I helped force a bunch sprint to happen. Did you just read that? That’s right: Mr. F*&king Breakaway Guy purposely helped design and execute a bunch sprint. Yes, I have sold out entirely.

With a little under one lap remaining, and a late-race attack by my erstwhile Webcor teammate John Wilk and one other dangling off the front, I went to the front and drilled it, leadout style, with Staz on my wheel and our best sprinter, Sam Bassetti, on his.

Those of you who have been reading for a while can imagine what went through my mind at this point. How could it be that I — the long time Webcor rider, fond of late-race attacks against the Cal Giant behemoth — was now wearing the uniform of the enemy and chasing down my former Webcor teammate Wilk’s defiant, last lap attack?

There was a very brief moment of this:

But then I was just like, “$ $ $,” and I just got over it. Luke can keep his Jedi morals and whatnot — I kind of want a cool, shiny, black, weird-shaped helmet and a red lightsaber. Rumor has it that Emperor Guido is building a big spherical team car that blows up planets and pro teams and shit.

Anyway, there’s a video of the last two laps on YouTube, if you’re interested, but here’s the relevant screencap.

I think that’s the most fun I’ve ever had whilst cornering: at the front, going full-f*&king-gas, with no chance whatsoever of a good result for myself, safe in the knowledge that I had two of the best sprinters in the race on my wheel, and that they were both my teammates. Never mind that the next best sprinter in the race, Chuck Hutcheson (McGuire) was tagging along — if he had looked fresh enough, I would have chopped him when I pulled off.

I dropped off the Staz/Bassetti duo a little earlier than I’d hoped, a bit before the final corner on the course, just as we caught the dangling duo. Staz took over from there and delivered The Bassetti Hound to a solid victory with a clean set of wheels.

(Photo Credit: Alex Chiu)

And he’s got a pretty solid victory salute. I’m glad he won instead of Stastny, because that guy hasn’t quite gotten the victory salute thing down yet.

Don’t worry, we’ll work on that one at team camp this month, Staz.

After the race, we all headed to a team BBQ hosted by Lorry Huffman, the wonderful mom of my teammate Evan. It was pretty awesome because it involved about two different meat entrees and some Lagunitas IPA. Thanks, Lorry!

Racing season has begun, and with it comes blogging season. I’m pretty stoked about the whole gig, so I’ll see y’all at the Cherry Pie Crit this Sunday afternoon. Until then, may your mullet vectors always be horizontal!

With the 2012 road racing season just around the tight, technical, hairpin corner, I’m striving to be more well connected to y’all readers this year; to that end, I encourage you to introduce yourself to me on Facebook, Twitter, and especially in person. I absolutely love meeting readers face-to-face, and while I may make fun of you or attempt to steal your cool sunglasses, I encourage you to come introduce yourself nevertheless.

Does it feel awkward to walk up to a random stranger who is wearing tight-fitting clothes covered in fruit? Probably. In order to avoid senseless awkwardness, here are a few suggested topics to keep the conversation flowing as smoothly as Laurent Fignon’s golden ponytail out the back of his helmet.

1. Tell me your favorite beer, why you like it, and why you think I would like it.
2. Produce an authentic sample of said beer. I guarantee I’ll give you a hug, and possibly a kiss should the quality of the beer merit such action.
3. Tell me about your most recent breakaway attempt. Trust me, I love a good breakaway story. That said, I already know most breakaways fail miserably from personal experience, so don’t lie and tell me you won a race solo — that never happens.
4. Just make fun of me. Heckle me, point blank, to my face. It’ll help acclimate you to the desired level of CX-like heckling during the actual races. Let’s make 2012 the best season of heckling Road Racing has ever seen!
5. Describe your favorite crit course. If you can’t recite each corner in exquisite detail, don’t bother with this one.
6. Tell me your least favorite thing about Professional Cyclist Paul Mach’s blog.
7. Tell me some outlandish “this is what the kids are using these days” slang. The more hip, vulgar, or unintelligible, the better. I’ve been using “skrilla” and “balls deep” a lot, but that stuff is already dated. I’m always on the prowl for some street cred with the youngsters, and new slang is at a premium now that I’m supposed to be building a rapport with my U23 teammates.
8. Ask me for a Custom CounterattackingReality.com Clean Bottle.

Seriously. I have Google Analytics, so I know at least a few people read this shit — don’t be shy! Come say hi!

I haven’t been particularly present in the digital world of late, and it’s mostly because I’m still rather embarrassed by my Mt. San Bruno experience on New Year’s Day.

