Roubaix Sunday

Today marked the running of the 108th Paris-Roubaix, the ‘Queen of the Classics.’ What makes Paris-Roubaix such a seminal event is not the excruciating distance, often harsh spring conditions--biting wind and rain. It is the cobbles. A quarter of the race’s grueling 259km takes place on cobblestone farm roads. Frequently rutted out, dirty and slippery the cobbled sections present the challenge and the allure of the event. Today’s winner, Fabian Cancellara, rode away from the lead group with nearly 40km to go to the finish. The time trial champion soloed in for the win over two minutes ahead of the chasing group. While this annual highlight of cycling was drawing to a close, halfway around the world in Boulder, Colorado our own local version of this event was just getting started.

In the spirit of the French, cobbled Queen, much of the Boulder-Roubaix road course occurs on dirt and gravel roads (American Pave’). This year’s Boulder-Roubaix course boasted a longer format for the circuit loop that riders would race. At 19 miles, the race would start on a section of dirt road and would alternate after a mile or so to pavement before quickly returning to dirt; repeating this way the entire 19 miles. Over 50% of this year’s course, just over 30 miles, would occur on wash boarded, dirt roads. While not as long as the French counterpart, for riders attempting Boulder-Roubaix the course would nonetheless present a challenge.

For some bizarre reason I thought this event to be a suitable starting point for my 2010 race season. After an extensive ‘off-season’ and piss poor spring training effort I apparently felt like flinging myself into the deep end of the CAT 3 pool. By way of preparation, I pre-rode the course on Saturday with 3 other Primal First Bank teammates. While the preview helped give me some confidence in my bike handling skills on dirt, I still had knots in my stomach much of the evening. I’ve been out of the racing game for a bit now, my head not quite into it, but for Boulder-Roubaix I’d have to Harden the Fuck Up (the team’s quasi mantra) or get spit out the back in short order (that result likely would be inevitable anyway.)

Sunny, warm, and dry the weather apparently didn’t feel like making Boulder-Roubaix worse than necessary. Our race started at 11:15, so I arrived at the start area around 9:30 to get my number, check in with the team and prep for battle. I arrived at the start line early, but not early enough to get a good slot in the front row. I found myself three rows back tucked in with some Junior 17-18 year old riders who’d also be racing with the 3’s. Glancing at the bandaged arms and legs of the ‘kids’ next to me I should have guessed what was going to happen next. At the gun the junior right in front of me took off but missed his clip and stopped with me right on his wheel: no harm done but I was not off to a great start from go. (His buddy, bandage arm, blew a pavement transition on the second lap and wrecked in the ditch.) My mission initially was to hang on to the leaders and try to navigate the first two somewhat technical dirt sections without much ado. One rider rode clear past the first turn and crashed. Within the first mile there were 2 or 3 flats and heading through the first transition from pavement to the second dirt section another rider overshot the turn and ended up in the ditch.

I held my position towards the back and rode with a fellow teammate and some other more cautious riders. We picked good lines through the turns and didn’t have to work too hard to manage the accelerations of the pack. I was racing again and feeling pretty good. Heading into the last stretch of dirt road the group approached a series of sharp, rolling hills. I found a good line along the left side of the road and worked my way up into the lead bunch of the main pack. I probably burned a match prematurely with this effort, but I found myself working in the main group and riding with our team leaders: I could move up well enough, now I just needed to hold my position. Lacking some of the confidence to keep pushing forward I drifted back again as we ended lap one. The pack was trimmed but seemed to have held on to many of the starters as we began the second lap.

I again found myself hanging on to the back of the group, this time with three teammates, navigating the corners with ease but beginning to feel the rubber band stretching a bit more. With a pivotal uphill, paved section of the course nearing, I told myself that I needed to move up or this would be it. Along the road the pack lined out and left an alley open on the left side near the median. I started moving up to the front. Finally feeling like a racer again I soon found myself again with the lead riders, many from my team. At that moment one of our strong riders made a break with another on his tail. I thought this was my chance! I looked ahead and saw two riders up the road, clearly this must be a break away and our leaders are trying to join. Someone in the pack shouted my name and told me to go (or maybe they said ‘No’ or ‘Way to go’), so I surged forward and gave Grant the ‘What’s up’ on my way to Michael Hanna who was leading away. I wanted to pull him up to those riders more than anything. Unfortunately drawing close to the two riders (and looking back at the somewhat perplexed expression on Hanna’s face) I saw that the riders were in fact not from our group…and they were moving pitifully slow by the point I pulled in behind them and practically stopped. Now at a crawl, I watched as the entire peloton, not an opening in sight, passed by me in a blur. Finally a gap opened and I pulled out from behind my imaginary break away companions and found myself gassed and on the back again heading into the grueling roller section.

That was pretty much my race. I survived the rollers and held on to the leaders as we began lap 3 but was pretty spent and unable to continue matching the accelerations: here’s where training would have come in handy. Bygones being bygones and all that, I sat up and caught my breath. For much of lap 3 I worked with a group of stragglers from the main pack trying to catch the group… or just finish with dignity. Frustrated with the lack of cooperation amongst my chase buddies, I eventually sat in until the long climb where I surged forward and left all but one wheel sucker who I’d soon drop in the rollers. At this point I don’t know where I ended up in the finish: 40th or worse? Michael Hanna, who obviously did not need my help on his breakaway won the race. We placed two others in the top 20.

I do know that up until my stupid move on the hill I was feeling good, and I was getting my senses back…if only for just a little while. Struggling with my mental block on racing has been a frustrating part of my off-season. Earlier in the week when I thought about entering this race I thought that I needed to have my head examined. But I got good advice from Kate and my team captain: just go out and do it and try to hang on as long as you can. That’s all I really had to do: just do it. As Kate put it, I needed a little ‘fire in my belly,’ and she was certain that getting dropped in a race would be just the medicine I needed. And thinking back on the day, underneath the pile of dirt and dust I choked down while racing, there just may be a little fire.

My Boulder-Roubaix Stats:
57 miles (30 or so of dirt)
Average speed: 23.4 mph
Total time: 2:26 and change
Average heart rate 168 bpm