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SOULARD
SOUL BROTHERS
EVANSTON
CRITERIUM The weekend races at Superweek are always dodgy. The weekend warriors show up in droves and the field sizes swell. Evanston is adjacent to the city of Chicago on the North end. With it being the first year of the Evanston stop for Superweek, a Sunday and a venue within 30 miles of thousands of fatty masters racers, a perfect crash and burn storm was brewing. Forty
nine thousand 40+ master racers staged for the race. Paul the announcer
called forward the top three from the previous day in Waukesha -
Clark Priebe (sMACK), Chris Halverson (overall Superweek winner
2 years running) and bobbykronsMACK. While the three were receiving
their call ups, I squirmed my way into the 80th row of riders next
to Rev. Billy who was pontificating on the merits of huffing salbutamol
and ether during pre race warm ups to no one in particular. "I'm not sure but I can nearly guarantee that if you spend too much time back here at the back of the race with HeadsMACK and I, it can't possibly be a good thing as far as you're concerned." "You mean I could miss out on an early break?" "No, you'll have to listen to HeadsMACK barking into his walkie talkie all day." "Right, that would suck for sure. I'll try to get to the front ASAP, but I'm not feeling too well because I drank some fennel moonshine with Lord Cavendish last night." "Fennel moonshine?! Jeezuz Druber. As your attorney I have to advise you that shit is illegal." "Yeah, but Lord Cavendish was describing the boot legging process and I got curious." "How was it?" "Ever had Grappa?" Billy's scrunched up face informed me immediately that yes, indeed, he had tried Grappa. "And?" "Well, I didn't go blind which was my biggest fear, but after that, I don't remember much and I woke up this morning at 6:00 a.m. with a headache and The Lovely Kathy draped all over me, I think it was a good night but I'd be lying if I said so for sure." Just then, head official Heidi blew her whistle and the race rolled out onto the 6 corner course for the first ever Evanston Grand Prix. The crowd was large and enthusiastic. The course was lined with al fresco diners and drinkers and the entire downtown of Evanston was closed off and enthusiastically enjoying the races. As Billy predicted, a break was gone before I was able to get to the front of the race. I tried repeatedly to bridge only to be chased by 3 teams with riders up the road. Resistance was futile, but just for fun, I tried and tried again just to make damn sure that the sMACKs who were protecting Priebe up the road were earning their 1/12th cut of the $50 that he would eventually win by placing last in the break. I felt I owed it to Clark. Other than that, nothing fun happened unless you consider that bobbykronsMACK fell off his bike, reportedly while talking into the walkie talkie in his jersey and several of the riders forgot over and over again that turn 4 was a right, not a left and that turn 5 was a diminishing radius turn that did not get wider as the race progressed. These memory lapses resulted in frequent trips to the wheel pit or to Northwestern Medical Center for countless masters' riders. Olympic legend Brent Emery won the race. Following the Evanston masters race, I watched the Procrit from the patio of The Blue Lounge of the Orrington Hotel near turn 5 of the course. I enjoyed a white dragon sushi roll and a Drubertini (equal parts Brokers gin and Stoli vodka, dry, 3 blue cheese stuffed olives) with my son and his young lady friend who had made the 10 minute trip on the metra from Chicago to watch the old man race. While watching, I burst my buttons with pride to see a couple of Turin riders that I have known and mentored a bit since they were Cat 4 flailers, show the world that they were now real bike racers. Young John Meyer was in a 5 rider break behind the lead two racers, trading pulls with Viktor Rapinski among others. His team mate Jamie Kimberly rode the front of the field ready to counter should John's break get pulled back. That was good stuff. HOLY
HILL ROAD RACE The next day, I made sure not to make the mistake of starting the race at the back of the pack. This task was made easier due to the circumstance of Holy Hill being a hard, hilly 60 mile road race, not a crit and on a Monday. This meant that the weekend warriors and wheel sucking track racers feigning road race competence stayed home. The field was smaller by roughly 1/3. The ritual in masters' races in which the sMACKs toe the line is that Flick-n-sMACK will take the early lead to set tempo. As Heidi rolled us out for the neutral first mile, I found Flick-n-sMACK's wheel and rode behind him to the start of the race. Just before the race went live, HeadsMACK attacked with a rider on his wheel, which was humorous because