There's Something About Wausau

Three~

WORS 3 - Big Ring Classic

"Ben makes the most out of the least amount of athletic ability I've ever seen..." -my highschool track&field coach...

I enjoy the Wausau race. This being my first three-time WORS race, a fairly straight forward course that seems to suit me and my skill-set pretty well always seems to make me confident going in. A pretty strong result the previous year, in which I felt I had one of my best races, now aboard my new ride and exhibiting pretty good form, I was poised for another strong showing. However with my move up to Comp this season, along with a fairly drastically new course layout, I would experience my first 'Longer, more technical, Comp/Elite lap.' So previous results out the window, "Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore..."

Pre-riding Saturday, it became evident this was going to be a different sort of race than years past. A hundred yards out of the gates, instead of the usual long, open, straight lead-out that went on forever, the course took an abrupt 90degree left, followed another hundred yards later by another 90degree right. Nothing like sixty something guys all barreling into 90degree turns in a pack at the start of a race when everybody's on edge, riding super aggressive, and fighting for position... On dirt. Beyond that, I'd always heard the complaints of "All the super-awesome single track that they don't use, and how this course is too watered-down, and could be so much better if they used more of the available trails..." Well, seems they decided to use said additional sections of trails this year. I don't know how technically 'awesome' they are, but they certainly are rocky... To me, as a whole, the course remained pretty similar, big, open, clobberin' time, hammer-down sections, the occasional brutal climb, and now sprinkled generously throughout, super-technical rock gardens and tight-like-a-tiger single track. 

So it was different, but it was the same...ish. The pre-ride went well. I was feeling awesome, and the bike felt as fast as ever. I was confident. 

Race day, finally, beautiful weather. 

Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six...... GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Exploding off the line, clipping in instantly, it was a drag race to that first turn. Straight into single-file with the front five or so riders to cleanly navigate the 90's ahead of the pack's argy-bargy, we were free and clear and on our way. A minor gap saw the leader on his own, pulling hard, so I jumped from the group and was off, full speed ahead in pursuit. Heavy effort expended, latching onto to his wheel, I found myself at the front of the race, awesome. As early as it seemingly was to chase down a solo off the front of the field, I knew had we left him to his own accord, we may have never seen him again. He'd have been gone. 

The same rider whom I was basically star-struck with just being able to hang with for a quarter lap at Rhinelander, I was again totally stoked to be up riding with, my friend, the Mr. Bill Street. Bottom line, Bill is strong as hell, and I absolutely know, and respect that. Somewhere along the way, it became common practice to brutally heckle Mr. Street while he's racing. Maybe because he rarely has a comeback, and if he does, it's not a very good one. Or maybe because he makes the occasional mistake with hilarious consequences, and he isn't so uptight that he can't laugh about it. But the thing is, and the bigger picture will show, as we're heckling him, that means we're on the other side of the tape. He's the one out there racing against professionals. And that in and of itself, is a way bigger heckle right back at us than we could ever throw at him. I felt it very necessary to let the man know as we were building our lead, zig-zagging through single track, "Bill, we give you a lot of shit, but you know we absolutely respect the hell out of you, right?" He obliged, it was just a nice moment :) Back to racing now then, hey?

Being at the front of a race is a weird, unnatural, and even surreal place to be when you're not used to being there. There's nobody to chase, there's nobody ahead of you to dictate your pace, or even directly behind you to chase you, you're not completely sure if you're going fast enough, you're just essentially on your own, pushing yourself. Very thankfully, having Bill with me, I wasn't alone. We worked together, trading pulls, and giving each other good lines to follow, and most importantly, motivation to keep pouring it on. 

Without exaggeration, this was the best I've ever felt on a bike. Rises in the trail that are supposed to make my legs burn, just didn't. Open sections, where I'd generally recover, were instead used to put in big wattage efforts. Technical single track and obstacles that I'd have otherwise bobbled with or at the very least slowed down for were seemingly, effortlessly dispatched. The one massive climb, I nailed in the big ring every lap, no hesitation. I felt so bloody strong. What an amazing feeling. 

Having fairly quickly made our way through the women's Elite field, we began catching Elite Men. Unlike the women, who are usually pretty cooperative about letting you by, as they realize that if you're catching them, you're probably faster than them, Elite men aren't so accommodating... I assume the line of thinking is, 'Screw you, you're a Comp rider, I'm better than you...' which I sorta understand, I suppose. But one of these passing situations was almost the end of Team Ben/Bill. Shortly before ducking back into a pretty tight section of single track, Bill was able to jump in front of a couple Elite riders we'd caught. I wasn't able to follow as they shut the door on me, and we were into the single track, and the opportunity had gone. There I found myself, watching Bill start to walk away, and I couldn't do anything about it, as my path was blocked by two riders who weren't about to pull over and let me by... I quickly got fairly impatient of this situation, and prayed for the single track to open back up so I could bring him back. Thankfully, sooner than later it did, and combined with a panicked effort to bring him back and him not taking advantage of the situation, Team Bill/Ben was back together again. 

I think this was about the point at which it actual struck me that Bill actually liked having me around, and wasn't about to leave me for dead... In the back of my head, heck probably in the front of my head, all along I'd assumed he could, or would, just drop the hammer at any time and be done with me. But he evidently liked riding with me as much as I with him. He, as I, realized and accepted that the two of us were working well together, and it would be imperative to stay together. And though as somewhat flattering as it was, somewhere between then and the start of the last lap, it started to appear that this race would probably go to the wire between the two of us, and how awesome would that be? So there was just a bit more motivation to stoke the fires! 

                                                  

Continuing to be astonished with the race I was having into the last lap, most of it ended up being just a blur, but for one significant incident. After the two of us, putting together essentially flawless races for almost an hour and a half, Bill suffered one of his unfortunate mishaps... 

Navigating through, what I believe was, probably the final, and most treacherous rock garden section of the course, Bill bobbled on one of the bigger, more scary boulders and went head-first over the handlebars, down hard onto the rocks/ground. Though three-quarters of the way through the last lap, in the lead, I immediately stopped to make sure he was okay. He assured me he was fine, and slowly started to get back up. Checking his bike as I rode the short distance out to the end of the rock garden, I was instantly slapped in the face with one hell of a decision. Attack now, as he, my rival, crashed and was on the ground, and take an awesome solo victory? Or as other riders are now gaining on us as we're stationary, make sure his bike is functional, wait for him to get up and get going, and make it to the finish together, as we had ridden the whole race, with the possibility of losing? To tell you the honest truth, the first option never even entered my head. Never. 