(Photo Credit: Sonia Sofia Milan)

If you recall, the internet predicted a pretty good race for my Cal Giant teammate Chris Stastny and I. As you can see in the graphic below, that USACycling Race Predictor is a load of horse s&*t, and I am not even going to bother making excuses for my poor performance. Staz and I executed a damn-near perfect Mullet Ride that day.

Before I fully erase that disaster of a “bike race” from my memory, I’d like to quickly congratulate Nate English (Kenda p/b 5 Hour Energy) for breaking the course record and commend Chris Phipps (Thirsty Bear) for getting about as close as any mortal could to matching that lungmuscle. I’d also like to congratulate Stastny on finishing with almost exactly the same time as the past three years.

Dude, if you’re gonna keep training so hard in the off season, at least get faster, would you? Now that you’re my teammate, I care about your successes and loathe your failures.

What else is new? Let’s see. I went for a few one-hour rides over the course of the past few weeks, which is a pretty typical “training load” for me. Because it’s been exceedingly warm and exceedingly dry, I chose to frequent the trails behind UCSF’s Parnassus campus, in the highlands of San Francsico near Twin Peaks.

Now, I think that area is technically known as the Mount Sutro Open Space Preserve, but I’m going to relabel it “Yarra Park” after my 2011 ‘cross nemesis Derek Yarra.

This is not a deferential label, nor is it meant to honor or glorify Mr. Yarra in any way. Instead, I’m calling this small swath of trail-marbled greenery “Yarra Park” because it’s where I trained this winter in my quest to defeat my nemesis Derek at his own sport of CX. Having succeeded in doing so, I want to commemorate the occasion. Perhaps I’ll bust open a bottle of champagne on a tree in that park and drink it on the trail as a christening. Who’s in? Derek, care to join me?

Nomenclature aside, after fifteen minutes of ripping around singletrack on my road bike, my face looks like this. It’s weird, my mouth curves upwards and shows my teeth, and my eyes look happy.

Besides a few short, happy rides during the week, not much happened in the way of bicycles until this past weekend, at which point shit got “cray.”

Saturday morning, I headed up to Marin to do a long ride with my friends Roman Kilun (Kenda p/b 5 Hour Energy) and Andy Goessling (Mike’s Bikes). Many of you probably know Roman, technically a lawyer who’s been so busy racing professionally on teams like Health Net, OUCH and Kenda since he graduated with his JD that he hasn’t bothered to practice. Yet. Joining us on this ride was Roman’s Kenda teammate Jim Stemper, who I actually recognized from somewhere else.

Jim absolutely shattered my belief that all Pro cyclists are boring and lame and bothersome by being, well, entirely tolerable. In fact, he was pretty effing funny. Jim is training in the Bay Area for a few months, so if you see him riding on your local roads, I highly recommend latching onto his wheel and sitting there as long as you can. Mutely, if possible. He told me he loves that. If you see Roman, don’t bother trying to ride with him — you’ll see why in a second.

Roman tends to do most of his winter training aboard an ancient Cannondale CAAD3 (yes, three) with downtube shifters, a steel fork, an offensively neon green paint job, and a creepy stuffed koala bear mounted behind the rear brake. This bike is worthy of the title “hooptie,” and I’ve even made fun of it on the blog previously.

Just before we set out on our five-ish hour ride, I poked fun at this haphazard collection of antiquated parts Roman calls a bike. “Dude, what are you talking about?” he responded, “This bike isn’t a hooptie, it’s solid.”

Yep. Super solid. About an hour into the ride, Roman broke his rear downtube shifter boss straight off of his frame.

This failure was probably due to the gusto with which Roman shifts into harder gears while he’s, ahem, “Kilun it” on the climbs.

Was this suddenly unshiftable hooptie a problem? Nah. All it took was one bike shop employee (Andy), two pro cyclists (Roman and Jim), one lawyer (Roman) and one science PhD student (Me) to design an elegant solution: you simply have to MacGyver the shit out of the situation and mount the rear shifting mechanism onto the front (left) shifter boss. Like a boss!

Laughing, joking, and bullshitting, the four of us rode our bicycles out to the Point Reyes lighthouse and back. We even moo’d at dairy cows and what not. It was very pretty.

I was still feeling rather sprightly at the 3.5 hour point, which was pleasantly surprising given my predilection for < 1 hour rides. Then we began climbing Mount Tam, at which point I went all “Cadel Evans” and cracked when it mattered most. My inability to climb is notable, consistent, and disturbing.

Thankfully, my ineptitude was my salvation. I chose to take a slight shortcut over Alpine Dam back to my car for a cool 5 hours of riding, whereas the Pro contingent kept riding over the Mount Tam summit — and in the final hour of their ride, amassed five flat tires between the three of them.