as much as I love HeadsMACK, the odds of him surviving 60 miles off the front of a hilly race is roughly equal to the odds of me enjoying a three way with The Lovely Kathy and Shane from The L Word. As the moto official rode up to neutralize HeadsMACK and his accomplice, an attack from a CA rider occurred immediately at the start point of the race. For whatever reason, guys were intent on going from the gun today. I tempo rode the CA rider back into the fold and the race stayed status quo - that is Flick-n-sMACK riding the front for the next 4 miles. Arriving at the first real hill of the race, HeadsMACK sensed that I was planning to have a go to see who wanted to play. "Go for it Druber." Being more than slightly taken aback by the magnanimous gesture of HeadsMACK inviting me to attack, I was not sure if it was so much an invitation or a challenge. I took it as a challenge and lobbed a mega watt bomb at the peloton. As I crested the 8% climb in my 53x16 with a 10 second gap I kept the juice flowing as I looked back and saw Flick-n-sMACK at the front of the strung out field behind me. Eventually, I reached my goal - the crest of the hill on a freshly oiled and cindered road that Heidi had warned us about in pre race instructions. My attack was simply a way for me to get to that point of the race either alone or with a small group because I did not like the idea of riding down a 45mph descent on a road more closely resembling a circa 1976 cinder track than a paved road with a contingent of 70 or so other master racers who had proven just the day before that they had difficulty remaining upright on well paved city streets. I was Greta Garbo. I wanted to be alone, and so I was. Next came the good part. As I turned right off of the cinder road onto the rolling two lane highway I looked back and saw no field. They'd either all stacked it on the cinders or I was well clear. A mile down the road I looked back again and saw a 3 rider chase containing three of the Midwest master riders that I have the most respect for. All three are great riders, hard workers, and honest racers and are held in great esteem in my eyes. The three were Halverson, Priebe and John Van Susteren. I immediately sat up and waited. We joined, we worked, and we put 7 minutes into the field. At the end of the race Priebe attacked, where only a supremely confident bike handler would attack, down the cinder road. Halverson followed, I lagged back behind JVS because I was struggling over the top of the hill. As we descended I was being pelted by rocks and cinders from the wheels of the riders ahead. I dared to cross through a line of non packed cinders to the center of the road and passed JVS just before the corner onto the hard road. Halverson attacked off of Priebe's wheel and I gave chase, dropping Priebe and JVS in the pursuit. I couldn't manage to get closer to Halverson than 50 meters and he held that gap to the finish. Priebe dug deep behind me and despite cramping was able to latch onto my wheel and surge past me on the final 200 meter long climb to claim second while JVS came in behind in 4th spot. Racing with those three was as much fun in bike racing as I've had in a long while. CEDARBURG
CRITERIUM Superweek rewards the top point getter over the series of races in each field with money, a jersey or a trophy or a combination of the three. For fatty masters, the prize is a trophy. After winning the sole road race in the master's series for double points, Halverson had the trophy virtually locked up. There is no money, trophy or other prizes for any rider other than the winner as far as "the overall" is concerned. This fact does not stop the racers from scheming, dreaming and fretting about the points standings. The result is stupid negative racing. Thus Priebe was glued to Halverson's wheel and Halverson didn't need to race aggressively and 3rd place rider Gene Tolli shadowed the former two. The Cedarburg course is the hardest crit course that Superweek offers. The course is a 1 mile square with 3 uphill legs, a fast descent to a 90 degree corner and back uphill to the start. The course made the race. I rode hard at the front, taking the race to the field until a break with shoecovesMACK and I was formed and firm. We split a prime and were eventually bridged to by a 7 rider group containing Tolli, Halverson, Priebe, Sgt Wheelsuck and two other passengers who took no pulls and swore not to contest the finish. The race was essentially, 35 laps of terror as each lap, Priebe who descends and corners like Paolo Salvoldelli swooped into the fourth corner faster than anyone else was willing to risk and then we'd chase like hell as Priebe would look back and smile at the 8 of us chickenshits who were grabbing handfuls of brake while he was careening around the corner like frickin' Valentino Rossi.
