Team Stories
The team gathered in El Dorado Hills, CA this past month for their annual training camp weekend. Check out the gallery below. Photos by Wil Matthews
After months of sun and balmy temps in the Bay, it was only fitting that the skies opened up during our annual team camp weekend, just as they’re done for the past FOUR years in a row! However, the wet weather did little to dampen our spirits, as evidenced by these incredible candid moments, captured throughout the weekend by our resident 35mm film photographer, Mr. Andrew Shimizu.
If you’re looking for a race recap I’ll make it quick:
We lined up, tried real hard, but in the end missed the break and came up short.
Of course we would have liked to have done better at our home race, but sometimes, thats how it goes. We’ve been racing long enough to know by now not all of them are gonna be aces.
Despite it, the show at San Rafael was inspiring, in a different way at least.
The turnout this year was stacked. Spectators swarmed the barriers smashing cowbells and beers to watch over 100 racers in the mens pro field, and some 60+ riders lining up in pro women’s race. There have been bigger fields out there, but few as energetic.
The racing was blisteringly fast from the gun. The peloton blurred around the downtown course like a whirlwind of leaves, riders were pushed to their limits to avoid being dispatched out the back, a painful experience but a reassuring rebuttal to the critics who scoff at how “dead” the current state of American cycling is.
There’s no denying that in recent years the turnout has declined from where it once was, everyone is aware of this. The landscape isn’t the most encouraging, and why should it be? Lower payouts, extremely lower for the women’s fields, legacy races that seem to disappear from the calendar, powerhouse teams like Hagans Berman-Supermint folding, a broken model of sponsor dependency that’s been pointed to as the slow undoing of the sport, there’s a lot of real issues that are concerning to say the least.
But to say cycling is dead is to say it’s stagnant, not moving in any direction. This view discounts not only the continued high level of these races, but also the efforts being made by the community to try and turn the sport away from falling on the sword of tradition. Like flurries of attacks, you may not always see them go up the road when you’re in the pack, but from a distance, you see there’s sparks of passionate effort in cycling, attempts to kickstart the sports’ rebirth.
If you looked closely, you could see these efforts on display at the 0.8K course last Saturday night.
The continued pressure for promoters to provide equal pay in races, like at this year’s edition of San Rafael, or the Colorado Classic being turned into a women’s only race, are some small concessions to the long unaddressed problem of gender inequality in cycling. It’s not enough to turn the tables, but it’s a step in the right direction.
Seeing teams like Legion of Los Angles dominate in a commanding fashion, fueled by the William’s brothers’ message to make cycling more inclusive for people of color gives a deeper meaning to their victories.
Adapting the race days to include events like fix gear races for those crazy enough to rip around a crit course on a tack bike draws in more participants and spectators who wouldn’t normally show up to a road race.
The media presence that USA Crits brings to the races, and their live stream expanding the hype across the internet is everything that cycling needs right now. Their ability to bring in viewers and follow the narratives of an entire racing season gives teams a platform to make their sponsors (or mom’s) happy with a bit of airtime, and serves as an example for how other big races should promote their events.
There’s a host of real, negative structures that plague our sport, things that have aided its decline, but there are also people actively working to try and address these imbalances, in an effort to save our sport for another generation. Who are these people? They’re the directors who take on the impossible task of leading a team, in the hopes of providing a career to young deserving riders. They’re promoters drumming up support and sponsors to give us a platform to race on. They’re the one waiting behind a reg table to hand out a number, parents who drive their kids hours each way for a 40 min race, to give them the chance to experience a sport outside the norm.
You wonder where all these people hang out? Come to a race, any race, and you’ll find them.
Photos: Martina Patella & Andrew Shimizu
There’s a particular type race on the domestic calendar that inspires a mythical following. Ones that inspires people to trek cross-country to toe the line, to use superlative phrases such as “best race ever” with absolute sincerity. Races that motivate training stimulus in a way no other office park crit could even hope to. As riders, we all have these favorites, they’re why we bust our asses in training. Whether they’re stage races or crits, we seek out these events not only for a chance at success, but to experience the unique challenges of their course designs, soak up the adventure in exploring a foreign vernacular, or take in the opportunity to be a part of a race a history that spans generations, hoping to leave a mark.
The Cascade Cycling Classic is one of the greatest of these races.
With a postponement last year, many were doubtful if the legendary race would make a comeback. We’ve become trained pessimists when it comes to the shrinking of the race calendar. We’ve watched in sad silence as many of the awe inspiring races of the past have drifted away, despite the best intentions of the promoters.
This is what made this years resurgence of the Cascade Classic that much more special.
With a complete redesign in courses, the promoters hoped to use the gap year to re-invent the race, in a model that is sustainable for racers and spectators. Shorter circuits punctuated by gravel segments, queen stages that took us deep into the stunning heart of the eastern Oregon landscape, swirling neighborhood crits, there was a familiar excitement to this years race, but the stages were nothing we’d ever seen before.