Just another Roman Ride, it seems. Fun, fraught with catastrophe, painful, and ultimately worthwhile.

This is what a flat criterium “specialist*” like me looks like after a long ride with significant climbing at the end.

I guess I should have taken a 5-Hour Energy, eh, guys?

I think a side-by-side comparison obviates the need to describe my life as a cyclist in words. Here’s what amounts to a graphical summary of this post — nay, my career.

And so, while I had originally committed to a ~5 hour ride with some teammates the following day, I did what any self-respecting crit racer ought: I bailed last-minute, went to my laboratory for a while instead, and then “raced” Sunday’s Early Bird Training Crit in Fremont. After the usual breakaway shuffle for the first half of the event, I ended up in a late-race breakaway with Ethan Sopenski (SJBC), Daniel Holloway (Phil Mooney’s replacement at Raleigh Pro Cycling) and Chuck Hutcheson (McGuire Mismatched Kit Squad). I won with a last-lap attack — but I’m pretty sure they let me.

My teammate Eamon Lucas, a huge fan of the Caps Lock key, was quick to describe the experience as eloquently as I’ve ever seen.

Hurrah! I already “won” a “race!” From a small breakaway, no less! Who would have guessed? And my teammate won the field sprint! Total domination of what amounts to a crit scrimmage game!

I’d also like to point out that — for approximately the first time ever — I beat a Cal Giant rider in a crit. That he is my teammate is a minor technicality.

The moral of the story, of course, is that I just straight-up suck at being a real bike racer. I can barely even finish a run-of-the-mill training ride, then I bail on another training ride because I’m afraid of the miles, and then I “win” a race that doesn’t matter to anyone. Not even the other people contesting said “race.”

Sigh.

And thus, my friends, 2012 has begun just like 2011 ended: I can’t climb for shit, my road racing outlook is as depressing as Andy Schleck’s Tour chances, and I win crits that don’t matter to anyone. Just stop reading this blog now.

See you at the next Early Bird Crit!

*A criterium “specialist” is also known as “Fatty” by his team. Already. It’s on the official team roster under the First Name header.

What does a guy like me — a guy who trains idiotically and infrequently, who thinks criteriums are “real bike races,” and who drinks beer and eats cheese for a pre-race meal during the racing season — do during the “off-season?”

It’s an interesting question.

In fact, with the introduction of ‘cross to my life last year, the word “off-season” has almost no meaning; I’ve done at least two races per month in 22 of the past 24 months .

That said, if we loosely define the off-season as a time in which I’m not actively racing, then that’s what part of the season I’m in right now. So, here’s what I’ve been up to:

1. Registering for Bike Races. Well, dammit, what the hell is this? Just last night, I registered for the effing Mount San Bruno Hillclimb — held on January 1st — at the behest of my now-teammate Chris “Staz” Stastny (Cal Giant). Staz has made a habit of running the same exact time at this event for the past three years in spite of consistent off-season claims that he’s getting faster.

As we all know, climbing hills sucks girthy downtubes, so I am pretty bummed about my decision to register; however, thanks to the modern wizardry underlying the new USACycling.org website, I don’t even have to show up.

You see, USAC takes the pre-registration list and automatically predicts the outcome of the event based on some technical juju. Lo and behold, I think it’s pretty accurate.

Now, it doesn’t take a complicated algorithm to predict a 2nd place for me in a bike race, particularly in the presence of a Cal Giant rider. I mean, shit, I’ll probably end up getting 2nd place to myself in a solo breakaway this year if historical precedent holds…but I digress.

More notable still is the ludicrous prediction that either Staz or I will beat Chris Phipps (Thirsty Bear), who has been making it clear on Twitter (@CPbike) that his entire season’s preparation is geared around peaking for this event. However, practical details like “Chris Phipps is a climber and Stastny and I are not” aside, I really like the fact that this newfangled “Race Predictor” has put the pressure on my teammate to win, and I hope everyone will loudly and publicly mock Staz should he lose the event*.

But enough of that nonsense. Please pretend I did not just register for a race that only involves a climb on the first of January. Let’s get back to the “off-season” talk, shall we?

2. Being a Cycling Socialite. As many of you know, I do love a good, evening social engagement involving cyclists — especially if they are fast, important, or otherwise name-droppable. These can range from simple, impromptu dudes’ nights with darts…

…to high-class parties with hosted bars and fancy people. The Christmas party depicted below is one of legendary status, thrown by the director of the Cal Giant Cycling Team, Anthony “Guido” Gallino. Guido is shown here, doing what he does best: schmoozing.

