2012 Texas State Time Trial Championship

by Jack Mott

This past weekend was the annual Texas State Time Trial Championship. Hosted the last two years in Lytle, Texas near San Antonio, it features a 40 kilometer out and back course with rolling hills and smooth pavement. Each year the fastest athletes in the state test their time trial skills and aero equipment in hopes of winning a coveted state championship jersey, and cash prizes of course.

Kickstand Racing, who has been running the event of late, has paralympic categories, multisport categories, and an Eddy Merckx (non aero) category along with the usual roadie categories. The multisport category makes the event perfect for triathletes to test their bike skills and win some money in the process. It is also a great way to check out the positions and equipment of the roadie studs, which can often be instructive for new triathletes.

Riders are sent off at 30 seconds intervals, grouped by category. Drafting is not allowed. The course is rather simple with no technical turns other than the turnaround at half way. It is open to traffic but there is a sizable shoulder the entire length of the course. Saturday features all of the individual categories, while Sunday hosts team time trial competitions, where teams of 3 or 4 must carefully work together to go even faster.

The weather this year was hot, as usual, and a bit windy which is also the norm in central Texas. In the Category 1 men ranks, the favorites were 787 Racing's Brant Speed and Super Squadra's David Wenger who were 3rd and 5th respectively at Nationals just a few weeks before. As the Cat 1 men were finishing it became clear that the course was almost a kilometer too long. In the end Brant Speed came away with the win, with an average speed of nearly 30 miles per hour and a full minute ahead of 2nd place Logan Hutchings. David Wenger would end up fourth.

In the Women's category 1, Snapple-ATC TT specialist Kat Hunter was the favorite with Jenny Park of Team Brain and Spine and Jenn Mix of Team 787 gunning to upset her. Kat managed to hold them off and take the win with a time of 59:25 after holding an average of 240 watts for the 40+ kilometer course. She was aboard her Cervelo P2, with HED Jet clincher wheels and a brand new super fast Continental Supersonic 20mm front tire thanks to Kaleb West at ATC. Other trick equipment included the new Omega aero brake up front, a very cool new piece. Men be warned: the women in this event were cycling at 25+ mph for an hour

Browsing through the pictures of the competitors a clear pattern emerges. The people going fast are talented, and hard working, and they extend that hard work into their position on the bike. They have spent time figuring out how to get low and powerful, and even focus on how they hold their head through the course. In the time trial, the wind and your pain are the only enemies, and they must both be conquered. Triathletes can learn a lot by watching the top road cyclists in a TT.

On Sunday one of the more fascinating cycling disciplines takes place with the team time trials. These contests are fascinating due to their complexity and the high speeds that are achieved. Teammates fly along the road at over 30mph, wheels just inches from one another, hands in the aero bars away from the brake levers. Perfecting the timing of when each teammate should pull requires thought and practice. The top teams are ones with great athletes who have also put in the time to practice. In the men's top category, team Think Finance took the victory. They were the only top team present at the Mineral Wells team time trial a couple weeks before, and their dedication was rewarded with a state championship.

In the men's category 4, a victory for the triathletes as team Jockstrap Catapult of Houston narrowly bested team Ghisallo by 14 seconds with a 54 minute effort. Team Ghisallo did avenge this shame with overall wins in both the Category 4 and Eddy Merckx individual categories by Matt "Baby Jan" DeMartino and Adam Butler respectively.

In the most important race of all, the Category 4 Slowtwitch bragging rights contest, your author, Jack Mott, bested Charlie Buser by over 2 minutes in route to breaking the hour barrier for the first time, but still slower than his own wife.

Full TT Results Here (Scroll to the bottom)

Race Report, 26th Annual Tour of the Gila

by Kat Hunter

Infamous for being one of the hardest and hilliest stage races in the U.S., Tour of the Gila is a one-way ticket to humility for riders getting too big for their cycling britches. Held in Silver City, New Mexico, at roughly 6,000 feet in elevation, the event is five days for most categories and includes three road races, a criterium, and a time trial. This year there were 493 registrants, plus 141 competitors in the men’s UCI race. The women’s Pro 1,2 field boasted many of the best teams and riders in the nation – Kristin Armstrong, Carmen Small, Alison Powers, Jade Wilcoxson, and Robin Farina, just to name a few.

Obviously, I didn’t know what I was doing when I signed myself up. I didn’t even know how to pronounce Gila (it’s HEE-la), much less the challenges of the altitude or the fact that my competition included Olympic and World Championship medalists. And what’s worse, having never done a National Calendar Race before, I was still under the assumption that I was “fast.” In a field of superhuman women as strong, aggressive, and savvy as the best men I’d ever ridden with, I found myself to be a lesser type of pack fodder – there for what, frankly speaking, was probably the most painful week of my entire life.

Day 1, Disaster Averted

Even in a neutral start, the women pros roll out fast. The Mogollon Road Race was 73.1 miles, finishing at 6,794 feet after 3,669 feet of climbing, most of it in the last 6.7-mile stretch. Since the first 27 miles or so of the race were net downhill and the steep climb to Mogollon was guaranteed to split up the field, I figured there wasn’t going to be much happening at the beginning of the race. Surprised, I watched attack after attack go off the front almost immediately.

In addition to stage wins and overall GC standings, there was a sprinter’s jersey, “queen of the mountain” jersey, and young rider (U26) jersey up for grabs. The first day there were two bonus sprints, which probably helped to spur things along, and the final climb was a QOM. This was also, as I heard many, many times throughout the week, an “Olympic year.” The riders were in top shape. Although the pace was comfortable where I was riding at the back of the pack, we weren’t spending any time looking at the scenery.

Like the UCI men, the women’s Pro 1,2 road races had support vehicles, dedicated mechanics, and a police entourage in front and behind shutting down the whole road in a “rolling enclosure.” The honking of the moto officials, and later the team cars, zooming by on the left took some getting used to, but the hardest part was overcoming the sense that I was an obvious imposter in some type of royal procession.

I had come to Gila as a guest rider for Landis/Trek, a team sponsored by 100-year-old, Phoenix-based shop Landis Cyclery. I’d met my teammates the night before – Julie Emmerman, Caitlin Laroche, Natalie Koch, and women’s team captain Melanie Colavito. Most of the other teams were made up of dedicated pros and had eight riders. As a small amateur team, we had neither the ability nor the responsibility to be a major player in race tactics, which gave even the guest riders – Julie and me – and the riders who were racing NRC for the first time – Caitlin and me – the luxury of sitting in and more or less riding for ourselves. We were here to represent Landis/Trek to the best of our abilities, contributing to the team when possible, but there was no demand for sacrifice or established hierarchy of work.

Anxious to prove myself to my new teammates, I was determined to ride smart and ride well. I had never, with the exception of one flat tire in a time trial when I was still competing in the “triathlete” category, had a mechanical during a race. And though I of course realized that someday, somewhere I would, I didn’t count on it being on the first day of my first NRC stage race. Still nervously watching what was going on – at one point narrowly avoiding a rider who went down in the middle of the pack – somewhere around mile 25 I realized that my rear shifter was stuck, and I couldn’t shift out of the hardest gear. Dumbstruck, I tried again and again to shift. A debilitating mechanical within the first hour of the race...yes, now my team would be thoroughly impressed with me.

