Productive?

 A quality product review is an essential part of any good biker’s blog. I have not done my part in providing useful feedback for the masses and I aim to resolve that.

The 1998 Kona Jake the Snake is a fine piece of engineering craftsmanship. Why, you might ask, should I spend my hard earned money on this exceptional machine? It is hard to capture the pure passion that is Jake the Snake in words, but I’ll do my best. Some may tell you that steel, titanium, or carbon fiber are the way to go, but really that is because those people are uninformed. The magical ride of 7005 aluminum is a secret that only a few well seasoned racers know. Can I say horizontally stiff yet vertically compliant? I won’t, but you may. It is a little known fact that 7005 aluminum got it’s name because it is 4993 better than any material currently available. Enough material science. The really fabulous things come from the fanatical attention to detail. When you look closely at what Jake has brought to the table you see things that other manufacturers have either forgotten or deemed too expensive. Things such as a 1” threadless headset and a color matched pump peg. You know you are going to get a flat with all the miles you are going to book on this hot rod and what would you do without that full length frame pump? I don’t think I even need to start on the rock solid feel that the 1” threadless fork can provide. If you can’t make the turn with this bike it is your fault, not the fork’s. Looking deeper at the fork I realized that Kona spared no expense in bringing you the finest exotic materials. It seems that they were able to take carbon and merge it with iron to create a super material known as steel. I don’t know how they did it, but it seems to be stronger than…well I don’t know, some sort of super material. My only grievance is the component spec. The shifting and crank parts seem to be some kind of chintzy black plastic with the word “Force” scribbled on them. I guess they were “Forced” to use them. (insert-time to compose yourself) Also the tires seem to be glued on. Really, how cheap are we going to go here? Thankfully the color scheme makes up for component deficiencies. Finally, in the rad air jump test the score came in at, “Like three feet of air!”

This is my review.

Why does this guy keep complaining?

I’m a big fan of junior programs in racing. Get new kids into the sport at a discounted rate. Make it accessible to kids that maybe aren’t from wealthy background. The kind of stuff that you used to like before you thought that you needed a newer bike. You know…the one that helped you win the big race…ok maybe it didn’t. Biking becomes an expensive sport because we make it an expensive sport. I was having a lot of fun before I realized that I needed carbon everything. Have you seen my bell?

This is my problem with the new High School League. A junior race runs around $15, High School races are $52.50. More kids in the sport is great, but setting up a system where the entry fees have to be this high seems a little wrong to me. I know they aren’t out gouging people for the fun of it. Setting up a race is an expensive thing. I just don’t see the value of running independent races when it seems that we could add these races to the already present series races. I don’t know, kind of like the junior races that are already there?

I think this elevated participation is an excellent thing. I however do regret that in it’s current state, the league is only being contested by the wealthiest schools in the area. My feeling is that this gives our sport, one that already has a reputation for being fairly extravagant, an elitist undertone that I am a little embarrassed by.

I’ve been learning more and more that my opinions on things like this are often wrong, so if you read this you should probably ignore it. However, my feelings on this league have been building to the point that I wanted to complain, so there it is.

I dislike the High School Mountain Bike League.

cross

Cross...I've looked forward to cross all year. An escape from the normal racing scene is how I viewed it from the spring and summer. Last year it was just that. Exciting racing usually head to head, with all sorts of attacks. This year has been different. This year the race has started and I try to hang on for a while. Ultimately I lose contact and I race alone for 45 minutes. It's even starting to affect the way I see the world. Yesterday I was yelling at goose number five because he was letting a gap form between he and goose number four. "Dig deep goose! You're going to be flying south alone!" Nature has lost its innocence. In my mind the problem is with the depth of the 1-2 field. There are plenty of elite's, but I'm seeing a lot of the guys who wouldn't be winning, but would be right on the back of the lead group go to other fields. Single speed seems to be the biggest draw. In my world, I'd move that category into the sparse 1-2 field and out of the huge masters field. They could still race their own race to try and get sweet prizes, but at least the track would have the appearance of a race.