Some were afraid that the redesign of the stages would kill the heart of the Cascade Classic, but it is safe to say that after 5 days of racing through rain, hail, and welcoming sunshine, on some of the most unique and invigorating stages we’ve seen in a long time, there was nothing lost in the 39th edition of the Cascade Classic. We were treated to a fuller look of the high plains of Bend and beyond, through stages that spanned geologic timezones, or focused on intimate community developments. It was clear that in this years race, the spirit of the Cascade classic has been kept alive, burning strong for another generation.
In a time of doubt in American cycling, this year’s edition of the Cascade Classic should serve as an encouragement to racers and promoters who want to grow in this sport. With focused new energy and respect to the spirit contained in the history of the sport, cycling and racing as a whole can adapt and grow in a way that will continue to inspire generations of cyclists to come.
While some of the guys were at Gila, Stephen, Roman, and Sam headed to So-Cal to compete in the Belgian Waffle Ride, one of the most competitive/crazy one day gravel races out there. A 134 mile course of road, dirt, single track, sand, and everything in-between (including Tequila handups???) it’s hard to do a race like this and not get cracked open like a nut.
Here’s Stephen’s take on the ride
Belgian waffles come in two types. Brussels (traditionally leavened with ale and/or egg whites, light and airy) and Liège, which is a denser style based on brioche bread dough. If the races reflect the regions of waffles, you have the punchy but fast climbs of the Ardennes classics (Liège) and the heavy, cobbled and dirt tracks a la Flandrian classics (Brussels).
There is only one Belgian Waffle ride, and it's the American Belgian waffle. You don't really know what makes it Belgian, it can be kind of gross (think motel continental breakfast waffles) but also damn delicious, and those that partake are going to be lured into eating too many, hating themselves, but loving it anyway.
Set in the San Diego County foothills, BWR was started in 2012 with a rumored 100 participants, and since has grown to over 1500. A 134 mile course, with 14 sectors of dirt & sand, from fire roads to singletrack, totaling 46 miles, 12k feet of climbing, it has an element of the kooky mixed with incredibly serious. I mean, it's waffle themed and it starts and ends in a brewery. You have WorldTour riders going flat out on bike paths still open to the public on Sunday strolls. Through it’s evolution, it’s become one of the most hotly contested single day races in the “gravel” scene. I was admittedly nervous as hell for it, but equally drawn to the vibe, media, hype and general partying associated with the race. Roman, Sam & I gathered in sunny Del Mar by the beach to enjoy the weekend and destroy ourselves on Cinco De Mayo.
After a mariachi band send off, our wave of maybe 400 people rolled off the start. Quickly, the 11 miles of neutral rollout turned into a hectic affair, with guys of all types trying to assert themselves. It's like they wanted TV time (gotta get on that highlight reel!). It was honestly the most terrifying part of the day, so I rolled to the front on the long downhill leading to the turnaround into the first dirt sector.
Race organization had told us there'd be a U turn marked with cones, easy enough. Psych! This was really the only time where not pre-riding the course bit us, and it bit us hard. Sam and I were at the very front as we approached what quickly looked like just a left hand turn, unmarked without any cones. Nevertheless, we rolled passed it with expectation to see at least a cone or two to circle around. We were found out when we turned around and saw a few hundred riders funneling into a narrow entrance to the singletrack…behind us. I cursed a few different things, and we rode into the mass of slow, clamoring riders, some already walking their bikes.
The next hour was a cross race, full gas. I passed riders, crashes, flat tires with laser focus to get up to where I wanted to be. It worked, I felt completely awesome, but it was only once we'd finally caught up to the front group that I to realize how many matches those efforts burned. I'd been a bit overzealous and raced a harder race than anyone around me yet had, only 25 miles in.
The group remained pretty cagey for a while, as there were a few teams there who animated things with attacks, each reeled in. Justin Oien of Arapahoe Hincapie eventually got up the road with one of the MeteorX-Giordana riders. They put in a few minutes on us, which Stetina was not happy about. He rolled off the front with an eager Marc Pro rider (looking at you, Blake!). This sent the group into high alert and on the rivet as we hit the first major climbs of the day, Black Canyon.
Hanging onto third wheel up the first of the two peaks on the dirt fire road was encouraging. I was sitting behind Eddie Anderson (Axeon Hagens Berman) and Ted King (WorldTour ex-pro, current gravel pro). Sure, my watts per kilo were eye watering and not sustainable, but being naive to the course I figured this was the bigger climb of the section (psyche number two!). We soon crested and dove into the canyon. Things got real as we were on road bikes charging through sand on the side of a cliff. Imagine a roller coaster at full downward tilt, but without any safety gear, with tracks coated with Crisco, and your roller coaster actually only has one track, and you have to balance on that track and not crash into any other roller coasters that may have the balls to pass you. There's also all this heavy sand on the track, so when it levels off just a bit, you have to pedal like hell.