Walking his bike out of the rocks to meet me waiting patiently, he remounted his (thankfully unharmed) bike, and we were off again, together as it should be. Team Ben/Bill, now totally primed for the fireworks finish we wanted all along. 

To put it into perspective: Bottom of the ninth inning, walk-off home run. Long range three pointer as the buzzer sounds. Hail mary into the end zone with no time left on the clock. This is what a two-up sprint finish in a bike race is. It's a scenario you dream about. This scene will forever be ingrained in my memory. For the rest of my life. 

Music from the start/finish line speakers growing louder in my ears, more spectators appearing along the side of the trail, entering the last twisty, sandy section of single track, this was it. 

(The last section of single track feeds out into what's essentially a paperclip shaped quarter mile out and back into the finish line. Straight, wide open, into sweeping right hander, into straight, wide open run into the finish) 

Riding behind Bill through the final section of single track, now absolutely certain it was coming down to a sprint, knowing the course was smooth from here on out, and that it'd stiffen my bike up for the all out effort ahead, I strategically locked out my fork shock while still navigating the single track. So nothing to worry about but pedaling to the finish. 

An Elite rider just ahead as we got to the end of the single track, Bill punched it. Not anticipating that he'd go so early, he instantly got a good gap on me, and to boot had a rider in between us. With all of my might, and everything my legs would give me, screaming, ON YOUR LEFT! ON YOUR LEFT! LEFT! LEFT! LEFT! I scorched inside the Elite rider and was off in pursuit. All of this going down in the midst of the finishing straight where most spectators congregate. The cheers were deafening, it was amazing. 

Drilling it with absolutely everything I had, turning myself inside out, I started to close the gap. I was bringing him back! Into the sweeping right-hander, bike leaning way over, knee-out, I took probably the best line I'd taken all day, and as a result, basically slung shot up beside him. He let out a somewhat defeated grunt and that's all I needed, I went. Head down, empty the tank to the finish. 

I sat up across the finish line, not knowing I'd won for sure based on the following waves results, and not having ever mentally rehearsed any sort of finish line celebration, just rode across the finish line a bit shell shocked as to what had just happened. 

Possibly lack of blood flow to the brain post-race, possibly that it's definitely even more surreal winning a race than it is simply leading a race, or possibly that this was something that I never, no not ever, thought I was even capable of accomplishing, it wasn't for a good half hour after the race that I realized I'd actually won. It wasn't sinking in, I was in disbelief. This is something, I, Ben Schreiber, cycling hack, should have never been able to do. These were the guys that just a season ago I was watching and cheering on from the sideline. These are guys that I looked up to, and envied their abilities and had just hoped to be competitive with. And I had beaten them. 

This was the best day of my life. I wanted to tell people, if you saw me that day, remember me in that moment if I should die. Because that was the best, happiest day of my life. It was such an accomplishment for me, personally. It's nearly impossible for me to really express it. Throughout my experiences in life, I never got the feeling that I was good enough. And as result, never had as much confidence as I probably should have. Rising from the mediocrity that I had experienced in a sport that I love so dearly, to accomplish this, to actually win, well, was just the greatest thing that'd ever happened to me. 

In a sport where most people will never even see a win, you can't take it for granted. This win meant everything to me. Thank you. 

 

Rain, Rain, Go Away.

Two~

Coming into the first WORS weekend of the season, bikeless, I needed to make sure I was at least ready mentally. 

Slightly earlier in the year, Schaefer, Marchewka, and myself traveled all the way to Barry County, Michigan for an off road season kick off. Barry-Roubaix (in reference to previously mentioned hard-man race Paris-Roubaix) "Killer Gravel Road Race" was to be my first taste of the 2012 season. It promised lots gravel/dirt, mud, poor weather, and big climbs. A perfect way to start a hard season ahead, and to get a benchmark of where I was. My goals were simple, race clean (don't hit the deck), race hard, and finish strong. 35 odd miles of awesomeness later, I felt (for the most part) I accomplished my goals. Kept the rubber side down, felt mostly, pretty well throughout, and even threw out some major efforts pulling a group into the finish. My finishing position wasn't anything spectacular, but I was content. Besides finding a race that I'd surely plan on starting my seasons with in years to come, I also presumed I found my race mentality for the upcoming season. Stay clean and be competitive.

Getting my Superfly back, repairs made, ready to roll, the Friday of Iola race weekend, it was finally time to get some much needed saddle time. Out to my trusty training grounds of New Fane for some hot laps. After the initial delight of simply riding without experiencing catastrophic failure, I really started to see what everybody was talking about. This bike was AMAZING. I immediately knew I was turning faster laps than I ever had before. Bigger and heavier than I was used to, it was somehow, uncannily sharp and precise through turns, to the point of it feeling like it knew exactly what I was thinking and responding instantly to my every input. My preconceived thoughts of full suspension bikes possibly feeling 'loose, squishy or bouncy' were instantly crushed as with any acceleration I'd throw at it, the bike would instantly jump forward. Combine that with the fact that I was now able to float over rocks, logs, roots, and anything else that would have previously slowed me down without even so much as feeling it, it was just amazing. It's efficiency, stability, and razor sharpness completely blew me away. I couldn't say enough. 

WORS 1 - IOLA Bump & Jump

Pre-riding Saturday, it was more of the same. Iola was a course that I thoroughly enjoy, fast flowy single track, a few hammer down open sections, and lot's of ups and downs with the occasional leg zapping steep one. The Superfly felt so damn fast, I was eating up single track, and the hills just didn't hurt as much as I knew they should, or had in the past. I was ready for my first Comp race!

And then the rains came... That evening a major front rolled in, and let loose all night and into the next (raceday) morning. Great, starting the season with a mud race...

Sort of timidly walking around the staging area before the race, though I knew and was friends with a few of my now fellow Comp racers, I was still feeling like the new kid on the block...

Race underway, feeling things out, the other racers, the course conditions, how the tires/new bike were reacting to the trails, I was feeling pretty strong. With a fairly mediocre start, I had plenty of riders in front of me, and so started to work picking them off. 