Now, according to Guido, I’ve already made some marketing folks at Specialized uncomfortable because I poked fun at young Cal Giant ‘crosser Tobin Ortenbladder in my previous posts. In order to make things right, I’ll try to celebrate the results of some of Cal Giant’s premier riders. You see, this party — always attended by a “who’s who” of top cyclists, industry high-rollers, and a taco truck serving free mexican food — was also attended by one James Mattis (Cal Giant). James Mattis is most famous for marrying a real bike racer, former World Cup leader and National Champion Kathryn Curi Mattis. However, he’s also had a few good results himself, like a National Road Race victory in 2008 and a 3rd place at the 2009 Watsonville Criterium behind Ben Jacques-Maynes (Bissell) and me. However, last year, he really stepped it up a notch and won the Masters World Championship Road Race**.

(Photo Credit: The Road Diaries)

I don’t know much about masters racing, so I assume that’s just about as impressive as that time your grandma won $100 from a slot machine in Reno on a family vacation***. However, Mattis’ result did not go unnoticed entirely. The kind folks at Craig Roemer Wines (and by that, I believe I just mean Craig Roemer, Specialized Masters Team member and one of the many people who is twice my age and can still righteously crush me in an ITT) commemorated Mattis’ victory with a special edition Pinot Noir, graced by his lanky countenance on an ultra-commemorative label.

If you can get a hold of one of Roemer’s J.A.W.S. (Jamesmattis Actually Won Something) wines, I’d highly recommend it. If it’s anywhere near as good as his flagship C.R.A.P. (Craig Roemer Artisin Pinot), it’ll be worth every penny.

3. Riding My Bike with Fun People. Now I often try to make it seem like my life is nothing but parties and work and avoiding my bike, but the truth is, I’ve been riding. In fact, I’ve been riding off-road exclusively, regardless of which bike I ride: ‘cross, MTB or road.

For example, I went for a nice three hour “road” ride with the 2012 Mount San Bruno Hillclimb champion Chris Stastny and the world-famous Ryan Parnes (formerly euro-PRO Raleigh Cycling, now Marc Pro – Strava). We went on a local ride known as the “Planet of the Apes,” which traverses an abandoned, eerie, chopped up, semi-dirt, semi-paved, hilly, beautiful road from Pacifica to Montara, high above the ocean.

Parnes selected deep-section carbon wheels for this rough, dirty, hilly training ride. Interesting choice, Ryan.

It should be noted that race wheels failed to keep Ryan from being dropped on every incline, though I’m sure they aided his quest to win the San Francisco City and County line sprint.

My off-road activities were not limited to the road bike, of course. While I was in my hometown of Chico for Christmas, I went for a few genuine mountain bike rides in my old stomping grounds known as Upper Bidwell Park. It’s quite pretty out there, as long as you’re not moving.

As soon as your bike begins to roll, the park becomes brutal, rocky, jarring, technical, and ultimately perfect mountain biking. Riding a hardtail in Chico’s Upper Bidwell Park lies at the Venn Diagram intersection of “Feeling Like You’re Truly Alive,” and “Feeling Like You’re About to Die.” Really, that’s what mountain biking is all about.

Just ask local climbing aficionado, 2010 NCNCA District Road Race Champion, progenitor of the term “mullet ride,” and soon-to-be Captain of the Stevens Women’s Cycling Team, Susannah Breen. I went on a dirt ride with Susannah last week, and I have to say, she’s pretty good for some quotes. Before we had even gotten on our bikes, she had spewed a few gems, including:

“Rand, what wheels are you getting on your Specialized Venge next year? Frankly, you better be putting Zipp 808s on that thing, because 303s are p*&&y climber wheels.”

Noted, Ms. Climber Chick. You would know. And yes, I am getting 808s.

“Hey Rand, you’re not wearing baggy clothes on this MTB ride are you? You better not be, ’cause baggy shorts make you look like a [expletive] nerd.”

Nope. I chose to wear my old Webcor kits, ’cause there’s nothing nerdy about that. Riiiight.

“I like riding with guys because dudes like to talk shit!”

She might look like a nice, mild-mannered girl, but damn — she actually talks like that about half the time. I think I’m going to try and make her a fixture on this site.

Not content to simply talk mad shit for entertainment, Susannah managed to unceremoniously snap her chain while we were still about 2 miles and 1000 vertical feet from the car.

Originally, I assumed this was simply because a district road race champion like Ms. Breen was putting so much raw, unbridled power through the pedals that her chain couldn’t handle the pressure.