Sam and I dropped a lot of fast guys on the descent, so for a brief second I was feeling pretty awesome. But, I the previous efforts took a lot out of me, and fatigue was setting in. I needed answers. "Sam, how much longer?" I could hear the empathy behind his words. "A lot, at least half of it left". I knew the outcome before they even got up to speed again. I was cracked. Bonked. Off the back. The group dropped me in what felt like the slowest, cruelest way possible. For every 500 meters, they only gapped me by about 10. Many a racer has been there before: seeing where you want to be and still denying any reason why you can't get there. I felt like screaming and suddenly I hated everything about what I was doing, why I was there, what I had done wrong or not well enough compared to those riding away from me. I felt inadequate and defeated, but it was some consolation to see Sam dancing on the pedals away from me, tucked into the middle of the group, with a lot of cards yet to play.
I'll admit my only reason to continue, as I climbed alone in those moments, was the realization I was even more screwed were I to stop. It was a pretty dark 20 minutes. I sure as hell didn't know where I was or how long I was going to wait around for a race vehicle or some sympathetic citizen to pick up a dejected man in spandex. Thankfully, I figured Roman wasn't too far behind, and once back on to the road it was only a few km's before I saw his group of 15 rolling towards me.
Once tucked in with them, I downed some Gu hydration, chews and gels in a desperate plea for energy. Eventually I came back to life and began to contribute. It was still a group of hitters, notably with Eric Marcotte. He's a guy I've considered a legend for a long time. Former US PRO crit and road champion, he'd been a leader on the teams based out of Winston Salem when I lived there and began racing. I'd never actually met him, and I laughed to myself that my first actual ride with him was on this crazy thing. That's a big part of these events, it seems.
We rode smooth for the next 30 miles until we hit the base of the Black Canyon climb. I looked around and realized I'd dropped everybody on a chip-sealed narrow road descent so decided to keep the pace up a bit and settle into my own rhythm.
The not so great thing about this climb back up Black Canyon is that the Wafer (the shorter ride) and slower Waffle riders are still coming down. It's the sandy, loose, twisting track on the side of a cliff we'd come down a few hours earlier. Things were going safely enough until I saw a guy swing wide out of a corner, heading into my path definitely out of control with no recourse to stop. He shoulder checked me and sent me down hard onto my right, so fast that I didn't even put a hand out. I landed with a thud and a sharp pain on my side. I sensed immediately I'd broken a rib (5 days later as I write this, breathing still hurts).
Of course the only thing that mattered was to get back on my bike and catch Marcotte, who'd kept grinding up the hill. The next 30 minutes was a blur of charging through sand and advising oncoming riders to please stay the f#%@ to the right (please).
After some energetic solo time trialing (Gu, you're amazing) I caught back up to Eric. We worked well together and I was glad to have such a skillful wheel to follow the narrow singletrack. Things hurt less and less, and dare I say they got fun.
When it really hit me, probably 110 miles in, I almost started crying. Blame it on the endorphins. I was barreling down a sinuously narrow dirt track, following Marcotte's wheel. Five hours into racing, my body numbed to the jarring fatigue and mind drifted into a space of clarity & calm. I wasn't suffering, I was floating. Labored movements became reflexive, hands light on the bars as I danced and swayed between the rocks hazards studding the trail. That moment on the Black Canyon climb where my sense of self-worth and value was shattered seemed like a lifetime ago.
I laughed to myself with the thought that every single type of ride I'd ever done was, one way or another, shaping my performance on this one. Racing roads of every size, quality and grade. Bombing down city park paths like a kid oblivious to usual etiquette. Diving onto trails so closely resembling the ones I'd been lured onto along the American River Bike Trail in Sacramento, barely older than a toddler, riding my bike newly freed from training wheels. The same trails I'd continue to weave in and out from the bike path on my road bike. Or all those years mountain biking with my dad, sharing an unspoken desire to push each other for the sake of type 2 fun. Getting my shit kicked in in North Carolina cyclocross and mountain bike races, where the local legends showed me time and again what it meant to drive, not ride, your bike. My own drive to stay in the top 10, to ride this culmination of everything I'd learned and knew about riding a bike up to that day, was fresh. My race wasn't to the podium, it was to fulfilling my own affirmation that I belonged in this.
But seeing Sam on the side of the road killed my buzz. We came upon first Colin Strickland, looking like he'd sent it off the trail, and then Sam, working on getting a wheel from the caravan vehicle. I offered up sympathy but knew there was little else I could do as we passed. It was sad realize Sam's bad luck after such a crazy good ride (I learned later that Sam had evaded Colin's crash only to suffer the flat).
Marcotte and I continued on in our steady pursuit. I began to wonder if he was bluffing when he said he was fatiguing. Rule one of bike racing, especially with such good racers, is to be skeptical. He seemed no BS, and I was OK with keeping the pace steady gaining on the top 10.
We entered the last feed zone dubbed "The Oasis", resplendent with costumed fans slapping your butt with dyed powder and offering tequila shots to a background of house music. I just really wanted water, so I pulled a few shots of what was thankfully nonalcoholic drink mix and continued on.