Melanie told me to go to the Comm car. Before I’d been nervous at the prospect of even going back for water bottles, but now I had no choice. I drifted back to the first motorcycle, then to the neutral support SRAM car. The SRAM guys told me to pull over, and I did, fighting back very un-pro tears of frustration as the pack rode away and the team cars swerved around me and then the whole caravan disappeared around the next corner. The two mechanics fiddled with my bike for no more than a second – the shifter cable had snapped – before they took a neutral bike off the rack and adjusted the seat and gave me a running push. The mechanic had asked me if I was familiar with the SRAM gruppo, and thinking “how hard can it be?”, I had just said “yes” for the sake of time, ignorant of the fact that anything could work differently than Shimano in the first place. I remedied my mistake as I cranked up the first hill in my big ring, waving my hands and riding up alongside the passenger window to sheepishly request further instruction.

This would not be my last rescue by SRAM’s knights in shining armor. I think they were probably looking for me by the last day. “That goofy woman riding for Landis hasn’t gotten into any trouble yet. Wonder if she’s still in the race?”

I knew I was supposed to draft the car to get back up to the pack, but I wasn’t really sure how to do it or how long I could do it. When we reached the first turn back onto the main road, two riders were passing through the intersection from my left. I was already in full-out, panicked time trial mode, so I wondered how they could have come from that direction, but when I caught up to them and they were going slow I just went around. About a minute later the SRAM driver leaned out of the window and told me I didn’t need to go so hard. It turned out that I had just passed the leaders of the race; a breakaway had taken the wrong turn. The rest of the pack was neutralized until the leaders came by and reestablished their gap, so I had plenty of time to catch back on. I’m not sure which was more impressive – my bad luck or my good luck – but having the whole race stop dead in its tracks just when I needed it to was enough to make me believe that the universe was benevolent, or had at least found my struggle amusing enough to help me continue on to the next stage.

When I came up to the pack I had some time to rest. The SRAM guys asked if I would prefer a 28 cassette to the 25, and they switched it out for me. I rode up to my teammates to let them know I had rejoined the group and, basking in my unexpected good fortune, happily took my race snack out of my jersey and began eating while they chatted. Melanie stopped mid-sentence, and all Landis heads swiveled my way. “Did you just whip out...a potato?”

The baked sweet potato was an experiment, something I’d seen an FCS/Rouse rider with at the Come and Take It Omnium. I have to admit that it’s not the prettiest thing to eat – neither the brown-orange coloring nor the way you have to shove it down Cookie-Monster style while on the bike – but it is a great conversation starter.

When we began moving again I didn’t care about the break up the road and had no clue how many riders were in it or if it was expected to last; I just wanted to arrive as fresh as possible at the base of the climb and know how to shift when I got there. On the new bike, the reach was much too long for me and I could feel something funny happening in my calves, but it was very light and the SRAM gruppo and I were finally getting along.

Just as my more experienced teammates had predicted, the race split at the start of the climb. I didn’t make the first selection and was out on my own with a handful of other riders, a less-than-ideal situation for the flat plateau that followed. The group ahead of us crashed near the end of the flat section, a scene of complete chaos with four or five riders sprawled across the pavement and the team cars pulling off on both sides of the road and our group trying to wind our way through it all. A short while later, several of the riders involved in the crash repassed me at lightning speed, regaining a lot of ground.

The final climb was similar to the observatory climb in Fort Davis, Texas; my husband, Jack, and I had competed at Hammerfest the weekend before, which helped me know what to expect and to pace it, and also probably helped mitigate the negative effects of going from racing near sea level in Austin to racing at 7,000 feet. With the incline ranging from 7 to 19 percent on the final climb, individual riders were waging their own personal wars against the mountain. One by one, we all trickled in to the finish line. Jack didn’t recognize me on the neutral bike and yelled, “Go Landis!”

This stage would be my best finish of the week, 20th place overall.

Stage 1 Results

Day 2, Pure Suffering

Most people seem to think that Gila’s last stage is the hardest, but for me it was the second day’s 77.9-mile Inner Loop Road Race. I didn’t warm up, and my legs were aching the first few miles; I was convinced for roughly half the race that I had a flat tire. I still had very ambitious goals – the day before, I’d believed that trying to catch up to the pack and being on a different bike had burned up a lot of energy, that otherwise I would have been much stronger – but I soon found out that my fitness was the weak link here, not my equipment. When we took a right turn toward Pinos Altos, the pace picked up on a steady, seemingly never-ending uphill slope. I came off the back at about mile 12, one of the first to go and reeling with disbelief. Popped in the very first section? Really?

I sat behind two other riders who were working to catch back on. We were passed by the team cars as we started the first big descent into a forested area that I would have thought beautiful under other circumstances.

There are many ways I was not prepared for Gila. I rarely ride more than 50 miles (I’ve rode more than 75 miles maybe three times, and even then never at race pace and never consecutively). My local races are typically much shorter, with an average field size of 25 compared to Gila’s 60 riders, and I’ve yet to master the art of getting where I want to be in a large pack. But perhaps most importantly, my native training ground is gloriously flat. These “hills” were a new kind of beast, where the draft doesn’t save you and the narrow, snaking descents can kill you, with top speeds hitting more than 50mph.

Desperately trying to catch back on to the peloton – I could see them up the road now; a major split had occurred and the lead group of 20 or so riders had pulled away – I was taking the turns of the descent as fast as I dared. A rider stopped for a flat tire just ahead of me and there was another chaotic reshuffling of team cars like the day before – I had to slam on my brakes and come to a complete stop, then get back to it again. I caught up to the peloton a few minutes later. This time I told myself I was going to spit up blood before I let them drop me again, so I just put my head down and suffered through each hill, praying for the next downhill to come soon. The descents, however, weren’t always a good time to rest because I was dodging other riders, my hands clamped firmly on the brakes, readying myself for whatever happened up the road and what I couldn’t see beyond the next turn. This was especially true of the last descent. To quote the Gila Race Bible: “At 28.7 miles, Wild Horse Mesa is the start of a very technical 1,000+ foot drop. This 3 mile descent has numerous sharp corners, hairpins and two switchbacks.” Understatement.

My teammate Melanie had made the first selection, and Julie and Caitlin were comfortable in the second pack with me, Julie often pulling at the front, but I genuinely thought I might die before the end. My legs – or rather, my whole body – felt horrible.

From roughly mile 30 to mile 60, the route is relatively flat. All of the big teams had someone in the break; in this flat section, the pace finally slowed enough that I started thinking about water and nothing else. I’d skipped all of the previous feed zones, since I had full bottles then and was barely clinging to the back, but now I was completely out and our team car was up the road with Melanie. When I looked down at the cue sheet taped to my toptube for the mile marker of the next feed zone, I discovered that it was more than 20 miles away.

The SRAM car, again, saved my life by providing neutral water. Also, Now and Novartis has probably become my favorite pro team for all eternity – when I asked if there was water anywhere, anywhere, one of their riders explained that I could go back to the SRAM car, and then asked later if I’d found it. (I’d already received a noncommittal, rather disdainful response from another team’s rider, and only true agony allowed me to swallow my pride and ask again.)

There were a few climbs in the last 10 miles where I was sure someone was going to attack and I was going to be dropped again, but I think the pack had lost its incentive to push the pace. We’d been told at one point that the lead pack had 15 minutes on us. Our group of about 35 riders was all together coming into the finishing straight, stretched out across the whole road and three or four deep, and I was stuck right at the center of it with no way to get out. I was certain that was it, after 79 miles of hell I was going to crash 100 meters from the finish line. I kept waiting for them to start the sprint, but no one did, until finally we were crossing the line at the same steady pace and someone to my right was saying, “Ah, these girls are smart!” The peloton had decided to come in together, which would give us all the same pack finish time and prevent the riders who lost out in the sprint from not meeting the time cut. Now I was extremely grateful that my mistake in positioning had prevented me from making a much bigger one.