Gaining confidence with every rider I passed, it wasn't long before the inevitable... In the dry, what is usually an extremely fast descent, followed immediately by a very steep ascent, in the mud, other racers realized it wasn't going to exactly work like that, but at this point, screaming down hill, I wasn't going to be the one who didn't at least try... After completely yard-saling, bike one direction, me the other, it was probably time to not take stupid risks anymore... Lots of hike-a-bike, multiple crashes, and lots and lots of mud later, across the finish I go on the only really two day old bike to me, completely thrashed, and ready for a trip back to the shop... But upon seeing results post race, I found, in my very first Comp race, I had made the podium! Forth place in my agegroup! I wasn't really sure how much the weather had to do with the result, how many strong riders DNFed because of it, or didn't even show up to begin with, but I was proud of that medal. My first Comp medal!

WORS 2 - RHINELANDER Crystal Lake Classic

Rhinelander is a long ways away. It's a race I'd never considered doing before, but with my schedule making it a weekend off, Marchewka securing a hotel, my fancy new bike (which I loved and loved riding), and my minor first race success, I decided to give it go. 

-That official love affair with the Superfly, I can say coincidentally started the previous weekend. I got the bike completely dialed in racing as a relay in the WEMS Greenbush 12hour race. I and three other fast guy teammates took turns, doing single flying laps. On trails that I previously barely rode, because I frankly didn't like them very much (I may have even been quoted as saying 'if I rode there more, I'd hate mt. biking...') I was anxious to see what I could do on the new ride. Unfortunately we ended up being the only 12hour relay team, but fortunately, I needed quality time on my Superfly, and this was just what the doctor ordered. I timetrialed every lap I was out there, pushing my pace and my comfort level, taking risks, and seeing how both bike and myself would react. After setting some very fast lap times (and yes, coming to appreciate the Greenbush trails), impressing my teammates (and even more so, myself) I finally felt the Superfly100 and I had bonded. I was ready now.

Back to Rhinelander, again, preride felt promising. Bike was perfect and I was feeling good. Interesting course featured an extremely long, wide open leadout along the shoreline of a really, very scenic, beautiful lakefront. Only too bad with the speed we'd undoubtedly be going through there, this was my only time to see it...

A very humid, overcast afternoon, and with my result at Iola, for the first time in my career, I was called up to the starting line:) A lightning fast start onto the long leadout, I made my way up near the front. The pace absolutely screaming, I worked my way up to the two leaders dictating the pace, and very much surprising myself, sat right in there with them continuing to pour it on, and proceeded to walk away from the rest of the field. Thinking to myself, "Holy shit, what am I doing up here?!" and wondering how long it could possibly last, my uncertainty was answered when the pace was raised yet again as we got to a hill, along with a couple lap traffic women. Both of which caused me to become disconnected from the leaders, but still, seemingly sitting pretty well for the race ahead. Racing by myself, it just turned into another fun, see how fast I can go on this amazing bike, ride. 

Then around the half way point of the race, navigating singletrack in the woods, "Is that thunder I hear...?" BANG, Instant downpour, crazy squall, can't even see in front of you, lightning directly overhead, rain storm. Terrific. Hustling down a switchback descent I had previously railed with ease, instantly became a chorus of screaming brake discs, followed by the realization that I had mysteriously made it back to Iola... At least on previously bone dry, dusty trails, it didn't become a mud-fest, but having the instant downpour onto the dry trails did indeed make it pretty slick and sketchy in previous high-speed sections. But regardless, HTFU was pretty much flashing in my head like Vegas neon lights, so head down, I kept hammering. Still by myself, I knew I had to stay on it as I was racing against the clock and subsequently, the other wave. I was having the best race of my life, nothing was keeping me from that finish line.  An awesome run in to the finish, still feeling strong, and knowing full well that every second mattered, I stood up and pounded, I wanted nothing left in my legs after the finish! Hobbled after said effort rolling into the post-finishing area, beyond everyone taking shelter from the weather, I began to notice not many racers around that had finished yet: good sign. Final results confirmed my prediction, a silver agegroup medal, along with an eighth overall place! Only slightly bummed that one of the leaders that got away from me earlier in the race had been in my agegroup resulting in my 2nd, but still totally stoked. 

Only unfortunate thing I took from this race, again, what effect did the inclement weather have on the outcome? I knew many of the big guns were in attendance this time, but indeed, Rhinelander, as previously stated, is extremely far away, so how many had not made the trip? Or even, had I just been getting slightly lucky racing in the poor weather as others didn't have the same exuberance in the mud...? However, and importantly, if that was the case, that these bad weather races happened to be a fluke, then I was indeed very happy with my gut feeling at the time...

As quote/unquoted by me to congratulating friend/fellow racer: 

"I just really wish we'd have a dry race, because I feel like I'm faster than this. I feel like I've got more in me. I feel like I haven't really been able to flex my muscle yet in a full race." 

With that, and if you know where this and the next chapter is going, Stay tuned, it's about to get exciting. 

It's Ben a While...

So for the four or five of you who read this, I apologize, it's been quite a while since I've taken the time to sit and put my thoughts down. Of course now with the season I was blessed with, I wish I'd have kept up with it better, as it would be fun to refer back to after the fact. But here I am today, the day I decided to officially call an end to my year, and I will hereby, thoroughly rehash my season. Thoughts, feelings, race situations and play by play, and I'll even throw in some fancy pictures. This will inevitably be a lot to say and go over, so for the convenience of myself, and the sanity of you, I'll break it up into chapters. If it goes as plans, this will be my 2012 autobiography:)

ONE~

Motivation, Inspiration, the Machine, and the Number Five

One of the major reasons I've not blogged for what seems like forever, falls into this category. In this, my thirtieth year of life, things that never bothered me all that much, or that I made a point to not worry about began weighing heavy on my mind and emotions. 

I blogged because I thought it was fun to share with others how I was feeling, and what was going on in my life. And frankly, coming into this season, I wasn't feeling as though anything I would post on here would be of any interest to just about anybody. I can't say that I was unhappy, but I wasn't happy. 

I all at once found myself in a job that was making me miserable (where I unfortunately, as is the nature of the beast, spend the majority of my time), with a work schedule that was all of a sudden even worse than it ever was. Without a girlfriend for going on a dozen years, while watching many of friends as well as family find their special someones and get happily married, and others with full blown families by this point. 

I was feeling very alone, unsupported, and seemingly trapped in a bad situation at my work. 