The last big test of the day was Double Peak, as the name implies, two steep road pitches culminating in a few Ks of 12-20%. A front group rider who'd flatted surged up to us and rolled through, so I figured this was a time to kick up the pace as well. I pretended I was gassed and let him pull us for the majority of the climb (bluffing is easy to do when you have 40lbs on a guy). We made it up and over before a twisty singletrack descent back into town. This is where things got a little weird, as the stop lights were all open to traffic. So, after 120 miles of racing, he and sat at a light for a few minutes while an elderly traffic cop took his sweet time pressing the crosswalk.
In the last couple miles I felt the euphoria kick in once again. I'd done it. I didn't care too much how the final played out with this guy I was riding with. I knew I was top 10, I hadn't flatted or had a mechanical, and I'd overcome a stronger desire to quit than I may have ever felt on the bike. I rolled through in 8th, 20 minutes down on the winner, Pete Stetina, but just a handful from the podium. I sat down for a long while, too tired yet to celebrate with the obscene amount of beer and waffles available. Sam and Roman both finished in the top 25, super impressive given what they each had to deal with.
I'm realizing more and more that my ability to endure is a big strength of mine. There's something satisfying about managing yourself through all the crazy elements of a race like BWR, especially when it leads to success from perseverance. I hope to come back to this next year with new goals and also am inspired to add a gravel schedule to my race calendar.
Huge shout out to Matt Adams for supporting TMBEquator in thriving as it does and letting us experience amazing races all over the country, my teammates Sam and Roman for sharing this crazy thing with me (Sam would've been on the podium, I know it) and the people at Specialized for providing these fantastic new Roubaix's for us. This would have been a much different story if I'd been on anything else. The bike is amazing and deserves a story of its own.
Thanks lastly to all who read this, it's about as long as the race was, but who can keep a story like that short? Until next year, BWR. Just thinking about racing you again exhausts me, but I can't wait.
The team just got back from the deserts of New Mexico racing the 2019 edition of the Tour of the Gila. Widely renown as one of the most challenging stage races in the PRT circuit, Gila attracts a wide crowd. Young riders hoping to strike a claim square up against veteran outlaws still on the run. Unforgiving winds and steep climbs in the baking sun make for dramatic showdowns akin to a high noon draw. By the end of the race there’s blood in the streets; but also smiles, high fives and salty hugs of empathy. Such a demanding race brings out a range of emotions, for some it’s a disappointment landing just off the podium, for others it’s rejoice in finishing the Gila Monster stage.
We caught up with Cooper who rode an impressive race finishing just outside the top 20 and picked his brain about what it was like to race one of the hardest stage races in the nation.
Having done Gila in the p12 race the year before, how did the transition to the Pro field feel?
The cat 1/2 field was much more akin to local racing in that there was less predictable tactics and random attacks flying all the time, just overall a less controlled race. In the UCI field with the strong teams that were present it really just came down to if you had the legs to hang at the front on the climbs or not. I like this style of racing. There’s no hiding.
Silver city is a unique town to say the least. What were some of the places you'd suggest to a modern prospector?
To a prospector? Well, there is plenty of mining around... but on your way you might want to stop by Don Juan’s burrito drive-thru (they’ll still take your order if you’re on a bike). Once you get back you might want to check out The Jumping Cactus for some ‘cowboy coffee’ or maybe just head straight to Little Toad Brewery. I also hear there are plenty of natural hot springs in this area...
Tip: for the non-local you should decide if you like red or green chile before you arrive because you’ll be expected to know when placing your order.
How did you prep for such a demanding event coming from sea level?
For Gila I just tried to do a lot of long rides and focused on being good at the longer climbs. We don’t do any climbs like this on our normal racing circuit so having two proper summit finishes was a new challenge. Luckily it got pretty warm at home in the weeks before the race so I could spend some time climbing in the heat, which is supposed to help with altitude but I’m not sure if it did.
What were some of your goals leading into the race?
After Redlands I thought I might be able to ride into the top 20 overall if I didn’t have a similar implosion to my day on the Sunset Loops. So we rode for that all week and almost pulled it off.
I’m super glad the team was able to send a squad down to New Mexico so we could race against a UCI field on some of the hardest courses on the PRT. Stuff like this is what motivates me so I’m just happy we got the chance.
How efficient is Dairy Queen as a recovery routine? Asking for a friend...
With DQ’s wide ranging menu there’s definitely something to meet everyones recovery needs. There’s only one rule, you have to finish the stage first.
Imagine with me a place where people show up with their bikes, in a parking lot, early on a weekend morning. Those who've been there before can set a familiar scene - lots of groggy eyed, generally stoic if not unhappy looking men and women outdoing each others' thousand-yard stares, grumpy over entry fees and port-a-potty lines. The bragging of past results mixes with excuses over recently failed training plans or equipment. Stone faced people with giant headphones on trainers holding expressions denoting either mass murder or impending emesis.