Chequamegon 12

It's Monday, cold and rainy. I should have started riding a few hours ago, but it's Monday, cold and rainy. So instead I'll write a word or two about last weekend in an effort to avoid the cold for a moment or two.

I left Minnesota with a stomach full of nerves. I've had a feeling since I finished last year's Chequamegon that I shouldn't have done as well as I did. I showed up this year fully prepared to be crushed by the pressure that I've been holding on to. The race certainly wasn't a huge victory, but I think I did alright.

The morning started cool. Our crew rolled out of bed bright and early for breakfast. Rolling the bikes down to the Norske Nook is always the best way to start a morning in Hayward. We ate awesome food and drank a lot of coffee. Got back to the hotel and drank more coffee. Needless to say, by race time, I was amped up and ready to go. Five minutes left and the butterflies in my stomach must have found that caffeine because their wings are about to bust out of my stomach. Telling myself I've done this before, it's just another day on the bike does nothing. Usually this works, but in a crowd approaching 2,000 there is no kidding myself. Today, this is a big deal. A couple of minutes to go and the four wheelers start to burble. The familiar smell of burned gasoline starts to waft through the crowd, and we are off! The start is always slow and twitchy. So many people elbow to elbow, trying to move forward. I can still see the front, but it's farther than I probably should have let it get. We roll along the pavement accompanied by the roar of mountain bike tires unaccustomed to the tarmac. Slow accelerations followed by violent braking is pretty standard at this point. Finally I can see the police car blocking the road. As we approach the police car the leaders fly off the road to the left into the field. This is where the race truly begins. The people that have just been hanging on basically stop on the grassy hill. The people that were overtaken try to squeak through. Usually it is a sort of chaos until the trail narrows back down. I made it through in alright position and should have calmed down. I tried but failed. I sat in for a bit, but saw a sweet tandem come down and figured it was time to move towards the break. The tandem fizzled on a hill and I was left alone in the front pulling towards the group ahead. Eventually I caught them, but was left in a shape that was not going to help me finish well. Every time we crested the hill it was a fight to get back on. Finally I started to feel a pain in my calves. My body was saying it's time to give up and I couldn't argue anymore. I let them go and kept chugging along. The worst part was seeing the group just ahead and knowing I couldn't reach them. That is where the story of me having a chance to win ended.

This is where the story of me finishing starts. I had fallen back and was ready to quit when I saw that a couple of guys were roaring up on me. They passed and told me that we need to get back in this thing! Figuring I didn't really have anything else going on until Kevin's party I might as well pedal my bike a bit. I hung on his wheel, he was flying! Recovered some, then put in a decent pull. We were moving along. My calves still hurt, a lot, but what can you do? I chugged along eventually hitting firetower. It was painful, but crested the top and saw a familiar mullet. He offered a coke and told me to get it in my big ring! Looking down I was a couple cogs away from there so I complied and pushed until the familiar hurt started again. I got caught by a guy and we caught a couple of others. We worked together pretty well until we got to three to go. Then I put in a pull that was not supposed to be friendly. Everyone was gone except for  the guy that had caught me. He was off my wheel, but hadn't given up. Eventually he caught me and we had what seemed like the slowest race ever up the last hill. I was thinking I could have walked up faster, but on reflection I think that I would have collapsed. I crested the hill and the legs could feel the doughnut holes that I wanted to dominate at the finish. Hammer, Hammer, Hammer!!! Down the hill I can almost grab you Erik's guy but you are just out of reach. Pedal Damn It! was not even close to the profanity that I was choking on. The pain was there in the volume that you can only handle a few times a year, but then with the finish line there was a satisfaction that is so worth it. The Erik's guy held on. I finished and saw Dave O and a few other people who had beaten me. It wasn't my best race there but I earned my 47th place this year. Frickin butterflies.

Its kind of hard to complain about life. I don't have much money. I don't win many races. Some things seem more important.

As far as racing goes. Cross has begun and is fun and hard as always. Chequamegon is in a couple of weeks. I'm a little worried about having a big disappointment there. I'll attend some other races, but don't expect much other than to drink a fair amount of beers after I cross the finish line.