The first rider had crossed the line about 18 minutes ahead of us. I went back to our cabin in Silver City and immediately fell into bed, with “this is only the second day, only the second day, only the second day...” stuck in my head like the chorus of a song.

Stage 2 Results

Day 3, Lesson Learned

The 16-mile time trial was what I’d been looking forward to initially. No tactics, no real racing experience required, just going hard. But I was a little nervous about my brand new, UCI-legal setup. I’d only had a chance to ride my TT bike one or two times since we’d replaced my very comfortable and time-tested, but UCI-illegal,Vision aero bars with the 3T Aura. We’d also moved my saddle backward a few centimeters.

Jack had been researching the UCI’s strange and obscure rule system for some time, but we quickly found out that what each UCI race enforces differs widely. The Vision aero bars that we had spent so much money on to replace passed for other riders, as did the Cervelo P2 seatpost – the seatpost, however, was less of an annoyance since we’d merely attached a styrofoam cup to it with electrical tape, which could easily be removed.

But there were other problems to contend with. First, the officials declared that my seat was tilted too much – they said it had to come up 3 degrees, or in other words, be flat, regardless of the fact that the Adamo seat is designed with a slight rise in the back. We had to point the nose of the seat up, which meant I had to also adjust the seat height; the result was still very uncomfortable. Many other pro riders were being cited for this “problem” as well. Second, the officials said my extensions were pointed up too much. The only way to fix this was to point my base bar down, turning what had been an airfoil shape into a carbon fiber parachute. Then, after we made these changes and went back through the line again, they said that the seat was now too far forward (a result of lowering the seatpost) and it had to be moved back another centimeter.

I went through the line three times, which took the better part of an hour because the pro men were coming through for their start at the same time and had priority. I’m always extremely nervous before a TT anyway, but by the last go with the officials my cortisol levels were through the roof. I was also convinced that when I went through the final time on my way to staging they were going to find something new and they’d have to take me off screaming to the nuthouse in my cleats and pointy aero helmet.

For what it’s worth, the officials were apologetic and didn’t seem to like enforcing the UCI rules any better than we liked swallowing them. Thankfully, they didn’t say anything about my setup before the start, although we went through the whole tape-measuring rigmarole a fourth time. Then, by some miracle, I was finally allowed to do what I had come here for – race.

Gila’s TT course was, again, nothing like what I’d experienced before. Unlike Austin’s rollers, these hills took planning. I had to measure out my power carefully. After Hammerfest’s TT, I had learned that I needed to stick to a lower number in the first, flat section no matter how slow it felt. The way out was a long, gradual uphill for about four miles, followed by a steeper incline and then a long, very fast downhill. Even though I’d told myself I was going to follow my power goals, I was still going a little too hard on the way out. My legs felt alive again, nothing like the day before, and I seemed to be gaining on at least one of the girls ahead of me.

Then somewhere near the turnaround point I got passed like I was on a weekend joyride by a woman in an Exergy Twenty12 kit (and no, it wasn’t Kristin Armstrong). Think the tortoise and the hare, except it was probably more like the tortoise and the McLaren F1. It’s hard to describe what went on in my head in that instant. “How...who...am I going that slow? Wait!” I don’t think I’ve ever been passed by another woman in a TT when I was on my full TT setup, or certainly never so definitively.

I tried to just stick to my own, predesignated pace, but my legs took on a life of their own. She’ll beat my time, I was thinking, but I could at least try to minimize the damage by keeping the distance about the same. It would push me, and that would be a good thing. Going back up the big hill around mile 11 – this was the finale, really, as it was virtually all coasting in to the finish on a gradual downhill after that – she made it look deceptively easy and steady. I was up and down out of the saddle, my lungs ready to burst, and when I did look down at my head unit I was still at a much lower power than what I’d planned for. After I crested the hill, I don’t think I saw her again.

I wasn’t quite spinning out on the downhill but I was very close. After a few gasping breaths at the beginning I felt like I had a little more juice but couldn't do anything with it. I counted to a hundred over and over again, my feet spinning as fast as I could make them go. The rider ahead of me that I thought I would pass stayed the same maddening distance away, and I could do nothing to increase my speed. There was just one very short flat at the line, a few moments to pick up the pace again before it was over.

Kristin Armstrong finished in 37:13. That’s a 787 jet to my yet more pitiful-seeming tortoise, waddling in a full 5:39 behind. I placed 24th overall.

Stage 3 Results

Day 4, Silver City Souvenir

I think the worst part of racing with a completely new group of people in a completely new setting is you don’t know what to expect. The crit had my stomach in knots long before we started, my one consolation that it would be roughly 27 miles, 25 laps in total. I told myself that I was capable of hanging onto anything for an hour. I’d heard the pack typically stayed together in this stage, so as long as I managed to not get dropped I wouldn’t lose much time in GC.

Gila’s crit course is unusually hilly. Situated in the middle of town and ringed by a nice-sized crowd, it was roughly square, with one windy, flat straightaway on one side and a steep hill on the opposite side with an equally steep downhill. At 18, 12, and 6 laps to go there were time bonuses, sprinter points, and primes.

Before the race started they called up the top 15 in GC and listed out their national and international accomplishments. (As if I needed any more intimidation, but it at least made me feel better about getting dropped on the second day.) When the race started, I was saying silent thank yous to the Driveway Series for preparing me for this moment – Patrick Darragh in particular, those first few crits of the season. We launched into a sprint from the gun and from there it was top speed around the next two corners and up the big hill. The pace didn’t slow as we continued onto the next lap and the next, and I knew if it were the Driveway 3/4 men’s race half the field would have been dropped or begging for mercy. This was going to be an extremely fast hour.

I haven’t crashed since last year, and I’ve only crashed once, but since I obviously couldn’t go a single stage without visiting my SRAM support friends, it happened on the third lap. Just around the corner as we started up the hill the pack suddenly slowed and there was a massive, synchronized wobble in front of us – “uh oh,” I thought, “someone is going to go down ahead of me” – and then I noticed that my front wheel was locked to the back wheel of the rider to my right. I can’t really tell you what happened then, except that I was perfectly calm and still thinking I could wiggle my way free, and then it felt like a sumo wrestler picked me up and slammed me on the ground.

As I got up and tried to get back on my bike, I made some very undignified sorry-for-myself noises; I was surprised and embarrassed and the left side of my body was stinging at all the bony points where skin had scraped pavement. And my bike didn’t seem to be going anywhere – the chain was stuck. I looked back at the other rider who had crashed, but she was walking her bike, seeming unscathed and extremely annoyed. I couldn’t tell where she was going, and she certainly didn’t seem to be in any hurry. I started running my bike up the hill as if I was in triathlon transition, asking anyone and everyone on the sidelines where I should go. I knew there were two wheel pits – one near the start/finish and the other somewhere up ahead, but I couldn’t see either, and I didn’t know which was technically closer or how best to go about getting there. Jack came sprinting down the hill when he saw me, thinking I’d had another freak mechanical, but he was afraid to touch the bike because he wasn’t sure if I’d be disqualified. Finally I saw the wheel pit, and the other rider who had crashed rode slowly by me to my right. Just before I got to the mechanics, someone said dryly – “You know you don’t have to run.” Good advice, but too late.

With a crash, or in most cases even if you get caught behind a crash, you get a free lap. After they fixed the chain, the mechanics held my bike and gave me a push just as the pack came by. With the adrenaline rush, it wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be to catch on to the back and get started again, but then the race seemed to go on forever. Sprinting out of the corner onto the long straightaway, the slow-by-comparison back half, the sprint up the hill, resting on the fast downhill and the long slope after the turn, then repeating the process again and again and again... A crit isn’t terribly exciting when all your courage is gone and you’re bobbing off the back for the duration.