Now, travel with me to one perhaps less familiar. It's still a parking lot, and still pretty damn early. But first, find yourself among redwoods, green hills, and a quiet town. North Bay, perhaps North Coast. Next, multiply the number of cars & people by about five. Add in a sponsor expo with swag, free nutrition, and generally stoked looking people happy to chat. Replace any impression of ego with conversation about past rides or the day ahead. Some here have shown up to race, some to ride hard, and some to finish. Some roll with the newest 39.75c 20-million TPI flat resistant cotton sidewall wet weather file treads, some with grip-shift 26-inch mountain bikes.
It's a Grasshopper Adventure Series. Long having been a cult attraction among NorCal cyclocrossers, mountain bikers, and adventure enthusiasts, it has grown in popularity with the droves of riders buying into the gravel market.
But by the types of people showing up each morning, you know it's bigger than a "mine's better than yours" consumer craze.Because when over 400 people show up on a given Saturday in rural Mendocino county to ride (or is it race?) their bikes on Miguel Crawford's road and gravel du jour, there's gonna be some variety. This is what sets these events apart. Hundreds of enthusiastic bike riders of all ages and abilities starting an adventure together. The skill level is all over the place but the stoke level is uniformly set to high.
And when I mean skill level, I mean good god, the skill level. Where else will you line up with the North American Cyclist of the Year (Katie Hall), former WorldTour pro and current gravel "pro" (Ted King), living legend in the cyclocross, endurance & enduro MTB (Geoff Kabush) and an O.G. gravel master and advocate (Yuri Hauswald)?
What other bike race has the assumption that everyone will go as hard as they want to, which generally means ridiculously hard, but in the most casual way possible? For those at the top of these events, it's a healthy dose of escape from off-the-line expectations so pervasive in road racing, but it still feeds the instinct to ride the legs off of your co-riders (or racers). On top of that, it tests your backwoods B roads & gravel handling skills against literally some of the best in the world.
So, with that, Low Gap. Up in Ukiah as an alternative to Old Caz (even gravel races suffer from permit issues. Until next year, dear friend...), the course featured 22 miles of road followed by 22 miles of dirt. What's both enticing and slightly terrifying about that in a Grasshopper is, unless you've ridden the course before (unlikely because of how remote these places are), "road" and "dirt" can mean any combination of things, from pristine mountain highway to bombed out chip seal, or from smoothly packed gravel to rutted, rooty, and muddy jeep tracks. You pick a bike & tire, if you can, and make it work. Send what ya show up with. Rung what ya brung. You get the idea, but unless you've done it you can't really understand how much fun it is.
The aforementioned idols of mine were all present, chatting it up with any one of the cheery 400 others crowding the lane at the start line. As is tradition, Miguel says a few words about the day, about the sponsors, with just barely enough time for us to cheer in thanks of his hard work. The countdown is changed and everyone rolls.
This route featured about a 20 minute road climb from the gun, which usually sets an interesting scenario in these events. Will the front group act cool and casual, staying together and chatting it up? It's not a race, after all. Or will someone go rogue and lay down the hammer? It can be made a race, after all. Today it was the latter, with a gung-ho guy on his road bike attacking the front and getting 500 meters on us pretty quickly.
I'm just as guilty as anyone to follow the action, and I admittedly wanted to test the climbing legs after some big blocks of training. Also, I'd seen in the past where someone is let go at the beginning, never to be seen again. These courses can be so gnarly that groups can't really work together to chase a strong solo or pair. Anyway, I set a good pace to reel him in. Mind you, I decided not to go full on roadie attack, because this isn't a race. About halfway up, I tacked onto his back wheel, at which point I looked back to find Ted King with me (not surprised) but also a Bear Dev Team rider on a mountain bike (surprised). Damn, that guy's gonna blow up at some point I immediately thought. It's a safe bet that anyone on Bear Dev is skilled and strong, but I didn't expect him to roll 2.3 mountain bike tires at our clip over 22 miles of pavement.
After skirting over the ridge with just enough time to take in some glorious views of the coastal mountains, the three of us dropped into Hopper Time. Downhill, one lane, pot-holed road with grades up to 12% and plenty of damp hairpins. Unfortunately (or, thankfully?) the sketchiest sections were slow as we caught behind a pickup truck. After they graciously moved off the road, it was full gas again.
The valley was dark under redwood canopies, still wet from last week's rain, and a minefield of pot holes. This is where we quietly bid adieu to our roadie friend, whose bike couldn't keep up with our smashing of California Cobbles. So, behind the mountain biker, Ted and I traded lines and pointed out the rim-smashing holes that could end our day.
I took a few digs that still couldn't shake the mountain biker. Even up the final road climb, he kept the gap to me and Ted pretty small as I stepped on it. Kabush had tagged on, having floated over the valley roads only in a way a bike handler like he could. Ted and I hit the feed-zone first, which also happened to be the sharp left onto dirt.
In the Hoppers, these are funny spots in the race...er, ride. There's ample Osmo and often lots of snacks laid out in enticing fashion. Do you stop, chat it up, refill bottles, pound a few mini cinnamon rolls? Or do you count precious seconds and go for just a handup? We chose the latter, but shortly after decided to make a pit stop to drop some pressure in the tires (again, another gamble you'll only find yourself considering at a Hopper). Mountain biker kid and Kabush passed us soon after we stopped, meaning a dig to close the gap even though the dirt climb had only begun.