This season was to be my first season in the Comp category for WORS. Last season I finished a relatively mediocre fifth in my agegroup of the Sport category, but decided to make the leap and see if I could hang. In the process, and after a few instances of lower back issues the previous season, I decided to upgrade my mountain bike. I really liked my Redline 29er, it was light, handled well, had 1x9 gearing which I enjoyed, and was great bang for the buck. But after multiple chiropractor visits, not enjoying feeling like a decrepit old man, and some wonderful words of wisdom, "Mountain biking is something I love, and this (full-suspension) bike will allow me to keep going strong for many years", I decided to look into picking one up myself. 

As a 2011 leftover, I was able to pickup a Trek Superfly 100 for a relatively nicely discounted price. Of course I wasn't completely happy with it's factory spec, so a few changes were made right out of the box. First, used to my 1x9 on the last bike, the 3x10 drivetrain had to go. Replaced it with a full 2x10 Sram X9 gruppo. Ditched the RaceLite wheels in favor of the RaceXLite wheels I already owned. Mounted some Schwalbe Racing Ralph tires on over the Bontragers that it came with as they were known as a very fast, all conditions tire. And last, tossed the stock saddle in favor of a beautiful Italian Fizik. Now personalized to my taste and needs, out the door, I dropped $1500 more than I had ever spent on a bike... Evidently, I was going all in this season.

For that matter, upgraded to a higher category, an extra lap on more technical trails, against superior competition, now on this fancy, full-squish carbon bike, it was very much in my mind that I didn't want to be that guy. The guy who has the fancy gear, yet is a no-talent hack... 

So let the training commence. Looking back at it now, seemingly, the way it ended up working out, the previous seasons preparations found me spending the majority of my early training time on the mountain trails. Thanks to horrible, windy/cold spring weather, I seeked shelter in the woods, and thereby (and frankly unknowingly) began fine tuning my bike handling skills aboard my hardtail Redline. Gaining some bike handling only goes so far when you don't have the motor to back it up though, and that's likely the cause of my mediocre Sport tenure. This season (for reasons I'll get into), I switched it up early season. The majority of the miles I put on were on the road, rain or shine, wind or windier, I was pounding the pavement. I didn't really touch the mountain bike, I think I was afraid to get it dirty, and/or I was feeling pretty strong, suffering aboard the road bike, so I went with it.

This early season, for two major reasons, I adopted the #5 mentality. The Rules 

I had the pleasure of watching the most famous one-day race, Paris-Roubaix this spring, and the ride Tom Boonen turned in, just came across as completely badass, and greatly inspired me. If Paris-Roubaix is foreign to you, as far as cycling goes, it's the definition of an epic, point to point race. It goes from Paris up to the boarder of Belgium over the worst roads they can find, including the famous ancient cobblestone roads that aren't suitable for cars let alone bikes. Boonen, already a certified master of the early season classics (3-time winner of this very race), found himself again in controversy, drug problems (cocaine is a party enhancer, not a performance enhancer) as well as questionable form as of late, but was still expected to win, as he's Belgian, and this what they live for. Amongst a select group Boonen attacked on the cobbles, brought back a breakaway containing a very strong teammate, promptly dropped him, and rode the next 52km (32miles), on terrible terrain, all by himself, to take his record tying 4th win. His speed over the cobbles blew my mind, it literally looked like he was doing twice the speed of everyone else. And as the commentator explained that beyond the rest of your body, your hands take the biggest amount of abuse, and that even with padded gloves and/or handlebars, they'll remain sore for weeks afterwards. To which he then points out Boonen. Not wearing gloves. Bare-handed! F-ing hardcore! 

It also finally struck me, something that should be fairly obvious in the sport of cycling, a good credo to  train and race with. In a sport where it's damn near impossible to win, you shouldn't base your perception of others, or indeed yourself based solely on if you win or lose. Thus, to me, cycling is a sport of RESPECT. I respect the guy who's on the front pulling into the wind more than the guy sitting sheltered in the pack. I respect the guy who's out riding in inclement weather more than the one who's sitting on a resistance trainer, or worse, not riding at all. I respect the guy who crashes and gets up, bloodied and dirty and finishes more than the one who DNFed. The guy who's out there to ride and put the hurt on, not just to sport fancy gear and be a fashion show on wheels. The guy who does the epic 12 hour mountain bike race, who cares your finishing position, you just finished a Goddamn 12hour mountain bike race. 

This new found mindset, combined with constant reference to Rule#5 kept me motivated, I was out for blood this spring. 

Ah, it's like 40degrees outside. HTFU

Ah, it's like 40mph winds outside. HTFU

Ah, it's like 100degrees outside. HTFU

Ah, it's a little rainy outside. HTFU

Ah, there's big hills that way. HTFU

This year's training focus was going to be about two things, my threshold power, and my power to weight. Threshold being the maximum amount of power you can maintain for an extended amount of time. And power to weight of course meaning dropping some weight off my fat ass...

With my schedule, time is the biggest limiting factor to my training. So I got stern with myself and decided, with the time I have, I need to make the most of it. Quality over quantity. 

On average, my rides averaged  between an hour and a half to two hours. No huge miles, no three plus hour basemile rides (maybe one). So for those 90 to 120 minutes per ride, I put my head down and went for it. 

My hour average power became a goal I would shoot for. With a warmup and pseudo cool down with every ride, there was always at least an hour of meat and potato, balls-out effort in there, that I wanted/needed to improve. And that I did. My month of May in particular, I remember went very well. It literally seemed every ride I did, I'd download the power data I find I had set a new hour power record. I thought my PowerTap was broken/ not reading correctly at one point, haha.

As far as my diet went, I didn't make any drastic changes, and still ate foods I enjoyed, but fine-tuned it and streamlined it a bit. I made protein a necessity, chicken, meat, fish, nuts, and lots and lots of eggs. I also began enjoying a lot good, genuine mexican cuisine.  Working my 12hour nights makes eating interesting as well. I started strictly eating before work, and then subsequent small meals/snacks every three hours while at work. And made a point, though hungry, to not eat when I get home from work, as it would be the ill advised, eat then go to bed. Bottom line, I consistently weighed in the low 200's last season, and with my adjustments I was able to get my average race weight down to about 190.