Julie stayed up near the front for most of the race, in a great position. Melanie was back near me, although always seemingly more in control of the situation. I saw her surge suddenly and move up on the last lap but didn’t understand why until half a dozen riders were riding slowly in the middle of the road ahead of me, their jobs done and content to cruise in to the finish. I dodged them and kept my place at the back of the riders still vying for position, happy to have finished with the pack at all.



Stage 4 Results

Day 5, Final Ascent
The final day’s Gila Monster Road Race started at Gough Park, the same venue as stage 1, and then traced most of stage 2’s course backward, so it seemed like the week really had come full circle. I felt surprisingly good, as if my body had finally adjusted to the daily beating. And I knew where we were going and what the roads and hills would look like, even if I was dreading the final climb.

The race started out on some rollers, the pace fast but not too fast, and an early break got away with most of the teams represented and stayed away for a long time. Colavita was the only large team not in the break, and they put in a coordinated and sustained effort to get it back. In the end we were successful in catching the leaders, but another group got away soon after, and when they had about a minute on the field and had reached the start of the final climb, Kristin Armstrong bridged up to them and, shortly after, attacked the break... Jack, who was driving our team car for the final stage, heard this on his radio, but I was fairly oblivious to it all. Once again, I was conserving my energy for the climb, and after five days of racing with this field I had much more modest expectations for myself.

The climb started at around 53 miles, going up the same steep, technical descent we’d come down on Thursday. The pack immediately split apart, every rider hammering up the road in her own bubble of pain. The road did level out in sections, however, and having fallen off of the small group of riders ahead of me, it was very difficult to get them back. I could see Melanie riding with them, extra incentive to keep trying. I caught them just after a descent, and then decided my goal would be to stay with the group, help Melanie when I could, and maybe try to get ahead of the other teams in the sprint at the end. For a time I thought I hadn’t gone hard enough and I could be doing more, but on the final, short rise to the line I felt a deep ache consuming my legs like a slow-burning fire, and I wondered if I was going to fall over before the end of the sprint, and if I did, if I could just walk to the line. But I made it on two wheels, relieved at last to have finished Gila and, best of all, to not have another race to wake up to the next morning.

Stage 5 Results
Final GC Results

To Sum it Up
I’ve been asked whether Tour of the Gila was “fun.” Even looking back from a comfortable distance, I have to say that no, it wasn’t; I’d probably go with “character building.” But those five days were invaluable to me. I have a little over a year of racing experience, maybe three years in total of bike training, and I had the opportunity and the privilege to race alongside the most talented and famous women cyclists in the world. Even if I had to abandon my dignity for a while and come to terms with the fact that I couldn’t always keep up with them, Gila was an experience I wouldn’t trade for anything.

Thank yous:
To Landis/Trek, for letting me be a part of the team for a week; to the awesome EMS team that got Silver City’s gravel out of my elbow post-race; and to the owners and staff at the Silver City KOA, whose cabins and facilities were excellent and whose enthusiasm and friendliness were truly one of a kind.

Kudos to Silver City and the organizers and sponsors of Tour of the Gila for putting on a world-class race!

2012 Galveston 70.3 Race Report

by Marla Briley, Snapple-ATC Racing

April 2, 2005, was the first year that I drove to Galveston for their annual triathlon. I don’t even remember what they called it back then, but it was a tiny race of no more than maybe 300 people spread over a 70.3 and Olympic distance race. In the coming years, EndorFUN Sports took over and turned Galveston into LoneStar and into a first-class racing experience that drew participants from all over Texas. It still had the small-town feel to it, though, and I enjoyed racing with my friends, knowing over half the participants. The pro field was small and the race was more about the age groupers and their 70.3 experience. In 2011 that all changed. Ironman took over and LoneStar became the Memorial Hermann Ironman 70.3 Texas and a qualifier for 70.3 Worlds. The feel became more corporate, and the competition got tougher. Pros started showing up to toe the line, and before you knew it, Galveston became a destination race, with participants traveling from all over the U.S. and from other countries, as well. 2011 was the second year that Galveston was to be an Ironman event. This year, the pro field was stacked, and with the announcement that Lance Armstrong would be racing, the race filled as did hotels all over Galveston.

If you decide to sign up and race Galveston, let me suggest getting there the Friday before the race to pick up your packet. This year, due to work obligations, I arrived on Saturday and went straight to Moody Gardens, the fun, family center where the race is held. I had to park over half a mile away and waited almost 30 minutes in the sun to pick up my packet and fill out my waivers. Mandatory bike check-in is on Saturday, so after waiting in packet pickup line, I wandered over to the bike drop-off line. I had to laugh at the number of women, myself included, taking pictures of their bikes hanging lonely from their place on the rack. My business done for the day, it was now time to find my friends and head to an early dinner.

Race day dawned windy and humid, which is typical of Galveston. My friends and I made our way to Moody Gardens, arriving at 5:30 a.m. to a line of cars that stretched around the block. By 5:50 am we were parked and walking the one-mile trek to transition. By the time transition closed at 6:45am, I had everything ready, was at my spot, and was relaxing in the grass waiting for the pros to start at 7 a.m. My wave wouldn’t go off until 8:05 a.m. That would give me plenty of time to watch the pros exit the water and then to meander my way roughly a mile to the swim start. Around 24 minutes after they started, a group of guys erupted from the water and there were some polite claps and “good jobs.” Then Lance Armstrong came out, and the crowds went wild. There were cameras following along as he made his way towards his bike and people rushing along beside him. I kind of felt sorry for him. I’d hate to have that much attention on me while trying to smoothly make my way through T1.

Back to my race... The swim begins with a deepwater start. My wave hopped in and we treaded water, taking our places as well as taking care of last-minute business. Don’t open your mouth in the first 100 meters of the swim. I yelled out a “Have Fun,” and all the women erupted in cheers. Then the horn went off and we forgot our goodwill and started hacking at each other while we fought for our bit of water. The swim starts straight into the sun for 400 meters, so bring your tinted goggles. You then make a very sharp left-hand turn and head west for about 1,000 meters, making another sharp left to head in towards shore. I exited the water and was excited to see wet suit strippers! They got my suit off on the second try, and I was up and running towards my bike.

On went the sunglasses, helmet, race number, then shoes, in that order. I grabbed my bike and un-racked it right into my neighbors transition items. She had set up her transition under my back wheel. Big no-no on her part and a big problem for me as my tire valve hooked her bag. I pulled and when I did it pulled my valve, letting all the air out of my back tubular. With some effort, I unhooked the bag from my wheel, not realizing what had happened. I ran to the mount line, executed my clumsy mount and immediately knew something was wrong. I hopped off again, and the whole time volunteers are yelling at me to get going. This is when I wish triathlon were like road racing. I’d really like a neutral wheel, and someone to help me put it on, about now. I'm desperately hunting for a bike mechanic. One volunteer pointed me back into transition where the mechanic tent was set up, on the complete opposite side from where I am now standing. I start hobbling back that way, as fast as my bike shoes will let me go. Halfway there I realize there is no one in the mechanic tent so I turn around and hobble back out, again. Note to Ironman - I was not the only one having issues at this point. I believe it would be a good idea to have more than one bike mechanic in bike transition. A volunteer tells me there is a SAG vehicle about 100 meters around the first turn. Side note - I do have the Fix-A-Flat can on my bike, but I run tubulars and I only have the one can. I’m saving it for a possible flat out on the course. As I’m heading to the SAG vehicle, which I’m just hoping is there, I see a spectator on the side with a pump. I ask to borrow the pump (yes, I know this is illegal) and pump my tire up. I send up a quick prayer to the tire gods and off I go.