We were still in the trees, so climbing turned a heavy grind through the ruts and often mud. Mountain biker kid now in his element, he had ample watts and grip to work with every time he got out of the saddle. It was all I could do to dig in and put out some extra seated power. The smaller descents between climbing, rutted and wet, made it difficult to really recover. I had definitely set into watching the wheels and turning over my legs.
On one of the more rocky descents, Ted flatted as we tried to keep up with mountain biker kid. It was a bummer, as it's always more fun to finish off races fair and square. Again, too, the unique Hopper vibe comes in - I find a certain sense of comraderie in whatever small group I find myself in after navigating so many country lanes, dirt tracks and ridgeline roads.
Anyway, now it was just me alone chasing the Bear Dev rider. With a twenty minute dirt climb to go before the nine mile descent, the course really played to his favor and I was starting to fade. It's not super encouraging to realize going full gas to tag back on during the climb only sets up getting on the descent. This guy was strong and talented, and I'd long dismissed any advantage I'd had on a gravel bike.
So with that perspective, I shifted towards holding onto second knowing there was a one Geoff Kabush ripping it on the descent behind me. Having somebody like him behind you on anything with turns involved is a hell of a motivator. The descent of the ridge wasn't too bad, although a fair number of washboard bumps and potholes kept it interesting.
I crossed the line in second, with mountain biker kid about a minute and a half ahead of me and Kabush heading in two minutes behind me to round out the podium. All in all, I was happy with the day, especially since there's so much in these races to account for.
So, as it turns out, mountain biker kid is actually Sandy Floren, U23 XC mountain bike national champ. He's also as friendly as he is strong. With that, I cut out all jokes about not dropping him, will never call him mountain biker kid again, and now get to add him to the list of Hopper Hitters that make these rides (ok, races) so rad.
Onto the next!
Three days, three hundred eighty miles. The Coast Ride was a fantastic way to kick off the 2019 season for the team. Here are a few snaps from the ride.
Minuets earlier we were clawing our way up a mountain, racing against the best in the nation, puking from dehydration and shivering in the heat as our legs cramped beneath us. Now, we were seeing the materialization for these efforts and a life of commitment, in the form of a PRT jersey we all dreamed of wearing. There's never a doubt if it's all worth it, mostly, because you know it's a question you can't afford to ask. The dream is best pursued blindly.
This was a new BHRR course, have you raced it or ridden the loop before?
I was particularly excited for this edition of Berkeley Hills. While it was not the classic course, it was a return to Crockett and the site of my first race win as a cyclist, when I won the Cal Cycling Collegiate Men’s C race in 2014. That race was only 3 laps, so 8 laps in the P/1/2 would be a very different challenge! These roads also have significance for me in that one of my first long rides as a cyclist (and my first experience bonking) came from riding out to the Crockett loop from Berkeley in the pouring rain.
What were the defining features?
The McEwen climb is a true beast, with a brutal 12% grade for the first half. 8 times up the climb was a true test of strength. The wind was also brutal on most of the course, so it was important to stay focused and not get caught out.
What was the plan going into the race?
With Roman, Craig, and Andrew on the start line with me, we knew we had the best depth of any team in the race. We planned to follow moves, have representation if an early breakaway formed, and to have our other guys make it across as the field whittled down midway through the race. Numbers in the final was our intention.
What was the key moment of the race?
Most of the drama came in lap 1. Roman unfortunately was caught up behind a crash onthe one techincal turn of the course and crashed out before the first time up McEwen. Zeke Mostov of Aevolo Cycling hit the front hard on the climb, and the field immediately broke apart, with only 8 of us left after one full lap. Andrew and I were patient and put the hurt on the rest of the guys by trading attacks in the last few laps. With about half a lap to go, and Andrew and I in the front group of 4, I attacked hard a few miles before McEwen and motored home to victory!
Where does this win rank in your career?
After two second place finishes at Pescadero and Tour de Nez, it certainly feels good to be on the top step. Closing it out after the unfortunate circumstances of Roman’s crash makes it all the more special. And the sweetest icing on this victory cake was watching Andrew overpower Cole and Zeke in the sprint to take second! Racing on this team and the work all the guys put in makes these successes feel so much bigger.
Which sponsor's product stood out during this race?
Our new Smith Optics Arena Max sunglasses were perfect for the sunny day. The new colors are fresh!
Did you wear a romper on the podium?
Our Capo skinsuits aren’t so dissimilar from the conventional romper. They are one piece, have plenty of pockets, and allow for some serious mobility. However, if Capo was to make some custom overalls for the team, I would likely wear those on the podium!
After wrapping up one of the longest running and most prestigious stage races in the US, the Redlands Bicycle Classic, we chatted with Elite rider Andrew Shimizu about his experiences at the race. Andrew is also a keen classic photographer, and all the accompanying photos were shot on his vintage Hasselblad large-format camera.