However, upon careful review of ride footage, the ruling on the trail was overturned. As was Susannah.

Seems her chain was likely stressed in an earlier finesse-less maneuver. And so, while there was no way I could even keep up with a climber like Suzie B. on the ascents, I insisted on descending behind her for the remainder of the ride such that I might witness any further faceplants. I don’t know about you, but that picture makes me laugh aloud, so I’m sharing that joy with y’all. ‘Tis the season!

In summary, my off-season has been a smashing success until last night, at which point I summarily ruined it by registering for a hill climb. At least I know I’ll continue my trend of getting 2nd place to Cal Giant riders in the upcoming 2012 season thanks to USAC’s “race predictor!”

See you on the road (or trail) soon! If you’re awake, or even better, if you’re still drunk from the evening’s festivities, come heckle at the Hill Climb! Or just heckle me on Facebook!

*I’m already psyching my own teammates out on the internet. I’m gonna get fired like, two months into this season, aren’t I?

**If you feel like your evening is too exciting and you want to take it down a notch, go read Mattis’ actual race report. It’s as exciting as reading through Max Jenkins’ training files in binary code.

***I kid, of course. Rainbow stripes? That’s legitimately impressive.

For anyone who reads this blog and understands why it’s here, this photograph needs no explanation. True happiness oughtn’t need explanation, of course.

Merry Christmas everyone! Here’s to hoping your holidays are filled with great friends, great family, great riding, and that no corners are cut in the beer department.

See you soon!
-Rand

It is with a heavy heart that I realize the end of my ‘cross season has come. Even  had I not already decided that my season would end with last Sunday’s BASP #4, my subconscious had begun the transition from ‘cross back to road. Gone are the dreams of having my bike stolen by my ‘cross racing nemesis — last Friday, I had a dream about bridging monstrous gaps in a downtown, twilight criterium. My mind has moved on.

As if a nerdy blogger like myself knows shit about girls, allow me to make an analogy.

This whole “race ‘cross and then go back to road” thing smacks of some daytime soap opera relationship drama. I feel like I’m playing both sports at the same time: I leave my full-time, long-term, routine sport (Road) for the enticing charisma of the sexy, new, exciting, dangerous, and dirty lover (‘Cross). Then, I hesitate — I wonder whether ‘Cross is good for me in the long run. I leave ‘Cross and head back to the comfortable embrace of Road, even though it’s obvious I’m meant to be with ‘Cross. After all, ‘Cross doesn’t care if I drink beer a little bit too often; ‘Cross doesn’t mind that I’m a little overweight; ‘Cross likes hanging out and talking shit with my guy friends; ‘Cross makes me happy even when I don’t win; ‘Cross is loose and curvy*. But no, I tell myself:  ‘Cross doesn’t offer as much money, and it’s simply not as safe and familiar as Road. I quickly find myself back together with Road**.

Not that I have a weird relationship with bike racing, or anything.

Anyway, with this final ‘cross post, I’ll tie up a few loose ‘cross ends before I make the digital and emotional transition back to road.

I’ll begin with the most important news from last weekend: in my final race of the ‘cross season, I finally beat my nemesis, Derek Yarra (Ibis – BuyCell.com). If you remember, I have four rules for a racing nemesis:

1. Must be beatable (but not without serious dedication)
2. Must be charismatic
3. Must want to beat me
4. Must do stupid shit that I can post on this blog

Clearly, Yarra fulfilled rules 2 – 4 over the course of this ‘cross season, but I didn’t come anywhere near beating him for the majority of the season. I was beginning to be self-conscious about my general suckage. Then, as if the spirit of the Great Reaney was looking after me, I beat Derek Yarra in my final ‘cross race of the season with a literally vomit-inducing attack on the final climb of the final Bay Area Super Prestige race, going on to finish 8th.

The final tally for 2011 is thus: Yarra: ~5, Rand: 1. At least I scored a goal.

I had some help during the race from my midget twin, Eric Wohlberg, who set a great pace until a late-race crash took him out of contention.

(Photo Credit: Devon Trux)

I’m pretty sure this is what a nightmare about killer, Oompa Loompa*** clones looks like, at least as far as the rider in blue, Kirt Fitzpatrick (Squadra Ovest), is concerned. And yes, I’ve had that dream, too.

Sadly, I was still beaten by my nemesis-runner-up Keith “The Killier” Hillier (Marc Pro – Strava) in a fierce two-man sprint for 7th.

(Photo Credit: Devon Trux)

Sure, he crossed the line ahead of me, but we effectively tied, according to the results.