The Galveston bike has and always will be windy. There is no real headwind or tailwind, just a constant side wind. I think it must be a little bit like Chinese Water Torture except instead of a constant drop of water, it’s the constant blowing of the wind. The course is as flat as a pancake so be ready to be aero the entire 56 miles. With around 10 miles till the turn around, I started noticing the bumps were a little more pronounced and realized my tire was going flat again. I figured I’d make it to the halfway point, find a volunteer with a pump, and pump it back up. No such luck, though. There was no pump or SAG and I decided it was time to pull out the Fix-A-Flat. The Fix-A-Flat shoots air along with some sort of miracle foam into your tube. It helps to plug up leaks, which I obviously still had, and air up your tire, all in one. It didn’t get me back up to my 120 psi, but good enough, and like the Willie song says, I was “on the road again.” The tire held and I made my way back to T2 and the 13.2 miles of hell to come.

Back into Moody Gardens, off the bike and onto the run course. I want to make a comment here. I really wish that they would let us run along the sea wall. Not only is it cooler out there but to have the chance to run along the Gulf would be spectacular. Instead, they force us to run three loops around buildings, through parking lots making a funny “L” shape turn, out in the middle of the air field. It is hot, with not a breath of air in parts, boring, and fairly unimaginative. The volunteers are great, though, and there are areas where the crowds are thick and their cheering spurs you on. By the third loop, I was cooked. The salt water having removed my sunscreen, I was sunburned and could feel the multiple blisters on my feet. I shuffled my way towards the finish line, crossed it to the incorrect pronunciation of my name, and got my finishers cap and medal. At the end of the day, what mattered most was that I traversed the obstacles before me and finished. Actually, what mattered more was that there were margaritas and great seafood ready to be eaten in celebration of another race done!

Racing with the Girls: 2012 Spring Season Recap

Driveway Photo by Jim Hicks

by Kat Hunter, Snapple-ATC Racing

I love a good underdog story. There’s something more genuine about the unexpected, more inspiring. Domestique Johan Vansummeren’s Paris Roubaix win, citizen runner Yuki Kawauchi’s performance at the 2011 Tokyo Marathon, pro triathlete Jeff Symond’s third place behind Craig Alexander and Chris Lieto at Ironman 70.3 Worlds last year... “I’m still not sure I’m not dreaming right now,” Symonds said in a post-race interview.

Women’s sports are truly the underdogs of the underdogs, and bike racing is a prime example. Cycling is not a particularly high-profile sport in the U.S. – Lance Armstrong is its one well-known and controversial celebrity – but within this humble subset of professional and amateur competition, women’s cycling is even more obscure, if not downright invisible.

This year, however, women’s racing in Texas has elbowed its way deeper into the limelight. Most of the early season races have had large women’s fields, and several new, dedicated women’s teams have come onto the scene, including Snapple-ATC Racing and Bicycles Outback p/b Jubilee Mitsubishi. The Ghisallo Foundation is actively recruiting women new to bike racing by offering a trial program and discounted membership. Week after week, teams like Think Finance Racing, Team Seton Brain and Spine, Austin Flyers, Colavita, 787 Racing, Shama Cycles, Bike Barn, Kind Human Sports, and Velossimo are well represented in local women’s races. The FCS/Rouse elite women’s team, a powerhouse of Dallas-area and out-of-state riders, has been a dominating force at regional and national events. Last week, FCS/Rouse’s Kathryn Donovan placed fourth in the Redlands Bicycle Classic time trial on the heels of Megan Guarnier, Amber Neben, and Alison Powers.

It’s an exciting time to be competing as a woman in Texas. Race attendance has slowly but steadily increased over the past three years, and from spring to fall, every weekend offers another opportunity to race a Texas Cup event. Pro and former pro riders like Shontelle Gauthier, Jen McRae, and Jen Purcell regularly compete at the Driveway Series and other area races. This weekend, the Come and Take It Omnium is attracting national pros with a practically unheard of payout equal to the pro men – $6,499 in total.

Many of the best stories of women’s racing remain untold and uncelebrated, its heroes unsung. But if there’s one thing that the often unrewarded, overlooked underdog has claim to beyond the epic Eye-of- the-Tiger sports training montage, it’s purity of heart. Nowhere will you find a more lovely or genuine group of people, or a community so truly devoted to the love of cycling.

Race Reportage

Ultra Provocatorio | Tour of New Braunfels | Alsatian Omnium
Pace Bend | Walburg | Lago Vista | Driveway Spring Classic | Fayetteville Stage Race

I thought I trained hard in college and later, too, when I was competing in running and multisport events. Compared to this year, though, it was all just a leisurely stroll. I’ve never worked out so hard or so long in my life. Since my coach, Gray Skinner, began setting my workouts at the beginning of February, this year’s training regimen has taken the stuffing out of my legs, run it through a meat grinder, and then briefly put it back before beginning the cycle all over again.

In addition to my aching muscles and new tunnel vision on cycling, this season has offered my first opportunity to race as part of a cycling team, and a very talented one. Snapple-ATC Racing is unique in that most of our riders don’t just compete in bike races, but also in triathlon and running events. As anyone who has ever attempted combining these sports knows well, the workload and race schedules involved often stretch a person quite thin. At the moment, I’m the only Snapple-ATCer who has given up her running shoes and gone full roadie. We’ve had two “team” races so far, La Primavera Lago Vista and the Fayetteville Stage Race, and are looking forward to competing in more events this summer.

I started bike racing last year and am by no means the smartest rider in the peloton. Fortunately, I learn a little more with every race. Below are my personal and inexpert accounts of the events I attended this season.

Ultra Provocatorio Invitationale, Jan. 7

An informal, muy romantico five-person team trial hosted by Team Wooly Mammoth. Read Missy Ruthven’s Snapple-ATC report here.

Tour of New Braunfels Road Race, Jan. 29

After a somewhat haphazard “off season,” I was extremely nervous about getting back to business. I raced only the second day of ToNB. Team Seton Brain and Spine’s Jenny Park had won the previous day’s crit, and Brain and Spine, with the largest team presence, was also favored to win the second day. Though the Women’s 3 and Women’s Open races were combined, it was a small field. Thankfully, everyone else’s legs, like mine, seemed to still be waking up from the long hibernation.

Moving at a fairly slow pace, the pack stayed together until the “big” hill on the final lap, when Brain and Spine was suddenly off the back and 787’s Jenn Mix organized a paceline to maintain the gap. I didn’t look behind me to see what had happened, but I knew that whatever it was – mechanical, flat, or crash – everyone in the front pack had incentive to keep it away. We worked together until the final, cautious approach to the finish, where the sprint seemed to start from a dead stop with less than 100 meters to go. Velossimo’s Michelle Hayner and I were neck and neck in the sprint, literally screaming as we crossed the finish line. Michelle took first place, with me in second and Bicycle Heaven’s Shannon Gaffney in third.

Alsation Country Omnium, Feb. 4 & 5

Two days of chilly, epic early season racing, with a first across the board for Snapple-ATC. Check out my full race report and Bicycle Outback’s very cool video compilation and race report.