What stood out the most about this race?
The speed of the field and with the massive size of the peloton was something I had never experienced before. For the Highlands circuit, I was able to hold decent position from the start and be in the front 20 guys for most of the race, I imagine that if I had been struggling at the back like the day before I wouldn’t have made it more than a few laps. The fast technical section through the neighborhood definitely took some getting used to. On the first turn off the downhill we flew over a series of rain channels cut perpendicular across the road, those things were always a crapshoot in terms of timing and making sure you can bunny hop over each section without bottoming out. I must have seen at least 20 people’s water bottles eject out of their cages on this section, one poor guy ahead of me got caught in the crossfire and took a full bottle straight to the dome. He stayed upright, barely.
What is the biggest difference between racing at the top of the NorCal amateur circuit and these national level Pro races?
The main difference I’d say would be the organization by the bigger teams and seeing them really exert their power to control the race. It was pretty amazing to watch Holowesko take the front from the and control the whole race ensuring that T.J. would stay safe in the yellow jersey.
Cyclists are generally weird, what was the strangest thing that happened on the trip?
I think stage races are special in that they raise the bar for all the weirdness usually accepted as a part of cycling. The amount of silliness from being cracked that is normally present around bike races is dragged out over a series of days and continually raised till seeing things like Brad Huff post-race in nothing but his bib shorts hiked up to the length of a speedo devouring watermelon in the sun glistening in sweat in a slightly erotic manner is just blasé. If you’re into the strange, stage races are the place to be.
Was there a race plan for each stage or was it really "just try not to get dropped"?
Each day we had realistic goals for how we wanted to perform knowing where we matched up compared to our competition, and we tried in earnest to influence the race in some manner. Our plan for the Highland circuit was to try to get some representation in the break and hold out for a decent finish. That being said, I think ole Bob Burns sums it up best when he says that even the ‘best laid schemes o’ mice an' men, Gang aft a-gley.” That Scots for saying “Redlands is really F@&%ing hard, and things rarely go to plan.” We weren’t able to get anyone in the break despite some solid efforts, but in the end Cameron was able to put out a hard fought top 30 result.
Do you have any Redlands traditions?
This was my first time at Redlands but I’m gonna jump on the haircut bandwagon (sorry Roman) and make Wilson’s Classic Barber shop a staple of my stage race diet. More specifically getting cleaned up by Garay (pronounced Gare-ay) if not just for the spectacular conversation he provides. The man is truly one of a kind, and an amazing barber on top of it. If you’re ever in the area look him up, you won’t regret it.
What was the best stage for the team, and not necessarily because of the placing?
I’d have to say results wise we did our “best” at Highlands, the shorter duration but yet still challenging circuit suited us pretty well. But I think as a team, looking at the week as a whole and how we grew together and worked hard as a unit was really where we shined. We started off with a time trial in over 90 degree heat, and finished with the Sunset circuits in freezing hail and rain. We endured a whole season’s worth of hurt in 5 short days, and I think everyone did a stand up job representing the team as well as our sponsors. We laid everything we had on the table, we all did our best to respect the iconic status of Redlands by giving nothing short of 100%.
Any funny anecdotes from the weekend?
Too many to count and possibly too incriminating to write on here.
Domestic Pros often complain that world tour pros don't give them any respect, is the same true between domestic pros and amateurs?
I have seen this of lack of respect from domestic pros to amateurs in a lot of races, mostly just by the pros giving the cold shoulder or being “too cool.” But I’d be hard pressed to say that I saw much of this at Redlands. Most of the time people in the peloton were pretty friendly. Sure when the going got tough people were short with each other and there would be shouting, but for the most part it was a good vibe.
You guys get to ride the best products the industry offers, did any of them standout in this race?
Specialized Tarmac with Di2. Period. When your full body is cramping and shivering from hypothermia on the Sunset stage so much that there’s a steady stream of drool running from our mouth you can’t do anything about, you’ll thank god that you have electronic shifting that requires the most minimal effort to change gears.
The easy to eat on the bike GU Energy products were a god send as well this week. When you’re pushing the pedals real hard and need to fuel your body but don’t have the time or the oxygen to chew down a fig newton which will likely cause you to choke, a sleeve of Gu chomps will give you the instant carbs to make it through another lap.
What's the next big race for the team?
For those of us in Sacramento the Tuesday night South River Ride is always a big goal for us. If you want to talk about legendary races, this is as real as it gets. But as far as USAC sanctioned races, Elite Nationals in late June and Cascade in July are the next big targets for us.
Andrew chats with Achieve Performance Training & Coaching, speaking about his recent victory at the Santa Cruz Criterium.
Time trial days always seem to be unnecessarily stressful. Because you’re only racing yourself, you really don’t have much to worry about. Yet, nerves seem to create a myriad of non-existent stresses, so it’s often important to focus on the small victories leading up to those few last heaving breathes you make as the clock beeps 5-4-3-2-1.