My new road bike is still carbon and still fast.

I got a new bike and it's sweet. Carbon and stuff.

Feeling kind of green.

Today I finished the second road race that I've participated in. It was a pretty good time. The course was in Lester Prairie. It was a very flat 23 mile loop and the winds were blowing. We would be doing this two times. This is not the setup that I hope for. The only other road race I did was last year. It was the state championship. That was a 70 mile race that finished on a fairly large hill. I raced that one the way I figure a guy like me should race. Sit in, then attack on the hill at the end. It worked out alright that time. This time I thought I'd go in a different direction. With the winds blowing I was thinking that a good 3/4 of the race was ideal for a break to form. If that was going to happen I wanted to be in on it.

The race started with a roll out of majestic Lester Prairie. The moto pulled off to the side and we were off...to a slow start. Chit chat was high and the cranking was slow. Everyone seemed to be keenly aware that it was hot and there is going to be a heck of a headwind when we turn the corner. Everyone but Keith. He was off the front lopping along at a good pace. What's this? I guess we are going to race. The pace started to pick up and we pulled Keith back in. Then there were a few tries at breakaways. All were shut down pretty quickly. One group of six got a bit of a gap that looked like trouble until they turned into the wind. Then the train stopped. We rolled into the wind at Mukluk pace. No one wanted the pain. After what seemed like an eternity the turn out of the wind started to come into site and the pace picked back up. We turned right had a cross wind and I started to push the pedals a little harder. I looked back and to my surprise I had gotten a medium sized gap. I kept on trucking and saw Keith trying to pull me in alone. I didn't really know what to do so I just kept going. Sure enough Keith caught me and now we had two.  After a bit I saw Drew was on his way to join the party. He hooked on and I started to think this thing might work. Well I guess the peloton thought it might work too because all of a sudden they were on us. That must have been some kind of effort because that gap closed faster than...never mind. The three of us rejoined the group, turned and sailed downwind for a while. At the end of the downwind section they had a feed zone. For some reason everyone must have slowed down for it because I all of a sudden found myself out front again. Not really wanting to be out there by myself with 23 miles to go I figured I'd just ride like I was headed to work. I kept putting time on the field. Then I see a another GP guy on his way up. I figured it was Keith again. I kept my pace easy enough and hoped I'd get some company. To my surprise it was a gentleman named Shannon. He seemed to be in good spirits so I upped my pace a little and he continued on. We tried to work together and the group stayed a long way back. I thought things were going pretty well until he mentioned that he was a little tired. I guess I should have given him some more time to recoup after bridging up to me. Shannon pulled pretty hard the last few times, but I think he'd finally run out of steam. I said thanks and continued on alone. Ten miles to go but mostly down wind. Now or never. The moto pulled up and asked if I wanted splits. I nodded and hoped by splits he really meant, do you want to hold onto my motorcycle and I'll pull you in. He didn't. He disappeared and when he came back he said, "50 seconds 5-0 seconds." Not the five minutes I'd like, but maybe that would hold? We turned down wind and I tried to crank harder. Nope, not happening. I'm still moving pretty well, but not peloton on the final straight good. I start to get some chills. Feeling cold when it is 90 usually means you aren't going to win. The moto gets up to me again. He says, "30 seconds, if you can go faster now is the time!" I tried again. Yes, yes, yes....no. Looking back they are withing throwing distance. Maybe if I'd brought my James bond oil slick or tacks or something? Too bad the weight weenie in me made me dump that stuff. Bam! They are on me like...never mind. Maybe I should try and hook on and go for the sprint. Nope, not happening. Oh well, about a mile left, might as well take in the sights. Then up ahead there is trouble. People flying all about. Both guys that were on the ground pop straight up. One throws his helmet. Damn he's wearing all black. Must be Devin. I stop to gawk. He tore up his really nice jersey and got rid of some extra skin. Looks like all the important stuff is still there though. I ride off and finish the race.

I guess that is the other way to do a bike race. Much harder. Much less successful. Still pretty fun.