Walburg Road Race, Feb. 25

This was my first year to compete at Walburg and Pace Bend, legends of the Texas racing calendar. Apparently Walburg – “Wal-brrr-g” – is typically cold and rainy, but this year it sent Mineral Wells the clouds, leaving us with near perfect weather. The weekend fell in the middle of my first hefty block of training, and it taught me a few very important lessons about bike racing. First, a simple metaphor: You’ve only got so much power in the tank, and you have to decide what you’re going to do with it. You can, say, bake a half dozen 400-watt cookies or one 900-watt cake, but not both.

At Walburg, FCS/Rouse's initial attack came in the first few miles, if not the first mile. Rachel Warner would take first place with something like a 10-minute lead. The phrase “gift-wrapped” came to mind, with absolutely no attempt to chase from the pack. It hurt my pride to see Rouse just walk away, and from there I didn’t so much have a strategy as an overwhelming sense of impatience. I didn’t know when to cut my losses, and as a solo rider, I made a race that was very easy for everyone else very hard for myself with short and futile attacks, to no conceivable benefit. When Katie Donovan soloed away for second in the final few miles of the race, I very much wanted to go with her, but could only watch in despair as she rode away.

Important lesson No. 2 was imparted at the end: always know where the finish line is. It was a multiple-lap course, so I had no excuse. I burned the last of my matches catching the lead group, which started the sprint very early. Then they suddenly slowed toward the top of the hill, and I slowed behind them, thinking I was wrong about the finish and this was just the feed zone and lord help me who knows how far the finish line actually is... And of course they took off again because it was right there, Rouse just didn’t want to do a leadout for the competition, and now my legs were blocks of wood that simply wouldn’t move. Passed, passed, passed again, finishing in ninth place. Rouse took the podium, with Rachel Warner in first, Kathryn Donovan in second, and Lauren Stephens in third.

Pace Bend Road Race, Feb. 26

Pace Bend taught me another series of important lessons, but this time not because I was learning from my mistakes, but mostly because I was tired enough that I was incapable of making my usual ones. When we rolled out at the line, all I could think was that I had no business being there and it was going to be an embarrassing day. I prayed to the fickle gods of bike racing, just this once, for a flat tire. But it was a good experience. With my legs aching, I had to sit in and I had to let other riders chase down attacks, and every ounce of leftover energy was spent in simple observation.

The course was a one-way, six-mile loop largely closed to traffic, with no center-line rule. I think everyone expected FCS/Rouse, which at eight riders had the biggest and strongest team by far, to send out attacks until something stuck, and that’s exactly what they did. But at Pace Bend the pack responded very differently than at Walburg. Breaks rarely got far before they were reeled back in. Teammates were working for each other, and there were a couple of riders taking hard pulls at the front who hadn’t been at Walburg. Also, several riders attempted to bridge each time a break was established, which spurred the pack to move. At one point there was a very strong group of women up the road, and I thought, “Ah, that’s the one.” But they spent more time looking back than forward, and it was clear that something, or someone, wasn’t working.

In the end, FCS/Rouse’s strategy succeeded, but I considered it an honorable and hard-won victory. This time there was no conciliatory gift-wrapping. Rouse had worn a lot of the main players down, and the final attack seemed well timed. Rachel Warner took first place with another solo break – this time, I’m proud to say for the rest of the pack, not by 10 minutes.

I was careful to position myself near the front of the pack well before the last curve, and I gave absolutely everything I had to hang with the front group through the final stretch. In the field sprint that followed Rachel Warner to the line, FCS/Rouse’s Mary Maroon took second place, Brain and Spine’s Kim Ciolli took third, 787 Racing’s Jen McRae took fourth, and I crossed the line in fifth. I felt clever for maybe the first time. I finally understood the riders who refuse to touch the wind, no matter what happens in a race. It’s sometimes a gamble that pays off.

Read Maggi Finley’s Snapple-ATC Women’s 4 race report from Pace Bend and Bicycle Outback’s Walburg and Pace Bend race report (with more video).

La Primavera Lago Vista, Mar. 3

La Primavera Lago Vista is two days of road racing on the same hilly 5.5-mile loop, clockwise on Saturday and counterclockwise on Sunday. Saturday’s race was Snapple-ATC’s first team event, with Marla Briley, Maggi Finley, Missy Ruthven, and myself on the roster.

We had a great day, but it didn’t go anything like what I’d expected. The race started at a crawl. I’d had another hard week of training, and my legs were protesting with pins and needles, but they felt better whenever the pace began to pick up and even out. Bicycles Outback was making some early attacks, and I attempted one of my own. The pack wasn’t hesitating in the chase, shutting every break down quickly.

On the back stretch, there was a long and steep downhill, and there the pack was flying. Every once in a while I would see one of my teammates come up on my left or right, but they were doing a good job of sitting in – I speak from experience when I say that this is a very difficult thing for a multisport athlete to do.

On the prime lap, Maggi launched a successful attack, gapping the field, but Austin Flyer’s Shontelle Gauthier was on her wheel and came around just before the line to take the $100 prime. That hard effort right before the steep hill was just what was needed to split the pack apart, though. I broke away with a lead group of about four or five riders, and I thought that was it, that was going to be the race; we were working decently well together as a group and there seemed to be plenty of us. The pack was committed to bringing us back, however, and after a few laps, they seemed to have done it. Oddly enough, when it looked like they were breathing down on our necks, Sheri Rothe bridged up, the pack fell off again, and we were away for another lap or half lap.

Our break was caught on the hill near the line by what was left of the pack, and here my teammate Missy Ruthven did the perfect thing by counterattacking at full throttle. I wanted to cheer. It was my first team experience of sitting in while I watched my teammate ride off into the sunset. A chase group formed moments later, which Maggi bridged up to, and I should have bridged up to. By the time I tried it, I was much too late, but I caught up to Maggi in No Man’s Land for some fun, if pointless, team TTing.

Up ahead of us, the chase group had merged with Missy’s original three-woman breakaway. Missy, still worried about the main pack, spent a lot of time on the front in the last lap. She came in sixth in the sprint, and Maggi and I, the first stragglers across the line, were seventh and eighth. First place went to Shontelle, second to Team La’Sport’s Louise Smyth, and third to Bicycle Outback’s Sheri Rothe.

Click here for Bicycle Outback’s race report.

Driveway Spring Classic, Mar. 11

The Driveway Spring Classic was the kickoff event for the Driveway’s 32 weeks of Thursday night races, a chance to officially brush away the winter cobwebs.

The 50-minute crit ran the full course clockwise and up the corkscrew. The previous day’s torrential rainstorms were nowhere in sight, and the weather was warm and clear. We had a field of 18 riders in the Women’s 1/2/3 race. I was in two small breaks – a prime shook up the pack for the first, and Team Brain and Spine initiated the second. Neither would last, but both stayed away just long enough for me to hope they might. Bicycles Outback did a very efficient and merciless job of returning us to the fold.

On the last lap, in the final straightaway before the corkscrew, Bicycles Outback lined up at the front and put the hammer down. I was in the middle of the pack and my legs felt good; I still planned to go for it. I cranked it up to pass along the right side, but en route quickly thought, “Nope, nope, better stay right here.” I had moved forward, at least, and was now in a good spot for the field sprint.

Except when we rode up the corkscrew I had my first experience with the candy-striped rumble strips on the right side. Pushed out by the rider to my left, I screamed, “Inside, inside!” before my inevitable teeth-rattling detour into terrain I had long feared. At last year’s Driveway races, especially when shorter daylight hours turned the Men’s 3/4 into the Men’s 3/4/5, I’d seen many riders forget on the final lap that the right side wasn’t smooth and try to squeeze through on the curb. The results were ungraceful, to say the least, but also sometimes fully acrobatic. When I was back on pavement, I didn’t have time to appreciate how I’d gotten there minus the obligatory somersaults. The sprint was already starting.