Since Killier was given a callup to the front line, and I had to start near the back of the pack, I’m going to give myself a few extra seconds at the finish. So yeah, I beat Keith, too. #nemesiswatch****.

Andy Jacques-Maynes (Cal Giant) showed up and laid a genuine smack-down on the field to take the win, though I’m a bit confused — not only by his choice to race the BASP over the concurrent, high-profile USGPs up in Bend, OR — but also by his choice of victory salute.

(Photo Credit: Devon Trux)

Though, with a win that convincing, it’s possible he just can’t bring his legs any closer together than that due to the size of … nevermind.

If you recall, Andy merely ignored me a while ago when I asked him if he reads my blog, so thankfully he won’t see this post. I hope.

Now, while Andy Jacques-Maynes was playing tee ball with us locals, his son, 17-year-old Tobin Ortenblad (Cal Giant), was up in Oregon, racing to a third place in Saturday’s Junior 17-18 race.

Now, that’s a good result and all, but what I really want to point out is that his team management pays attention to this bullshit blog. Last time I posted, I mocked The Ortenbladder because of his lack of team-issue apparel.

(Photo Credit: Steven Woo)

Well, according to this article on the team website, he was pretty kitted out by the time he made it to the USGP in Oregon.

(Photo Credit: Lyne Lamoureux)

Tobin, I hope you realize that I expect a kickback of any cool equipment your team gives you as a consequence of this blog and the publicity it brings to your team apparel faux-pas’. Let’s see how well this works: HEY TOBIN, IT LOOKS LIKE YOU HAVEN’T BEEN TRAINING ON YOUR $18,000 SPECIALIZED S-WORKS/McLAREN VENGE LATELY. YOUR TEAM PROBABLY WANTS YOU TO RIDE THAT, RIGHT?

I’ll be waiting for the UPS guy to drop it off at my house, ‘Bladder.

With that, I think I’m about done with the ‘crossblogging for 2011. I’m so over you, ‘Cross. As soon as I’ve moved back in with Road, I’ll get around to writing about the skinny-tired world again. See you guys soon!

*Uh, what? That got awkward really quickly.

**I mean, Road does have bigger chainrings. I’m a sucker for big chainrings.

***Yukie has been heckling me as an Oompa Loompa for some time, so credit for this comparison goes to her.

**** The #nemesiswatch hashtag is courtesy Andrew Cathcart on Twitter (@sfc750).

Last time I posted, I officially named Derek Yarra (Ibis – Buy-Cell.com) as my ‘cross nemesis and disclosed my 2012 road cycling team, Cal Giant. It’s been a bit, so I’ll begin with a strikingly strange story to get the creative juices flowing again.

It was the night before the Golden Gate Park BASP #3 ‘cross race. I settled down to bed, a bit later than I had hoped, having spent most of the day traveling home to San Francsico after a short but tortuous journey to rural Illinois to spend Thanksgiving with my extended family. I drifted quickly to sleep, my eyes thankful for the much-needed rest I required in order to be competitive in the following day’s ‘cross race…

The dream begins uninterestingly. I’m inside a building on a nondescript block of downtown SF. I’m chatting with a few people, also uninteresting. That’s when I became cognizant of the fact that someone has stolen my ‘cross bike; I don’t know how I found out, but you know the way dreams are, where things happen and morph and it all makes sense at the time. Regardless, I walk outside to my car, as if I was somehow going to remedy the theft, but as I reach down to unlock the door, I’m approached by a man carrying a pair of bicycle wheels (locked together with a U-lock) and a ‘cross frame (locked to the man’s wrist with a pair of handcuffs). I quickly ascertain that it is, in fact, my ‘cross bike in his possession. The man steps out of the shadows and, to my dismay, it’s none other than Derek Yarra. He demands $950 for the bicycle, which I angrily refuse. He shrugs, turns around and says over his shoulder, “I guess I win, then, don’t I?” with a smirk.

I awoke with a start.

Seriously, that is a true story. The night before a ‘cross race, I had a dream that my ‘Cross Nemesis, Derek Yarra, stole my ‘cross bike, locked it to his own arm, demanded money for it, and then ended the dream abruptly with an action-movie-esque one-liner. Talk about a worthy opponent: not content to heckle/beat me in the real world, he took the battle to the ephemeral world of dreams*.

Suffice to say, his nemesis tactics worked like a charm.

Presumably as a consequence of the fitful sleep that followed my dream, I only completed 1.5 of 8 laps the following day, while Derek rode to a 15th place finish. However, he was seen dismounting (by me, in street clothes, long before the Elite Men’s race was over, because I suck) over some barriers, a distinct departure from his “I bunnyhop your mom” attitude.