At the end of the race ShoecoversMACK rode off with Sgt Wheelsuck and no one except JVS and I were interested in chasing to have a chance at winning the race. JVS and I traded full lap pulls while Tolli begged out; citing his stature as the 3rd placed rider in the overall points. The two passengers didn't care and neither Priebe nor Halverson had incentive to chase. JVS and I gave up trying to catch on when we had gotten the gap to ShoecoversMACK and Sgt Wheelsuck down to a meager 7 seconds and yet still, got no help from any of the other riders in the break. How stupid. I attacked on the last lap, got a good gap, went into turn 4 way too hot, grabbed large handfuls of brake, got caught and passed by Priebe and the rest as I tried to regain my momentum. I was even passed by the passengers who swore they were not contesting the finish. I was last in the break. I was the fat girl at the prom. Buggar. Up ahead, ShoecoversMACK beat Sgt Wheelsuck and won the race.
I drove to the Brookfield Suites after Cedarburg cursing the idiocy of "THE POINTS". What tyranny! What silliness! Who the fuck will care two weeks hence about who the damn second or third place point winner was? Ego. Arriving at the hotel, I found my room mate Rev. Billy had stocked the room with quality Burgundy. My mood lightened. 3 bottles of wine and two dinners later, it was lights out. Billy and I drove together to Green Bay the next morning. Upon arriving at the race venue, I saw the HeadsMACK vehicle and made a bee line in that direction. I rolled down my window and asked "Is this general parking or is this reserved for sMACK parking only?" HeadsMACK was in good humor and challenged me to a duel. We chose weapons, walked ten paces after starting back to back. We turned, misfired and decided the feuding was silly. We hugged and made up. Billy has photographic evidence. Now, whether the sentiment on the other side was one of "keep your friends close and your enemies closer" or whether it was genuine it does not matter. I have forgiven all past sins and will start anew…tabula rasa. However; I will continue to make sport of the team's racing as warranted. I need material. RastasMACK gave me a copy of his CD in which he and his band "nil8" rage against societal injustices in a style evocative of The Butthole Surfers, Cake and early Beatie Boys - think Air Raid on Mojo. I considered it a peace offering though I've never had qualms with RastasMACK. Love was in the air. Warming up for the race, ShoecoversMACK brokered the plan of making a break with me. "The team will support it, I think." "With all due respect ShoecoversMACK, this is a dead flat, 4 lane wide 1.2 mile course with no real corners. How in the name of all that's holy will a break succeed? In fact, HeadsMACK just told me that no break has ever succeeded on this course. It's too easy. Ferchissakes, even a track racer could finish this crit with the bunch. And, besides all that, I didn't sleep well last night. Billy woke me up at regular 1 hour intervals with trips to the head. After being woke up for the 3rd time I said 'Hey Rev, you know they make medicine for that dontcha?' He said 'fuck you Druber, you just wait till you've been in the saddle for 10 more years, and you'll know what it's like'. Well at least close the door man, or sit down to keep the noise level down. Billy says, 'man I don't sit to piss, what do I look like to you, a SUNDIALER?' Well, by that time I was full on awake and it took about an hour and a half to get back to sleep. I'll give the break idea a go, but I doubt it works. I'm counting on just riding in on the draft of the tail gunners today." "Well, just give it a go, but don't try too early, I don't want to be out there trading pulls with you all day." Further into the warm up, I was riding in the opposite direction of HeadsMACK when I heard him say into his new hands free radio (purchased after the bobbykronsMACK crash) "Let's just ride the first 5 or so laps defensively and see what Swartzendruber does." My ego was bloated. I had won the race before it even started. The 28 rider sMACK squad was basing their pre race strategy solely on me AGAIN! I won! WOOHOOO! Heidi sent us off. As per, Flick-n-sMACK set tempo, Priebe made false attacks with Halverson on his wheel, the faceless, nameless lickspittles rode to the front in the early laps in hopes that Announcer Paul would say their name. Having had enough I attacked on lap 6. ShoecoversMACK was on my wheel as was a good looking fellow with a sweet set of Zipp yellow letter 808's by the name of Todd King, or TK or Goldilocks. The three of us made a cohesive effort to get