I was in a fairly good position before the last curve, but Shontelle Gauthier finished ahead of me by approximately one light year. I took second, with SV/Bike Source Racing’s Kirsten Fee in third.

Fayetteville Stage Race, Mar. 17 & 18

Fayetteville was one of my first bike races last year, a humbling experience. (Click here for 2011’s race report.) The surroundings looked the same – there was the old dance hall, the line of porta potties, the cheerful jumble of bikes and people and cars in the parking lot – but everything else was different. This year, I had an idea of what to expect, and I was here with teammates. Everything was more laidback and fun, but I also knew that we had a legitimate shot at the win.

In Saturday's 46-mile road race, the first lap was fairly slow. Then Colavita’s Suzy Snell soloed away, and the pack gave chase. At the KOM on the second lap, I was first up the hill in the quest for bonus time, followed by Sheri Rothe and Jenn Mix. Not long after, Kathleen Hattaway went all-in for a solo break, pulling away from us so far and so fast that I was worried she had it won, especially since no one in the pack was chasing.

My teammates saved the day, and my legs. Leah worked hard to get the pack moving, launching several strong attacks. Missy took a blistering pull at the front, settling into time trial mode for what was probably two or three miles. It took a long time to bring Kathleen back into striking distance. Maybe it wasn’t the best strategy, but when Kathleen was close enough that I knew it would just take one final push to catch her, I figured the best way to get Missy back in the draft was if I took her place. But I must have surged – I’m often accused of this in pacelines – or having Missy and Bicycles Outback at the front kept anyone else from latching onto my wheel, because when I looked back at the top of the next hill, the pack was suddenly gone and Sheri Rothe was bridging up to join me.

Sheri, Kathleen, and I worked together briefly. Kathleen had already put in a huge effort, and I was pushing the pace up the hills. She fell off just before 1K to go, and I knew this late in the game Sheri would have no reason to work with me so I didn’t bother wiggling my elbow. I just went as fast as I could, which was barely enough to beat her to the line. Kathleen held the pack off for third. We’d picked up the time bonuses for the top three finishers, and Sheri and I now also had about 30 seconds on the field.

I was dreading that afternoon’s 8.9-mile time trial. In addition to the normal pressure of placing well and collecting time in the GC, I had a bet hanging over my head, compliments of my husband – it was ATC’s Don Ruthven versus me. Racing the Men’s 35+ 4/5, Don was finished long before my start, and he’d put in a good time. I hadn’t eaten much more than PopTarts and granola bars and was starting to feel both hungry and sick. My competitors made good-natured jokes in the start line. “BE NICE KAT HUNTER!” Kim Ciolli shouted as she rolled out. Time trials are my strength.

But the one good thing about TTs is that all the little worries go away once you get started. In fact, your brain often completely stops working. Suddenly forgetting how to use my computer, I’m pushing the buttons frantically as the clock is ticking seconds before my start and still fiddling with it as I get going, since by hitting all the wrong buttons I had messed up the display. But from there I settled into a perfectly painful rhythm, and the first part of the course was great. I was slotted second to last, so I had plenty of riders to chase, though soon enough my focus was limited to breathing and monitoring my dwindling power. I was still ahead of my power goal when I reached the back side of the course, where I’d been warned that I’d be hitting a stiff headwind and hills. Through the first five miles, I’d been saying to myself, “But I feel so good.”

The last four miles were soul-crushing, every bit as hard as people had said. It’s disheartening to be moving so slow when moments before you’d felt like Speedy Gonzales. Or when you most want to be done, to have the distance tick by like you’ll be there for all eternity, Rip Van Winkle frozen in the aero position with white knuckles and an awful grimace on his bearded face. I don’t think you’re really time trialing until you ask yourself whether death is preferable. Somehow or another I had gotten the idea that the course was about half a mile shorter than it actually was, so when the finish was still nowhere in sight at 8.5 miles, this was my biggest disappointment of the year thus far.

But I made it, first place in the TT and yes, even fast enough to beat Don Ruthven. My teammate Missy took second in the TT, which put her third in GC and only four seconds behind Sheri Rothe in second. Marla was tenth in the TT, and Leah, on a borrowed TT bike for her first-ever experience racing in the aero bars, was 20th overall. She’d had a flat somewhere on the course but didn’t notice until she’d crossed the finish line, so we don’t even know how many hardman points to give her.

Sunday’s road race, the final stage, was very dramatic. I had enough time on the field that I was safe with a pack finish, so I was planning to work for Missy like she’d worked for me the day before. During the first part of the race, Marla covered attacks and took a long pull at the front. Today I didn’t need the KOM time bonus but I didn’t want Missy’s competition to get it, so I took off at the bottom of the hill. Velossimo’s Michelle Hayner was with me for the fast ascent, third across the line, and Brain and Spine’s Nadia Barrera came around to the left to beat me to first. A few miles later, Sheri’s sudden flat was a boon for our team – if she didn’t finish with the pack, Missy would move up to second in GC.

At first the pack was moving. A few breaks formed early after Sheri flatted, which kept the pack chasing. I figured it was a sure thing that she wouldn’t catch back on. But Sheri had her Bicycles Outback teammates to help her – Kathleen actually turned around when she found out what had happened. Leah wasn’t able to make it to Sunday’s race, and Marla had fallen off, so I didn’t have teammates to help me in the paceline. The pack was really struggling to work together.

Karma was still in our favor when out of all the wheels in the wheel truck, Sheri was handed Marla’s particularly unsuitable spare. Sheri definitely gets extra credit for riding back up to the pack and finishing fourth in the field sprint on one 650c wheel. Always clever, Sheri rested a little before she made contact and then stayed out of sight tucked behind the last riders. She was probably already in when I was guilt-tripping the riders at the front – “A paceline is not that hard!” Negativity doesn’t work on me so I try to avoid using it myself, but my frustration was bubbling over. Very few people were working in the paceline, and riders who weren’t were still pulling to the front and then just getting in the way.

Don and Missy Ruthven, owners of ATC

After I saw Sheri’s long braid and knew that we’d squandered the opportunity that had fallen in our laps, I started racing not-so-smart. I wanted to keep the pace up to improve Missy’s chances in the sprint, so I sat on the front for a good portion of the last lap, but there was a headwind and I’m sure everyone behind me was still resting up nicely. At that point, the race was certain to be a field sprint, and I was planning to bide my time until we were closer in, but at probably about 400 or 500 meters to go Kathleen Hattaway took off. I followed her and when she peeled off, didn’t slow up. Everyone else moved over to the left once the sprint zone opened up, reading the wind. No one was in my draft, though, and I knew it would be pointless to try to correct my mistake that late in the game. I just went full speed ahead, still managing to make it first across the line. Brain and Spine’s Kim Ciolli was second and, unfortunately for Snapple-ATC, 787 Racing’s Jenn Mix was third, which moved her ahead of Missy in the GC. In addition to the third-place time bonus, Missy had lost time in the sprint, finishing about 10 seconds back from Jenn.

But we were very happy with our team performance. Everyone on the team had worked hard to earn our first- and fourth-place standings in GC, and most importantly, we had worked together. In 2011, barely hanging onto the pack and a complete stranger to everyone there, I never would have imagined that a year later I would have so much fun.

Click here for Bicycle Outback’s race video.