So season approaching, form looking promising, weather finally coming around to where I could get on the trails without trashing them or my new bike, it was time to get to know the Superfly. From what I had heard of this bike, I was supposed to love it. I heard it described as a "cheater bike," and that it wasn't a good bike for beginners as it will teach them bad habits because it handles and navigates trails so easily. But I'd also heard it's one of the fastest bikes out there, and again, I was gonna love it. 

Truth be told, never having ridden a full suspension, and the fact that it actually carried about a 2lb weight penalty compared to my last bike, I was somewhat skeptical. 

Maiden ride, so very anxious to put this highly touted machine through it's paces and see what it's all about. Not fifty yards off the gravel onto the dirt, the first 'bump' I hit, the front suspension fork explodes, shooting the damper up and over my shoulder, and showering me in fluorescent, strong smelling oil. Terrific. What the hell. Yes, I was perturbed. Taking the most expensive bike I'd ever purchased back to the shop after it exploded on me 50 yards into it's first ride ended with them removing the fork and sending back to Fox. It ended up being diagnosed as a "lemon shock" from the factory, and it was replaced with a new one...

So about a month later (only about a week away from first WORS race), bike is back and ready to go. Good thing too because I really needed to ride this thing and get used to it, get a feel for it. Mountain biking requires a huge amount of trust between rider and bike. You need to be sure those brakes are gonna stop you, be sure you can navigate those rocks or logs, weave in between those tight trees, climb that crazy steep hill. You've gotta know your bike and how it will perform. 

So second maiden voyage out on the new bike, making it more than 50 yards this time, feeling happy about that, haha. Starting to get a feel for suspension, enjoying it. But then, not a third of lap in, Bang! again... Came over a rise, freewheeling down the other side, started to pedal, Blamm-O, rear derailleur 

explodes and completely shears off. I've lost rear derailleurs before, usually it's the result of something. Poorly aligned, bad shifting? It was shifting perfectly up till that point. A branch or some other type of shrapnel getting caught up in there and tearing apart the works? There was no evidence of such debris, trust me, I looked...

So at this point I'm livid. I'm absolutely pissed. A week till the first race, and I'm 0-2 at even breaking a sweat on the new bike. 

And in the industry, we call that a cliff hanger. Tune in next time for the next installment of Ben's 2012 SuperBlog :)

Feelin' it

"Ride lots." -Eddy Merckx (greatest cyclist of all time)

Mountain biking is what I've been up to. And a lot more than usual. Past years I've been up to my elbows in track practice and meets, a completely hectic work schedule, and triathlons this time of year. O' Eleven has brought me a different set of circumstances. With no track to worry about, and as a result a slightly less crazy work schedule. An even more successful trip to North Carolina, and many quality base miles accumulating. A cold and fairly crappy bit of weather throughout most of spring making me prefer the shelter of the woods over nature's relentless abuse of riding the road. And a dead set desire to be riding at top level by the end of the season as I upgrade categories for the cyclocross season. When my first two WORS races of the season returned my best results ever, perhaps I can say I wasn't 'surprised' necessarily, but I certainly can't deny the huge amount of satisfaction, and fulfillment having put in the work, and actually seeing terrific results.

WORS IOLA- Pre-riding the day before, I knew I liked the course. Only one or two painful climbs, and otherwise lots of quick ups and downs, and extremely fast, super flowy singletrack. Definitely a suit that coursed me ;) After a good start, I really wanted to make sure I didn't attack too hard the first lap and not have enough left for the rest of the race. But I felt good, and I was up near the front, so I went with it. And as luck would have it, I felt better as the race progressed. It wasn't just a matter of survival for a change, I really felt like I was able to dictate my efforts, and control my pace. And bike handling? I felt like a pro out there! Fully committing to every turn, sticking a knee out and leaning the bike way over. I could definitely feel my preparations working for me. End result, crossing the line still feeling oddly fresh... On the podium with my best finish, 4th in my agegroup of 24, and 13th overall out of around 200 in the sport category.

WORS WAUSAU- With a solid few weeks of riding leading up to this race, feeling pretty good on the bike, and on a course now that I had ridden last year, and thought I had done fairly well with, I was actually very confident coming into the 'Big Ring Classic.' You hate to say before a race "I'm gonna win" or anything along those lines, because that's pretty bad karma and such a slim chance, but I knew how I was feeling, and I knew I was gonna do something special. Into the race, I had a great start, right up into the top 7 or so riders. After a few riders overcooking the first couple turns through the sand, I found myself jockeying in the top 3. Knowing I was in a pretty good position at this point, I didn't want to unnecessarily burn myself out with an unwarranted attack, but as we came to a hill, the leaders slowed, and there I was, first place. This is a place I've literally never been before. I maintain about the pace we'd been going, but what an unnatural feeling. I equate it back to high school football actually. Playing quarterback, the ball is snapped, and all at once, you've got about 11 guys chasing you. Except now I had more than 200 chasing me... My lead didn't last for much more than about a third of a lap, but only 3 guys were able to make it by. I raced HARD. This was a race I was not going to leave anything out there. I was racing angry. The last guy by me I chased relentlessly to the very end. Lap traffic being the only reason he gapped me at the end. After the race I had the tell-tail, throbbing lower back, and was pretty much hobbling around like an old man for a while, but GOD it felt good. What a race. 2nd place out of 25 in my agegroup! And 5th place out of 225 overall!!

Where do I go from here?!

Consistency, grasshopper. Consistency.

Oh yeah, then afterwards...

The Sunday prior, Dan and myself came to find that the local eating establishment, Bublitz's had in fact just recently created an eating challenge. Just a cheeseburger and fries in a half hour. Well actually, 4 half pound patties, and a pound of cheese, surrounded by no less than a pound of fries... Smartly, we decided the best time to attempt such a feat would be after the WORS race. We'll be majorly calorie deprived, and you always feel like you can eat a horse after a race. I felt like a rock star with everyone taking pictures and directing attention to my gluttony, haha. No real strategy involved, just eat fast, trick your belly, eat fries when the burger starts to get filling. Yea I started getting a mean case of the beef sweats, and yea I used every last minute of that half hour, but by golly, I was the 2nd ever person to do it, and won me a free t-shirt, hahaha(pictures to follow...)

What a day

North Carolina O-Eleven

This year's trip to Asheville, North Carolina was going to be different.

Last year I really had no idea what I was in for. I knew there would be climbing, but really until you experience it, it's hard to comprehend. This year I knew what was coming.