away. For 5 laps, the effort was in doubt as the field chased behind. Then, we had 20 second, then 30, then 40, then over a minute. We were gone. It wasn't easy, but it was done. We made a break succeed on a break proof course. We had a rotation. I took ¾ of the headwind back stretch, ShoecoversMAcK took a long tailwind pull from turn 3 to turn 1 and TK took over for the short stretch through turn 2 onto the initial quarter of the windy back stretch. I had determined that with 3 laps to go, I would attack at the end of TK's pull. It was my only hope for winning. I surmised that TK, based on is high cadence was imbued with a good turn of speed at the end of a race. I knew ShoecoversMACK was faster than me as well, and I hoped to get away in the difficult section of the race with enough of a gap to solo home alone. The point became moot when just before 5 laps to go; TK abruptly sat up and said "I'm done". Prior to that, he never complained, never skipped a pull and never hinted that he was cooked, other than his pulls were getting noticeably slower there was no clue that he was close to detonation. With no chance to attack ShoecoversMACK and create hesitation about which of the two remaining riders should chase, I knew it would come down to a two up sprint. At the end of the last lap, I took my normal turn down the headwind back stretch but softer. Coming into the tailwind around turns 3 and 4 I increased the pace and started the sprint in my 12. I had a pretty good jump and the turn of speed was good until I got spun out with 20m to go and ShoecoversMACK was able to come around me at the line to take the win. He rode well and deserved the win just as much as I would have had I been able to hold him off. Later, Announcer Paul asked me about the race and how it ended up. "You had a 3 rider break with Todd King and ShoecoversMACK. What happened to that?" "TK blew up real good." "How did that sprint go?" "The faster guy won. That's the thing about bike racing. Most of the time the faster guy wins." EPILOGUE I need to be careful about this next part. I realize that some of you who read this might fit into what I'm saying, but only due to physical limitations which force you into the situation. I do not address you with the following comments. After leaving WI on Thursday due to imminent thunderstorms forecast for Sheboygan I did two hard training rides on Friday and Saturday. I went to Lombard on Sunday for a low key criterium in a business park - the ABR IL State Championships. Mark Ziontes won the 40+ race. He rolled off the front after a potential break failed and I refused to chase him despite other "racers" clearly expecting me to do so. Ziontes had earned that favor from me. He had spent the short race attacking, counter attacking, going for primes and generally helping to animate the race. He was racing to win. This was in contrast to a contingent of equal or stronger riders whose only race was to the back of my wheel or to some other strong rider's wheel. Though having team mates or in some cases large teams present in the race, these "racers" took no initiative to do anything other than mark the wheel of a stronger rider despite their numeric advantage. There is no need to name names, or teams. These puds know who they are. Earlier, I made reference to the fact that I hold JVS, Priebe and Halverson in great esteem. They race honestly. When a break is clear that they are in, they take pulls; they work even in some cases knowing that a rider in the break may be in fact faster or stronger than they. They'll work to get a break clear and worry about how to win the race later. TK took pulls at Green Bay and never said peep until he exploded. Had he requested a pass after the break was established, it would have been granted. He could have ridden all the way to the finish without taking another pull. He had earned that right had he made the request. He had too much honor I suppose to ask. That said, for those of you "racers" and you know who you are - who resolutely refuse to do anything in a race other than chase a rider who is spilling his guts to get off the front and then sit on that riders wheel once he is caught in the hopes that that rider will tow you to the line…Well, there are know words to convey the level of contempt I have for you. You are far beyond being a feckless weenie and I will never, never, never work with you in a break. I will however do my best to make sure that each time you race the way you race, your experience is as miserable as humanly possible. Next Time...Big Dollar Crits and such.
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