Race Report: 2012 Alsation Country Omnium

by Kat Hunter, Snapple-ATC Racing

Suzy Snell and Kathleen Hattaway in the Alsatian Circuit Race

Bike racing – sleeves, socks, careful color coordination, calculated backstabbing, shaved legs regardless of gender. On a good day, you might feel great and be in the right place at the right time. On a bad day, you might miss a break that sticks, get caught up in a crash, have a flat, or find yourself in the back of the pack before the final sprint with nowhere to go. There are no "finisher's" medals, and for placing near the top you're more likely to go home with a check or an envelope full of cash than a shiny plastic trophy. It's a no-frills culture that contradicts itself, at times, with its rigorous fashion rubric and petty intrigues. In essence, if you're up for a challenge and a gamble with Lady Luck, a weekend of bike racing is about as entertaining as it gets.

Holland Racing has a reputation for putting on well-organized races at exciting venues, and true to form, the Alsation Country Omnium was run with business-like efficiency and panache. Held in Castroville, a small town about 30 minutes west of San Antonio, the two-day event included a circuit race, time trial, and road race, with a total purse of $10,000 and fun, drinkable primes like cases of Honey Milk and bottles of locally made Deep Eddy Vodka.

For results from all categories, click here

Women's 1/2/3
Saturday circuit race, 12:20pm:

The circuit-race course, closed to traffic, was a 2.5-mile loop on a wide, smooth road in an area dedicated mostly to medical research facilities. For the women, the race was 40 minutes. Although we were originally scheduled to start with the 50+ Men's race, a last-minute verdict allowed our 16-person field to start separately.

The main player for the women's race was, without a doubt, Bicycles Outback. With six riders in the mix, they set the pace – and a fast one, at that. They launched attack after attack, with the rest of the field scrambling to chase them down. With three riders, Team Brain and Spine also had the strength of numbers. That left seven of us to our own individual devices, including Tracie Akerheim of Think Finance, Shannon Gaffney of Bicycle Heaven, Morgan Patton of Team Type 1, junior rider Amber Vredenburg of T3Multisports, Annalisa Fish of Austin Flyers, Suzy Snell of Colavita, and myself for Snapple-ATC Racing.

It was an interesting race – something was always happening. With the coordinated attacks from Bicycle Outback, the pace rarely slowed, and the turns were sharp enough to keep it exciting. Just after the officials announced a prime lap, Annalisa and I broke away. We held off the rest of the field to get the two-deep prime, but the pack was working hard to catch us. We were taken back into the fold after another half-lap, still with two or three laps to go.

The last hill into the finish was a slight incline, not steep enough to eliminate the advantage of being in the draft, but enough to increase the difficulty of the final sprint. We were all crammed in tightly together when someone started to sprint around 400 or 500 meters. Stuck near the middle of the pack, I realized I wasn't where I needed to be. A crash had happened around this point in the race for the Cat 4 Men, but I reminded myself that I was not a Cat 4 man and neither were my fellow riders – we could get through this without bloodshed. I had to ease up to go around the rider to my left, but then I had a clear path to the finish. I crossed the line just ahead of Tracie Akerhielm, who took second.



Saturday TT, 5:00pm:

All categories completed the same 4.8-mile, out-and-back time trial, which was gently rolling except for a final rise into the finish. We were well prepared for it, since it included a large part of the circuit race course. Now we would be using both sides of the road, no longer completely closed to traffic, but the pavement was wide and the few cars driving through seemed to mostly be race spectators or participants. The top Pro 1/2 men, coming in at an average of 31mph or higher, were probably cruising close to the posted speed limit.

Because of my mechanically minded husband, Jack Mott, I have every aero gimmick that's fairly important and within reason – a Cervelo P2, an aero helmet, a deep front wheel, a disc cover for the back wheel. When I started riding my first tri bike – again, a gift master-minded by Jack – I got a fairly aggressive fit from Austin Tri-Cyclist, so I didn't know enough to request a more comfortable, slower position before I was used to the "right" one. TTs and duathlons were my first introduction to the world of cycling.

Many women roadies don't do multisport events or TTs outside of omniums and stage races, so they often complete the TT portion on road bikes. That puts them at a heavy disadvantage, as much as three or four seconds per kilometer. Still, many would argue that it's not enough of a disadvantage to invest in the equipment or go to the trouble of bringing two bikes to an event. In an omnium, you don't get as many points or as much prize money for a TT as for a crit or road race.

All the Bicycles Outback riders were on their new custom Calfee frames with Ultegra Electronic Di2 gruppo. (Now those are beautiful bikes.) But I knew Nadia Barrera of Team Brain and Spine was a strong time trialist and had the gear, and I saw a few other aero helmets and TT bikes. I knew I was going to have to work hard for it. Plus Jack and I had a bet going for who could post the fastest time – he'd placed 8th in Cat 4 at 10 minutes and 30 seconds. I didn't have a watch, but I figured if I gave it everything I could come close.

I used to look forward to time trials. Now that I've come to know them better, however, I've lost all my affection for them. A time trial is just a pure test of pain, a question of how bad you're willing to hurt and for how long. A terrible opportunity, too, to get to know your inner self a little too well, all those voices in your head lining up to tell you why you should or shouldn't slow down.

But as much as I dread the experience, I love the spoils. When I found Jack after the finish he just held up his watch and grinned – 10 minutes, 30 seconds, and some change. We had to wait for the official results to be posted to decide the victor. Fortunately, with Holland Racing that doesn't take long. I had placed first among the women. Annalisa Fish had a surprisingly fast time, taking second on a road bike with clip-on aero bars. But was my brutal, eye-bulging push to the line worth it for those last few milliseconds? I'd say so: Jack: 27.42mph, Kat: 27.43. Aww yeah.

Sunday road race, 11:50am:

It was a gray day. The sort of grayness that should be spelled the British way – a watery, weak, cold, completely drained-of-color grey morning. Rain was forecasted for the afternoon, and we had 47 miles ahead of us.

We'd been warned that the course would be narrow and rough in spots, with cattle guards and less- than-perfect road surfaces. Starting from the Hotel Alsace, it was a lollipop – 14 miles out to a 19-mile loop, and then back again. The warning was no exaggeration. Wad up a piece of paper into a tight ball, lay it out flat again, poke about two hundred holes in it, and then turn it into asphalt, and you've got something like the Gilliam Switch Road loop.

Bicycles Outback ruled the day again, sending attack after attack up the road. Sheri Rothe, along with Shannon Gaffney of Bicycle Heaven, was in one lasting break, and Kathleen Hattaway soloed away for another. The rest of the pack wasn't pulling together well for the chase, but after a while someone would get the job done, and then the cycle would start again. Like the circuit race, the road race was interesting because something was always happening or about to happen. Since women's races often lack organized teams, not to mention male bravado, they can sometimes be quite slow, with no one willing to push the pace. Bicycles Outback was keeping us on our toes.

Oddly enough, we got a brief sprinkling of rain on the loop and some of the roads were soaked, including the final stretch into the finish line, but we never hit the heavy downpours. And though it was cold, at around 45 degrees, it wasn't miserably so. I was definitely looking for the finish about 10 miles before we actually got there, but overall I was feeling good. So when I had an opportunity to work with Sheri Rothe in the last few miles in a two-woman break, I took it. We put our heads down and kept a high, steady pace until the end. The pack chased at first, then fell back enough that we knew we were safe. I think in my excitement I actually said, "We got this."

I took first in the road race and in the overall omnium, certainly my best-ever weekend of racing. Sheri took second in the omnium, and Tracie Akerhielm came in third. To view the full results, click here.

Many thanks to all the organizers, officials, sponsors, and others who made the weekend fun and safe!

Event Photos By Robert Mercado
Video compilation by Bicycles Outback Racing