First success: we got an AWESOME parking spot. We also had Caesar to pump up our slick Specialized tires so that our 3 pairs of puny climber arms could be spared for our ~ 16 minute uphill grinds. I was certainly thankful for this, as my arms had to do a bit more work than I could have predicted (more on this in a moment).
Aria, Andrew and I were starting within 20 minutes of each other, so we could pretty much roll around together, loosen up the legs and get focused to beat ourselves to a pulp against the steep and winding gradient that makes up Glendora Mountain Road. I was sure to gulp down plenty of GU hydration drink mix before the TT. Andrew and I even opted to remove our lightweight BikeSmart HydroCarbon bottle cages for the sake of marginal gains!
The first section of the TT is flat, so I was sure to get low and aero on my bike. My S-Works Evade helmet and Capo Skinsuit helped nicely, too. Unfortunately aerodynamic equipment doesn’t do much to prevent punctures, and about two minutes in I heard the most nightmarish sound one could hear during a time trial: Phhhwoooosshhhhhhh.
I reassured myself that I was “going to break this f*#%ing wheel” to get to the top, so I kept my power solid and tried to salvage my race, at least for another few minutes until it was totally flat. Eventually, I stopped and asked a spectator for a wheel, and in perfect timing, Andrew rounded the turn on his way back to the van. I hopped on his bike and away I went. It was in this moment that my arms were finally ready for some real work. Riding a bike that is at least one size too small means that sitting down is less than ideal, so I nearly rode the last 10 minutes of the time trial out of the saddle… OUCH! I still managed to pass my 30 second man, though I finished with a time that was far from what I felt capable of.
It is rather ironic: in 2016, I successfully made it to the top of the GMR, only to have my rear tire explode just minutes after crossing the finish line. In hindsight, that was not such a bad predicament. I guess this Hill has some strange grudge against me. Maybe I’ll have to go the the USAC Hill Climb Championships after all. At least Aria will have some company now!
Much thanks to Brian Sarno for unexpectedly capturing what superficially appears to be positive emotional expression! I assure you: this is pure suffering and anger. Not a bad look, I guess.
With nothing too big on the Northern California calendar that weekend, it was a perfect opportunity to make the drive down to LA for the Manhattan Beach Grand Prix. My fellow Sacramento buddy Kyle Thielen (Echelon-Storck Dev) and I carpooled down the day before. Fueled by continental breakfast waffles we were ready to go.
MBGP is the longest running race on the same course in the US. It is a long 1.3 mile course with two 180 degree turns and a short hill on either side of the course. I was lucky enough to get a callup, so I slotted next to the legend Rahsaan Bahati in the hopes of making it onto his sweet video recap.
I was the lone TMBEquator rider in the race, so I had to be attentive to everything that got up the road. Luckily, Cylance-Cannondale wasn’t too interested in a break with their sprinters Justin and Cory Williams in the race. The moment lap cards appeared, Cylance-Cannondale started to organize on the front. I did my best to stay near the front but out of the wind. As the laps started to come down, Cylance was quickly running out of riders. With a full lap to go Justin was down to only one teammate, who decided to attack and go for it solo. The headwind on the backside of the course quickly dismantled that effort.
Meanwhile in the group, it was chaos as there was nobody on the front really driving the pace. After cresting the hill on the backside of the course around 8th position, I didn’t want to risk getting swarmed before the final 180 degree turn. I took the front about 250m before the turn, trying to build just enough speed to discourage being overtaken. Justin Williams flew up the inside and had a large gap out of the turn. He is very fast. I managed to hold onto 4th place and a nice amount of cash to go along with it.
images: Alex Chiu
San Rafael Sunset Criterium is arguably the biggest crit on the Nor-Cal calendar. It features an awesome downtown twilight setting with a decent sized hill and a crowd to cheer you on. Add to that the fact that the race was sponsored by Mike’s Bikes and Toyota and you know the event is quality. We came ready to throw down with Roman, Cam & Cam, Andy, Travis, Craig, and Garrett.
The race started off at a pretty quick pace with plenty of aggressive moves trying their hand at break-away glory. Unfortunately, a bad crash at 30 minutes into the 75 minute race forced a race stoppage. After the intermission, Tobin Ortenblad (Donkey Label) and Sean Bennett (An Post Chain-Reaction) formed a two-man break. We were happy to let Cylance-Cannondale take up work on the front and keep the distance within check.
Coming into the last few laps Cylance-Cannondale started to pick up the pace to real in the break and set up a sprint for star sprinters Cory and Justin Williams. Meanwhile, Roman was keeping Garrett and Travis near the front and out of danger. Entering the final lap Roman moved his way closer and closer to the front and dropped off Garrett at the top of the hill around 7th wheel on the backside of the course. At this point we were really flying. Garrett was able to pick off a few spots to enter the last two downhill corners in 4th wheel and hold position for 4th place at the line. Unfortunately, Travis had lost contact with the leadout in the heat of a near crash on the back side of the course and rolled in for 11th.
A huge thank you to Toyota and Mike’s Bikes for sponsoring and organizing this premier event.
