Showing posts with label bicycle racing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bicycle racing. Show all posts

May 14, 2011

Entitlement

Volunteering as a marshal at Turn 5 on the course for the Cat's Hill Criterium, my job today was all about safety. In other words, keep the bicycle racers and the general public from colliding. Adults. Children. Dogs. Adults with children. Children with balls. Adults with dogs. Adults with ... attitude.

This race has been held annually, in May, for 38 years. On the exact same streets, which are closed to vehicles for most of the day.

Most drivers, after turning onto the far end of our street, saw the barricade and people in bright safety vests [me, for example] and backtracked. Some did not.

One woman drove all the way to the barricade to share her indignation with us.
This is a residential neighborhood, not an athletic field!
She then proceeded to back into the bumper of a parked SUV. Bumper of said SUV being higher than the bumper of her car, she was now the proud driver of a dented BMW. After inspecting the damage, she simply drove away. All of this in full view of three people wearing bright safety vests, two of which were emblazoned with the word "POLICE." We made a note of her license plate number and shared it with the SUV owner. Misdemeanor hit and run?

Then there was the absolutely apoplectic woman in a Jaguar.
How many DAYS is this race going to last?
After turning her car around, she blew through the stop sign on the corner and nearly collided head-on with an approaching SUV. All of this in full view of three people wearing bright safety vests, two of which were emblazoned with the word "POLICE."

The evidence was abundant: Money can buy you a fancy car and a fancy house on a hillside with a view, but it does not buy you happiness.

I was happy, and I didn't spend a dime. Fast Freddie Rodriquez was happy, too; he won the final race of the day (Pro/1/2 Men).

Walking home, I paused to let a car turn in front of me. The wind was picking up with an advancing storm front, and I heard some loud rustling in a tree across the street. To my wide-eyed amazement, a large branch crashed down to the sidewalk and split into pieces. The sidewalk where I would have been at that moment, had I acted like an entitled pedestrian and forced that car to wait for me to cross the street.

Let me mention that part about being happy, again. Really happy.

May 19, 2010

Anticlimax on Sierra

I merged into the morning commute on Highway 17, but the office was not my destination today. There was something unusual about this traffic pattern ... a string of white rental vans ... ooh, it's the fleet supporting the Amgen Tour of California, heading over the hill from Santa Cruz! I tucked in behind #6 until they all ended up in the wrong lane; they would have done better to follow me, but how could they know?

Our paths diverged when they headed for downtown San José; I was headed to stake out some turf along Sierra Road.

I started my ascent less than a minute before they released the local field competing in the San Jose Cycling Classic KOM Ride. After passing a few who had stopped along the side of the road, I realized that I might have finished well today; but I was more relieved not to be racing it. Instead, I was pedaling at a leisurely pace (with five or more pounds of camera gear in my backpack).

Cyclists rarely use the words "leisurely" and "Sierra Road" in the same sentence. As I worked my way up the hill, I was buoyed by the cheers of spectators already lining the road. My regrets about suffering up Sierra rapidly evaporated once I rolled across the King-of-the-Mountain line at the top. Four and a half miles, 1,830 feet of climbing, some 524 calories burned. I surveyed the crowd for familiar faces before dropping down to an uphill stretch just below the summit, where I joined a couple of friends who had claimed the same spot I chose last year.

Much to our surprise, a group of breakaway riders had already established a gap of three and a half minutes by the time the pros came around the bend. A few of them would hang on to that lead until the closing minutes of the race, when the teams of the sprinters would advance to turn the spotlight on their men.

The peloton was essentially intact when the riders passed us. This made for a rather anticlimactic viewing experience, with the startling exception of being eye-to-eye with Lance Armstrong as he passed less than a foot away from me. The racers were not racing, which I am sure was the strategic thing to do so early in the stage. For race leader Dave Zabriskie, the Garmin team was setting the tempo at the front—probably at least twice the speed I can generate on that stretch of road. Looking at their faces, it was gratifying to see some discomfort nonetheless.

And then ... they were gone. A handful of stragglers were off the back, mixing it up with the team cars. The broom wagon passed, I chatted with some more friends until the crowd dispersed, and coasted back down the hill to join a party at the home of some club members who live near the base of the climb. Their hospitality has become an annual tradition for this race, and while I would regret missing the party, next year I may seek a place closer to a finish line, where the riders should be more strung out.

May 1, 2010

Off to the Races

My heart rate was elevated, my quads were burning, and I was only halfway up the infamous Cat's Hill ... on foot. I found a gap in the spectators and planted myself on the sidewalk. Two women racers walked past, rolling their bikes and commenting:
This is harder than climbing it!
During a break in the action, another woman racer clipped in and rode to the top. A local police officer gave her a surprised look, and she also remarked:
It's easier than walking.
After volunteering at the registration desk for the 37th Annual Cat's Hill Criterium, I was free to watch the final race: the field of Pro/1/2 men. It was easy to recognize these guys as they approached the registration table: musculature straight out of an anatomy textbook and veins that resemble vines snaking up their arms and legs.

Remarkably, the field mostly stays together, though the repeated circuits take their toll. Drop your chain on the hill and your race is over. One guy rolled to the side and abandoned mid-hill in the penultimate lap.

One of these days, maybe I will find out if it truly is easier to ride my bike up Cat's Hill. Or maybe I will just take their word for it.

May 2, 2009

Cat's Hill Criterium

Standing on the other side of the registration booth for a bicycle race was different in a way that I didn't expect.
January 1, San Bruno Hill Climb:
This is a real race. Is it really okay for me to enter a race? Look at all these serious racers.
May 2, Cat's Hill Criterium:
Look at all these serious racers. But anybody can enter - they pay their money and they take their chances. There is an element of swagger, a sense of tossing one's hat into the ring.
One dude saunters up to register 15 minutes before the start of the Men's Pro/1/2 race, still wearing his street clothes. Just decided he had the legs for it? Spotted Jackson Stewart (BMC) wearing number 1 and thought he might beat him? (He didn't. Jackson won.)

The registration table was well-situated behind the finish line and the stage, which faces the notorious Cat's Hill (Nicholson Avenue, 23% grade). The top of the hill was not visible from my vantage point; instead, that stretch of Nicholson looks like a cliff face.

The Pro/1/2 men are the last to race around the circuit. It's a fast bunch today, completing each lap in a little over two minutes. They stop 75 minutes after they start, which translates into 35 or so trips around the course, up that brutish hill. Before the race was over, at least 40% of the field had abandoned. Some of my racer friends tell me the hill isn't the worst of it; it's the pace after you reach the top that gets you, no time to slack off. A scant two minutes later, you're doing it again. And again.

Having fulfilled my registration duties, I watched the final race. This year I planted myself near the bottom of the hill, where I could see them fly around the corner toward me at high speed, hear the gears shifting, and watch them climb out of the saddle, rocking their bikes left-right, left-right. Wow, do they fly around that corner! They threw off a draft so powerful it made the tree branches sway. Helps to carry some momentum going up that hill.