Perhaps it was the weight of the extra ‘cross bike locked to his conscience.

Anyway, the record stands. ‘Cross Nemesis Yarra: ~5, Rand: 0. I’m not very good at this “nemesis” thing, am I?

The nice thing about my Odyssean** failures in bike races is that it makes it so much more apparent that I should be talking less about myself and more about others. As if that needed to be said.

Now, I could write at length about how badass the HRS-Rocklobster duo of Aaron Bradford and Scott Chapin are — after all, they are utter badasses — but everyone already knows that. It’s only so much fun to write about notable, immaculately landscaped facial hair and perfect ‘cross technique.

(Photo Credit: Ted Ketai)

I mean, those guys are so flawless, they went 1-2 in the first two BASPs without sweating. Or breathing. Or gravity, apparently. There’s just nothing to make fun of with those two. Instead, I should be talking about riders like Tobin Ortenblad (Cal Giant ‘Cross Team).

(Photo Credit: Steven Woo)

I met officially met Tobin right before the start of the GGP race, though I’ve known who he was since he trounced me at the BASP opener at Candlestick Park a month ago. Tobin has four notable features:

1. He kicks some serious ‘cross race ass, which is hard to do.
2. His name is weirder than mine, which is hard to do.
3. He’s like 16.5 years old.
4. He spraypaints his own sunglasses bright orange because he likes that “custom look,” but isn’t respected enough for his low-life ‘cross team (Cal Giant) to give him any.

Anyway, at this pseudo-high-profile race in Golden Gate Park, the young Tobin Ortenblad managed to sneak himself between the, older, more experienced Rock Lobsters, earning a solid 2nd place sandwiched between Bradford (1st) and Chapin (3rd).

(Photo Credit: Ana Villafane Photography)

The best thing about Tobin is that he only recently received his Cat 2 license on the road so, while he might “old-school haxor-style” pwn me at ‘cross races, I will soon get to show him what real bike races (also known as crits) are all about. [Ed. note: it should be pointed out that Derek Yarra is a lowly Cat 4 with nary a single upgrade point. Yer doin' it wrong.]

Now, take a closer look at the podium photograph I showed you earlier.

(Photo Credit: Ana Villafane Photography)

Krishna Dole (Sheila Moon) placed a stellar fourth, which is pretty much exactly where I’d have expected him to finish. However, do you see that guy on the far right? Who is that? Seriously. How many people know who that guy who finished in 5th place is?

That guy is the worlds least-appreciated fast ‘cross racer: Mitch Trux (City Cycles, and author of the also-underappreciated VeloCouch blog).

Mitch is to cycling what the Green Flash West Coast IPA is to beers: connoisseurs know he’s one of the most awesome, rugged, hardcore racers there is, but few laymen have ever heard of him.

Mitch has already won a few local ‘cross races and finished reasonably well at the Sierra Point BASP #2, but his 5th place in Golden Gate Park put him ahead of some serious ‘cross talent; I’ll say it now, I think Mitch is going to be “a thing” in the ‘cross world next season. Provided, of course, he loses those ridiculous sunglasses and has Tobin spraypaint a set of bright pink Radars for him or something.

Alright, with that, I’m out of here. There’s beer to drink and science to do, in no particular order. Next time I post, I’ll probably talk about last weekend’s Cal Giant Cycling Team mini-camp, which has been documented by the inimitable Lyne Lamoureux (Podium Insight), but in a slightly less formal fashion.

(Photo: Lyne Lamoureux)

As a blogger with a bent for the ludicrous and almost no shame whatsoever, I am in a unique position to discuss the inner workings of the seemingly serious Cal Giant organization, and I relish the possibilities.

Oh, and by the way, this weekend’s BASP finale — held on a great course on Coyote Point — marks the final event in the 2011 Rand Miller v. Derek Yarra deathmatch. Come heckle us both into oblivion!

*Incidentally, this is the same world in which I’m actually a fast bike racer and not a crit fatty, so maybe that’s why he was so aggressive.

**The word “epic” may be overplayed, but references to Greek literature are not. Yet.

Picture this scenario: it’s a crisp, cold, still Fall morning and you’re on a group ride with the usual crowd of roadie-racer types. As the group hits the base of the first sustained climb, those who take climbing seriously — or even hard riding in general — appear at the front and start prancing around on the pedals like crack-fed gazelles. Conversely, you find yourself drifting towards the rear like a wounded wildebeest, surrounded by others like you: those nursing holiday party hangovers from the night before, those with adult onset ice cream addiction, the self-proclaimed “sprinters,” etc. You all laugh and joke with each other through pained breaths, trying to have a good time and minimize the misery. Someone near you asks, “Hey, I thought you were fast. What are you doing back here?” to which you respond, “This is a Mullet Ride, dude: business at the front and party in the back.”

