If you’d have told me that 24hrs after wandering down Kirkwood with a tasty (low-fat) ice-cream I’d be huddled shivering by the Sample Gates on Wednesday evening clad in full winter gear, I’d have said you were just crazy! However there I was and even the return of winter didn’t prevent a few brave souls from riding out to 446 for our weekly Wednesday hammer-fest! Messrs Brauner, Lewis, Parry, Garner and Camara were blown out to the 446 loop where we met up with Captain Saccone where we decided to do five laps of the circuit in ‘steady tempo’ formation. Anyway foolish enough to think that would happen clearly doesn’t know racing cyclists! Predictably the first time back onto 446 a slog-line (rather than a paceline) developed into the howling head-sidewind. At sometime during the ride we picked the hitherto MIA Jonathan Purvis and our little group battled some hard laps before we came slight undone during the 4th time into the wind due to some pressured pulls by Myron! No-one could muster the motivation for a final sprint but the points winners were certainly Myron and Mike due to the monster pulls they would take with the tailwind when I thought things were supposed to be easier! Next week- the Paragon loop, lets hope that spring finally appears!!

We rode together up to Morgan Monroe on this beautiful Spring day. We met at SOMA at 10 AM on Sunday and meandered through bits of campus on an unseasonably warm but welcomed morning. I counted seventeen riders ready to get to the start line of the first local time trial of the season. Some of the Tortugans included Tim Heffner, Mike Brauner, Myron Lewis, Adam Fryska and Adam Rodkey, Isaiah Newkirk, Patrick Garner, Geraint Parry, Taylor Gaines and me. The mere acceptance of participation in a time trial is a major philosophical and psychological event. No other cycling activity is so final, so desperate, so utterly poignant as is the time trial. It’s you and the clock. The poets of cycling call it the race of truth. If that’s so, then the lot of us would be placing our front wheel squarely on the line that separates who we are as cyclists and how deep our well of pain and suffering truly is. I knew that we would end up riding about 55 miles that day, out to the Forest, do the TT then ride back. The TT was only 10 miles. Only 10 miles along the newly paved Forest road. In general terms a good cyclist, trained, fit and race ready can dig deep enough to manage an average speed of 25 mph for this distance. Some more, some less. But it’s early in the year for an effort this demanding and many were just testing their fitness, seeing where they were, establishing a baseline. But it’s hard to be ambivalent about an event that has you puking at the turn around and your lungs filled with acid with 3 miles to go. Most of us would go as hard as we could for as long as we could then just try to hang on until the end. Yeah, we suffered. We all rode well. Some faster than others. You can read the results in the IRS posting soon enough. The time stamp is just another data point for our training journals. But I have another story to tell. A story about one of our Juniors, Taylor Gaines who had the misfortune of getting sideways on a patch of bad road on Cascades. He went down hard on his right shoulder taking Tim Heffner with him. Tim escaped injury save for some road rash, but Taylor wasn’t as lucky. Now we’ve all crashed at some point and many of us have broken bits along the way. Some more than others. I remember separating my shoulder in a race in Long Island in 1988, the tears of pain rolling down my cheeks as that paramedics cut away my jersey. Our boy Taylor would have none of this. Of course, we all stopped to see if he was OK. We helped him pick up his bike and sort out his gear, straighten his handlebars. “Is any thing broken?” “Can you raise your arm above your head?” I recall asking. He rode on. He rode on up through the climbs of the Forest to the start of the time trial. I know that he would have ridden the TT if allowed, but his parents were there at the start to intervene. The power of adrenalin is incredible. But the power to overcome pain like this is a gift. Say what you want about him, but when Tyler Hamilton fractured his collarbone in the Tour a few years ago in Bayonne, France his coach Bjarne Riis was asked if any rider was capable of enduring more suffering. He said, “If there are, I haven’t seen any.” Yeah, we suffered out there on the smooth paved roads of the Forest. But we went home and raked our yards and picked up our kids and drove to the store, while Taylor was in the ER with an ice pack on his shoulder, planning on how he was going to get back on the bike. We all know he’ll be back. Crashing is part of bike racing. It’s part of the price that this high performance sport sometimes requires. In the old days, they would say, “Get back on that horse.” Taylor is already on it and my money’s on him.

Tom Saccone

A race post from Tom Saccone- Congratulations to both our top ten finishers!!

The unassuming, narrow course for the Clark State Forest RR was only 2 miles and change but for the 30 or so Masters that appeared (most of which this would be their first foray into the fray of battle –present company included) it would suffice.  Our goal was to complete 45 minutes on this circuit.  I went down to this USCF event with Gary Palmer carrying the Tortugan flag.  Most of our nervous chatter along the way was about training methods and calories and “honey do” lists, wondering aloud if we were ready for the challenge.  Cyclists are generally a nervous lot, inside at least.  We tried to think of the task ahead.   We arrived with an hour and a half to get ready-ample time for a 45 minute event-and set to warming up.  We rode a lap of the course during the 123 event, noticing that the field had been ripped apart by the 3^rd lap, providing gut-churning food for thought.  The start line of the Masters event is a curious place. Nervous smiles, last minute bike checks, some hyperventilation, all creating this sense of uneasiness like before an exam.  Gary and I lined up in the second rank behind a sea of Papa Johns.  By my count 9 of them, nearly a third of the pack!  Behind was Pedal Power, Indiana Masters and Barbasol.  At the gun, I got a good hole shot and settled in 5^th spot behind (you guessed it) four PJ riders. The course began in the middle of a slight descent and turned hard left after several hundred meters, rounded a lake on the right and climbed in the big ring through some rollers on the backside to the finish. Immediately, PJs began a deadly game of repartee, sending riders off in staccato fashion.  From my vantage point at the front I was able to cover all comers during this initial feeding frenzy.  Gary made his presence known as quickly working with me to subdue these counter punches.  Two attempts actually had riders from 4 teams represented, but nothing stuck.   We were wondering who were the pretenders and who on PJs really had the goods.  We soon found out.  After a vicious series of attacks in the second lap, covered by me, then Gary, then Barbasol, then Indiana Masters, a PJ (Glen) rider breaks free with Gary on the rivet and right at the front of the group.  Gary covers and no one follows!  Perfect! There is only about 15 of us in this select group now.  Then another PJs jumps and bridges (Ward) – and the break takes form as the Papa Johns and now me work to cover the Indiana Masters and other non-represented teams.  Bicycle logic, unfortunately dictates that in a two against one situation the advantage almost always lies with the two rather than the one.  But our Gary had them going and forced them to play their hand early, trying to drop him in the hills.  They succeeded ultimately at dispatching the lone Tortugan, but not before he made his mark and took a resounding third place on the podium.  It was a pleasure to be in the first group following our man and listen to the peloton chatter,  “Who is the guy from Tortuga?” they asked.  “Is it Chris Kroll?”   Ah, Chris Kroll, here in spirit still!  They’ll not soon forget the name Gary Palmer the next time the pizza delivery man comes calling!  I brought in the bunch a few moments later, as we sprinted full across the road, picking up 10^th place.