This year my best friend Dan wouldn't be along with me. I'd still be with a great group of friends, but no right-hand man. This year I wouldn't have the luxury of a hot-shit carbon fiber road bike, but instead a heavy as shit, cobbled together, old aluminum tank...

This year however, I did feel better prepared going in. I'd spent a lot of time over the winter getting to know my stationary trainer, and getting my living room very sweaty. I knew that other than having a week off to relax amongst beautiful scenery, and to inevitably create lasting memories with great friends, this was going to be fundamental training to kick off the long season ahead.

I had my own goals for the week, like not crashing, riding strong every time out, and of course having FUN, but I was also given a couple goals to achieve. Those being, make sure to follow a couple of the very talented mountain bikers I was out there with, study what they're doing, and pretty much, monkey see, monkey do. No problem. The other more compelling thing I was to accomplish, was to simply, "make it up the driveway." Hmmm. Well turns out the driveway for this condo happens to hover between a pitch of 20 to a supposed 30 degrees at it's steepest... Yes, I'm talking cars can barely make it up and it hurts to just walk up it...

As it turned out, our second day on the road, after a great ride the day prior, and at the end of terrific sixty mountainous miler, I'd get to try it out... Keeping in mind, the private road leading up to the driveway itself is no joke either! Struggling up one of the final gradients in my granny gear before the driveway, dying, I thought to myself, 'There's just no way...'

But mercifully, after that climb, the road actually leveled off a bit, and allowed me to recover enough to go for it. (and yes, in the back of my mind, I really didn't want to have to walk my bike up, because that would have taken longer, and probably would have hurt even more)

So back into the granny gear I shift as the pavement goes straight upwards in front of me. And I HAMMER, sprinting out of the saddle, as absolutely hard as I can turn the pedals. The front wheel occasionally coming off the ground. As I crest the peak onto level ground I let out a hugely satisfying, Ric Flair-esque, WOOOOOOOOOOOO!! What a way to finish a ride! And really what an absurd feeling of accomplishment, climbing the driveway, haha. But it felt great, and the 1225watts is all it took.

Onto the mountain bike. I only actually rode the fat tires twice this year. But both were of course, memorable experiences. We met former Wisconsinite, current Asheville resident, and pro mt biker/ cyclocrosser Meghan Korol at the Dupont Forest for her to show us around, and hopefully not kill us too badly... She took us on, what can only be described as, some pretty gnarly trails. Descents with the occasional rutted, two foot drop-off, lots of scary rock gardens, and some pretty insane climbs, including one that was crazy steep, on 'slick rock' the whole way up, no less. One of those aforementioned '2-foot drop-offs' caught me off guard on a descent, and I wasn't able to get my weight back far enough, soon enough. Of course resulting in a perfectly executed endo-cartwheel over the handlebars and into the surrounding nature. Having landed on mostly large rocks and a tree or two, I did a body check followed by a bike check and found that though scraped a little, and rattled a bit, we were no worse for the wear. Plus I didn't feel quite as bad when I learned that just about 75% of us hit the ground that day, and my boo-boos were among the least severe. But then this happened.

The trail came to a river crossing. From where we were to the other side was probably around fifty feet at the most, but through thirty something degree, very fast moving water... It was decided that shoes and socks off, bike on the shoulder was the best way to forge the river. After two or three were across with no difficulty, and the rest apprehensively waited for someone else to go, I went for it. Stepping in, my first thoughts were, "Oh my God this is cold water!" followed immediately by, "Oh my God, these rocks are the slipperiest things I've ever touched!" this may end badly... So shoes in one hand, bike in the other, I inched forward. With every motion I made, the rapid current pushed harder and harder on my struggling for traction feet. And then, ironically, right after declaring to the others, "Don't worry, if anyone falls in, it'll be me..." my foot slipped, I stumbled, stumbled a bit more, almost saved it, stumbled again, and down I went. Dropping my shoes and my bike as I fell, I quickly grasped for my bike as I became the newest river rapid, freezing water breaking over me. Luckily my feet got wedged on some rocks so I, myself wasn't washed away... Somehow my shoes got corralled by my bike, and thankfully weren't lost either... And so there I was, sitting in the freezing river. Now what!? Fortunately, since I only made it probably a whopping four feet into the damn river before eating it, I was able to hand my shoes, and then my bike back to the dry people on the river bank. Now without having to worry about the shoes and the bike, I was able to balance my lanky, not made for river crossing, body across the river much more successfully... Yea I still took my sweet ass time, but I earned it, and I sure as hell wasn't going in again. And after everybody and all the gear made it across successfully, with of course, no more disasters, we all laughed about it. For the next two days in fact, haha. But I believe as one of my housemates pointed out, 'if this is the worst thing that happens this week, it was a pretty damn good week.'

And he was exactly right, not just because there were indeed no more fiascos, but beyond being scared for my life momentarily, it was just another extremely funny point in my life :) I'll take it.

Now beyond the memories already mentioned, amazing food, amazing mountain views, watching every sunset, bonding with great people, night time flatulence wars in the man-cave/ bear room, laughing till we cried, sampling moonshine and growlers of local brew, what will really stick out in my mind from this trip will be the screaming, high speed descents. Last year as a result of crashing fairly badly, the very first day, on the very first descent, I pretty much lost my nerve for the rest of the trip as far as going down quickly was concerned. But this year, even though I was on a bike that I wasn't completely confident in, I threw risk to the wind, turned my brain off a bit, and just let gravity do it's thing. Flying along at over 40mph on a little metal bicycle with rim brakes, having little more protection than a measly helmet, flipping the off switch in your brain is really what you have to do. The what-if's can't be anywhere in your head. When letting everything hang out, and going for it, cannonballing at top speed, carving through hairpin after hairpin, switchback after switchback is when I truly found the most rewarding, breath-taking experience I've ever had on a bike. I've never felt more ALIVE.

So to conclude, I've realized it's not necessarily North Carolina that I love. Yes the weather was perfect and the scenery is incredible. But in the end, what I really love is cycling. I got to ride my bike, with my friends everyday for a week, and I love that. If I could do that all the time, it wouldn't matter what state I was in. Bikes are good. Yay bikes!

Ben in 'Ten

So a 2010 look back most of the way through February? Hey, better late than never.

Lets look at the most substantial stuff to happen to this guy, shall we?