Last night, I was made aware of the term “Mullet Ride” by local standout racer Susannah Breen (ex-Fremont Bank, now-Captain of the Stevens Cycling Team), a talented climber who pretends like she doesn’t take the sport seriously. Susannah coined this apt term and I can’t believe I didn’t think of it first, what with my mullet infatuation and all. Anyway, from now on, whenever a group ride starts getting hectic as described above, please declare “Mullet Ride!” and come party with Susannah and I at the back.

OK, on with the post. The first order of business is to crown Derek Yarra (Ibis) as my Official ‘Cross Nemesis. Not only is he my personal favorite for the position, but he also appears to be the readers’ choice as well.

Even before he was selected, Yarra took it upon himself to start the rivalry off with some rapidfire Twitter smack talk, spawning a #cxtrashtalk hashtag.

I have a feeling this will be a very heated battle of atheticism and personality, and I’ll be updating you all as it progresses — particularly when I beat him. Stay tuned.

Next, I’d like to finally announce my 2012 road cycling team after an extended delay.

(Predicted Imagery: Tim Westmore)

Yes, that’s correct. As some of you have already guessed, I am racing for the California Giant Cycling Team next year, a primarily-U23 team full of talented, young, NRC-level stage racers. Cue stifled laughs, gasps of disbelief, and accusations of bribery. How in the hell does a washed up, 26-year-old criterium specialist make it onto that roster? Every morning, I wake up and find it just as unbelievable as you: I’m now a part of the most successful, most talented, most well-run, and most well-supported amateur team in the nation.

Well, at least I think I am.

Let’s back up a bit. I’ve spent the past five years of my cycling career being mocked, scorned, toyed with, and ultimately beaten by the Cal Giant team. For years, I’ve been the punching bag used by this heavyweight squad as they fine tune their NRC legs at local races. I should be used to the abuse by now.

Several weeks ago, I signed a piece of paper known as a “contract,” legally binding me to the Cal Giant team, which is far more official than anything else I’ve done in this sport to date. The other new riders on the team did the same.

A few days later, an anxiously-awaited press release was issued by the Cal Giant team, disclosing the names of the new additions to the team.

As many of you who have already seen the press release know, I was nowhere to be seen on this list. At first, I thought it was just a dirty trick being played by the Cal Giant team; yet again, they were toying with me as they have been for half a decade. But, no, I had signed a contract. I was on the team.

Then it occurred to me: Steve Reaney is the Dread Pirate Roberts of the cycling world, ready to retire from his successful career, and I am his Westley*.

Steve Reaney, a feared and revered crit pirate who smites his opponents with a few swift pedal strokes, has been beating me from two-man breakaways for years now. We’re about as similar as you can imagine: we prefer technical crits, we prefer breaks, we’re both crotchety chemists, and we both race extremely aggressively. I’ve known for some time that Reaney intended to retire at the end of the 2011 season, but he hadn’t told very many people. After my name was omitted from the press release it became clear: I don’t think Cal Giant signed “Rand Miller” to their squad at all. Instead, they’re going to force me to gain about 75 pounds, build some muscle, and change my name to Steve Reaney. I am the new Dread Pirate Reaney, albeit an admittedly slower version. With great power comes great responsibility, so I had better get to training.

Or perhaps there’s an alternative explanation: the team’s management is just embarrassed by the grave mistake they made in signing me, and don’t want anyone to know that I’m on the team.

Either way, I am one of the Cal Giant criterium guys even if there’s no online evidence, and I will have a battery of 20ish-year-old minions to work with. That’s right ladies and gentlemen, I now have crit minions, and they’re all ridiculously talented. This is gonna be a kickass road season**.

But there’s still the rest of the ‘cross season to get through, and lots of bloggery as a consequence, so I’ll see you dirt-crazies next weekend in Golden Gate Park! Yarra, I’m going to be there to capitalize when you botch a barrier bunny hop.

*If you don’t get this reference, you have no soul because you have not seen “The Princess Bride.” Here’s an explanation, you heathen.

**In all seriousness, thanks to Webcor/Alto Velo for supporting me for the past four seasons, and thanks to Cal Giant for selecting me for the 2012 squad. Moving to the Cal Giant team is a huge step up for me, and I’m stoked for the opportunity.