Early in the year I went on a life/perspective changing trip out to North Carolina. A trip that would carry me mentally on the bike for the rest of the season. I loved every minute of it, the road trip, the fun with good friends, the pain and suffering, and the beautiful scenery. (read more about it? http://howiveben.blogspot.com/2010/04/north-carolina.html) Anxious to go again this year!

As spring was sprung, track season was upon me. For those that don't know, this was my eighth year of coaching track & field for West Bend East high school. A fairly depleted team as it was, I was still there to help coax as much success out of my athletes as I could. Success wasn't always there, attitudes weren't always great, and the reality started to creep in that the spark that always kept me going, got me out of bed after little to no sleep to make it to practice and meets every day, to keep me positive and keep my heart in it, was going away.

A huge amount of thought went into the decision, but the result always came back to this being the end of the line. I waited till the end of the season to drop the bombshell and it wasn't easy. And I know some people weren't (and still probably aren't) very happy with the decision, even I'm not when I think about sometimes, but in the end, I feel it was the right decision, and the right time if I was ever going to let it go. What I will take away are countless memories that will be with me for the rest of my life. Memories that will bring a smile to my face, memories that will encourage me and motivate me, and of course the memories of vicarious accomplishment. I have also gained, what I hope will be, some life long relationships with the great people that were a part of my coaching career. I really couldn't have done it with out them.

On to triathlon season. Very early in the year, at the Multi-Sport Expo, I was able to bundle all of the triathlons I planned on participating in in the upcoming season, pay for them all at once, and even get a nifty discount in the process. Great idea right? Well it was until I took that first fateful maiden voyage on my new 29er mountain bike in North Carolina and got hooked. Problem being, triathlon season and mountain bike season run simultaneously, and unless I was jobless and/or independently wealthy, I wasn't going to be able to do both.

So as it went, I begrudgingly raced all the triathlons I had committed to, and when and where I could, squeaked a mountain bike race in.

And I did say 'begrudgingly raced' just a moment ago, and I did bitch about how I hated the cold ass water, and having to wake up at 3 or 4 in the morning, and probably a few other complaints about how unhappy I was to be triathlon-ing on any given weekend, but the truth is, as soon as the gun fired, it was still game on. And oddly enough, with the fitness I had, the results were there. I was always in the top five of my age group, even grabbing a couple second places. I was getting trophies and medals and other swell stuff. (In a sport I was seemingly abandoning at the end of the year...) In fact, with the Midwest Sporting Events age group point totals throughout the season, I was sitting right in first place until the last race of the year. A race I didn't do... but another dude was able to get by me in the points. So I got second in the series, not to bad hey? I'll take it. (Furthermore, no, not completely abandoning. I'll make an appearance or two)

So my mistress, the mountain bike season. The sport that hath tore me from the swim-bike-run. A sport that has such an incredibly small margin for error, (trees, rocks, cliffs, etc), hurts so incredibly much by the end of the race you think you may actually be dying, but for whatever reason, is so incredibly addicting, has indeed tore me from the silly wet suit wearers.

I was able to fit five races in, and as I look back on it, I would rate my first season as mediocre to above average. I still need to work on the skill-set, but I know I was improving as the season progressed. I loved the festive atmosphere of the races, I loved riding in front of and even with friends. But I believe the biggest thing I'll take away from the season was probably hitting my low at Suamico, dehydrating and bonking to the point of feeling after affects for a solid couple weeks, to the next race, hitting my high point at Sheboygan, getting on the podium, and on my birthday of all days. Looking forward to fully devoting efforts to the off-road season this new year.

2010 also marked a milestone for me that I'm indeed not proud of, and in fact I definitely find pretty pathetic, but as of late summer, it made ten years, a DECADE, since I've had someone that considered me their boyfriend. Yeah, seriously. Years ago I gave myself a mental deadline, a day I said to myself, I at least better have some sort of a steady relationship by this point, or what the hell? That day was 10-10-10. Easy to remember. Birthday, and heck, it's three tens... Obviously that day has come and gone.

What have I seen over the years? -Anger? Oh yeah, originally it upset me, why doesn't anybody like me, what the hell? Why can't I find anybody, what the hell? -Depression? Oh yeah, sure not full blown stick me on medication and put me on suicide watch, but it sure didn't make me happy to always be alone. -Confusion? Heck yeah. Why does he have a girlfriend? Why won't she like me? What's wrong with me? -Anxiety? You bet. Will I ever find someone? Am I going to be alone forever? And finally, where I'm at now, -Acceptance. So be it. I'm not gonna loose sleep over it anymore. And I'm done worrying. I'm not going to stray from my morals, and I'm not going to stray from my standards.

If I find somebody, I find somebody. When I find someone, I find someone. That's it.

God has a plan for everyone.

Unblogged up until this point, cyclocross season. This just in, I love cyclocross. I got in a whopping twelve races this fall/winter, racing my planned to be final season as a category four.

In preseason preparations, along with the better than seasons past fitness, with help, I was finally able to get the hang of a proper cyclocross remount, and was really able to attack the barriers. It's hard to say how much this helped me mentally, but to put it basically, I finally felt like I was real a cyclocross racer.

I had a little better luck than seasons past with only two races ending as a result of catastrophic bicycle failure... And the results were there. I was very consistently finishing in the top ten, and though not generally duking it out for the win, I was at least near the front, duking it out with the lead group.

So many highlights to the season, but definitely traveling to Louisville, Kentucky with Dan and Ben to race in the USGP Derby City Cup ranks at the top. Awesome roadtrip, with awesome friends, topped off with cyclocross? That's a great weekend!

In the end I'd rank the season as 'good.' Simply by comparing results to seasons past I can see how far I've come, but even more, feeling how much stronger I was, and in general, more competitive.

2011 will be my first time 'upgrading' in really any form of cycling. (Technically I skipped Citizen and went straight to Sport in mountain biking.) But otherwise, this will be the first time I'll be stepping it up a level. And I'm trying to take it very seriously. 2011 will be about cyclocross for me. Any mountain bike race I do will be in preparation for cyclocross. Any road race/ criterium I do will be in preparation of the cross season. I can't wait for cross.

Let's see some other miscellaneous, but still worth mentioning items.

At work, I made the move from Module 1 over to Module 2. Essentially same job start to finish, but with many little differences in between... Still working nights, but now following my brother whom I work directly opposite of, as he's on the day shift, which is kinda fun. So far, so good.

Discovered a new love of cooking chili, topped off with the first annual Ben's House Chili Con Carnival, which was, in fact, a pretty great success, despite a Badgers' Rose Bowl loss.

Relishing being 'Uncle Ben.' Pretty awesome seeing my niece growing up, learning to talk, dance, sneak, sing flawless Lady Gaga songs. Unexpectedly sharing food, getting my house trashed, mystery stains showing up on clothing, all kinds of fun, haha!

Did you know the Packers won the Super Bowl? Sans Brett Fav-ray? Super Bowl MVP Aaron Rodgers? Neat.

Brett and Me

Last night at work, I realized just how much my perception of Brett Favre has changed.
Because I missed the end of the game to go to work, but heard through the grape vine they had pulled off the win, I mentioned to a coworker, 'Hey I heard the Packers won huh?'
To which he replied, 'Yea, and that sucks, I hate the f*cking Packers.'
To which I said, 'Oh yeah? Why do you hate the Packers so much?'
And at this point I'm expecting him to say because he's a Bears fan or something along those lines. And I can accept that if you're a fan of a rival team, it makes sense to think negatively of the other team. But no.
His answer was, 'Because of what they did to Brett Favre.'
To which I instantly became incredibly upset, and gave him a bit of a tongue lashing... I don't usually feel the need to berate someone because of their beliefs, but I let this guy have it. So wow, why would this fire me up so much?
Lets start at the beginning.

It was of course 1992, Green Bay is in tight game against Cincinnati, and one of my favorite Packers of the day Don 'Magic Man' Majikowski goes down with a ankle injury late in the 4th quarter. Twelve year old me even thinks to himself, well there goes this game, as some scrub back up Brett 'Fav-rey' comes off the bench and into the game. But low and behold, this relative unheard of, drives down the field as the clock ticks, and fires a game winning touchdown pass. And as they say, the rest is history.

Years go by and the accolades are piling up for number 4, Pro Bowls, MVP's, galloping gobblers, he won them all. But more importantly, he was winning games too. Sure he made seemingly stupid mistakes, and threw an awful lot of interceptions, but we accepted it, we were winning. He was "just a good ol' boy, gun-slinger out there having a good time because he loved the game so much." And of course, the peasants rejoiced.

The man inspired me personally. His pure athleticism is what really appealed to me. In the mid-90's after kicking his pain killer habit (rolling my eyes) when he got in the weight room and became almost obsessed with his fitness, getting down to a rumored 1% body fat. When during one of the little side-show competitions at the ProBowl one year, throwing a ball 86 freakin yards. Breaking numerous wide receiver and defensive back's fingers, because of how damn hard he could throw a ball. This is the stuff that really got me. So what did I do, I learned how to throw a football. More specifically, I learned to throw a football pretty fricken well. The long bomb? check. The rifle, finger breaker? check. The deadly accurate touch pass? check. 'Hey I bet I can throw a football over that...' check.

Furthermore. October 10th. It's my Grandma's birthday, it's my birthday. It also happens to be Mr. Favre's birthday. I was actually pretty proud of that for quite a few years (still proud to share it with my Grandma). And in fact, for a few years, before he started looking like OldMan Winter, I was indeed accused of actually resembling the man. No, seriously.
So I wouldn't say I was just a run of the mill fan. Besides a Packer fan, I was a Brett Favre fan.
And then it started to go bad.
Mr. Brett started to have a problem with showing up to training camp. So what would he do? He'd speculate retirement. Then with a week left, 'Oop, no I'm not retiring.'

And the peasants rejoice...
And then do that exact same thing for the next three years, and the team might start to get a little annoyed. And they did.
They had a fresh new talented kid waiting in the wings to play, and if he was going to be the starting quarterback, it would be nice to know sooner than the preseason. So they gave Mr. Favre a deadline. Let us know by this date if you're indeed retiring, or if you're coming back and playing again. Simple as that. And he choose a tearful, heartfelt retirement press conference. Sure, I even felt a little emotional watching him call it a career. But there it was, a legendary career, that we all as Packer fans could be proud of, retired. And the peasants rejoiced.

And then it got worse.
But wait, then as the season drew closer, what's this? The Jets are picking him up? Huh? wtf?
Well whatever, fine, go finish your career "because you love the game so much you couldn't quit" with a mediocre season on some shitty AFC team, whatever. Woulda been a lot better had you had just retired a Packer, but whatever.
Lest we forget, Reggie White played a season for the Panthers, hell even St. Vince himself coached the *Redskins... (but in both cases, neither retired and un-retired to do so)

And then he shit on Green Bay.
First news surfaces that he had closed room meeting with the president of the Lions, telling him in detail all the in's and out's of the Packer's playbook. WTF?
And then of course after another unsuccessful retirement post Jets, the sonnoffa bitch goes to the Vikings!? And is happy as a damn clam to 'finally be a Viking.' It's one thing for him to go to an AFC team on the east coast, but to go to one of the Packer's fiercest division rivals? WTF?
The peasants are upset. The morons buy purple shirts and say they're Brett Favre fan's not Packer fans...

But now, he's shitting on himself.
And this is, I suppose, the happy ending to the story. He's made himself such a media whore through the years of will he?/ won't he's? bullshit that every little thing he does became, for whatever reason news worthy. He plugs a Fox television show on Fox football of course, by singing about his pants being on the floor. Hilarious?
No. But you know what is hilarious about his pants being on the floor? The fact that a steady stream of women are now coming out of the woodwork to paint a picture of just how big of a chauvinistic piece of shit this guy really is. 'I'm Brett Favre, I can have the sex with whomevers I want!' Mmmm, guess not Brett.
And let me just mention the elephant in the room that nobody seems to have noticed yet. Brett Favre and Mark Chmura, best buds back in the day aboard the Packers, right? Remember what Mr. Chmura got busted and thoroughly chastised for involving a hot tub and some under agers? Point being, you know Brett was pulling this shit in Wisconsin, but because he was Mr. SuperStar Quarterback of the Packers, the blind eye was turned. For the love of God, I hope more of these women come forward.

Bottom line:
Packer's legend, beloved by millions, to egotistical, narcissistic, sexual deviant, joke, douche-bag, ass-hole, beloved by hundreds.

He's completely dead to me.

I hope the Packers give #4 to a kicker.