Race Report, Thursday July 20th, Superweek Stage 13, Sheboygan, WI 50 miles, 81 degrees.
Sometimes life packs a lot of life into a few days. Regardless of being good or bad, unique experiences tend to fill your memory, extending and expanding time, turning hours into days, and days into weeks in your mind.
The 4 days of this extended weekend were definitely one of those times where I was able to “suck the marrow out of life” and live fully – if not always pleasantly. Take, for instance Wednesday night, July 19th. Arriving home after a long trip back from my job in Chicago at 5:30pm, my goal was to have us turned around and in the RV by 6pm so that we could get to one of our favorite state parks – Kohler Andrae – in Sheboygan on the beaches of lake Michigan, before dark.
I had picked up the RV from a repair shop where I had had a few minor – and I mean MINOR repairs completed. Specifically a CD player installed (that I already owned), a replacement sunroof, a new battery cable, and a new seal where the toilet connects to the septic system (was leaking a little – not a good thing). I could have done the work myself, but my work schedule didn’t allow a lot of time for this so I brought it in. The parts came to $126 – about what I expected, but the labor came to $1100 (for 13.2 hours of labor). No estimate, no call on expected time – nothing. And when my wife picked it up earlier that day, the guy there had the gumption to say, “I spent most of the time putting in the CD player”. So basically, an operation I could have had done for $50 at Best Buy cost me $800 for some guy at the RV shop to “learn while doing”. This still irks me just writing about it and I wonder if I have any recourse. Lessons learned.
Anyway, I arrived home and began loading up the RV. One of the other repair items for the “stellar team” at Custom RV was to fix the exhaust/muffler from the generator. Specifically, the exhaust pipe coming from the generator was rusty and getting shorter each time it banged loose from the C-clamp I had installed. They called just hours before we picked it up to say, “we didn’t fix the generator – we still have to order that part” indicating to me that they hadn’t even looked at it in the preceding 5 days they had had the vehicle.
So after loading up, I disconnected the 120 volt power from the house and fired up the generator (which runs the AC) to keep it cool while we started our drive. It started rough and bucked around a lot, and the muffler detached itself yet again, taking another inch of rusty exhaust pipe with it. So I crawled underneath the RV, body half up on the curb and angled awkwardly in the gathering dark and slid the C-clamp upward to the next length of rusty pipe and re-attached the muffler.
I started the generator, and it continued to run a little rough but kept the AC running cool. We decided to eat dinner at home prior to our departure, so made a quick meal, and then headed out to the RV. The generator had quit, and furthermore, the muffler had come loose AGAIN! I spent another 30 minutes reattaching the muffler with the associated, bruised knuckles and showers of rusty flakes into my eyes, only to find that the generator would not even start.
It being 90 degrees, with a hot night expected, and not having an electric campsite to plug in and run the AC, we finally gave up the ghost and decided to not drive to Sheboygan that night. I was frustrated and disappointed. I had been anticipating all week waking up on the shores of Lake Michigan and having an early morning walk, riding bikes with Kat, and cooking out under the clean lake air. Instead I watched part of the tour de France and then retired to bed.
The next morning I awoke early with a new plan. The AC unit run by the generator was one of two units in the RV, the other was the typical type found in any vehicle, but it had never worked well. So I brought it over to the local GM dealer to have it charged with Freon. I arrived at 7:45 am, but the process took until after 10am, with the caveat that “there may be a leak” and cost another $200. But… it did blow cool air.
So finally, at 10:30 we hit the road to Sheboygan, with the AC keeping it fairly reasonable inside except when we slowed down passing through Fond Du Lac. We arrived at the State Park around 1:15pm and were able to get an electric campsite (thank God!) but were told that the checkout time was 3pm so we may not be able to get in. Sure enough, there was still a camper there at 1:30, and again at 2pm when we stopped by again.
Meanwhile we had walked down to the beach to pass the time and I took a short swim with Katelina who was just a doll. But now it was getting late, and HOT again. With a 5 year old girl, and a new puppy of 8 weeks, we were concerned about the heat getting to either of them. So I set off towards the race course (the race started at 3:50pm) with a new mission – to find a house where we could plug in the RV to run the rooftop air conditioner.
Traffic was tough and we arrived near the course at 3:15pm – not giving me much time to get ready and warmup – and still I need to find a house to plug in the RV. I circled the course slowly, meandering down dead end lanes and finding no one about. Finally I found a house with a woman and child playing out front. I must have seemed odd with my conversation as I asked, “I’ll pay you $20 to be able to plug in an extension cord somewhere into an outlet in your house….” She responded, “well, as long as you are not going to kill me or break into my house or something….” So I unraveled the power cable, which she plugged in down in her basement (and we promptly blew a circuit breaker) and another 5 minutes later while she located the fuse box, we were in business – the overhead AC unit was blowing cool.
Now I had 20 minutes to dress, pump up my tires, register and warmup… Not exactly the best race prep. 10 minutes later I was checked in, and after 7 minutes of warmup, I lined up next to the 90 racers who would share my suffering for the next 2 hours. What came next was unexpected. In tears, the race announcer then let the crowd know that something terrible had happened on the preceding day. In the first accident of its kind in the 37 year history of the superweek tour, a rider had been killed in a collision with a car during a road race. We held a moment of silence on the line, and they announced by name and pulled forward to the line all the teammates of the departed racer.
As a pack, we solemnly followed Aaron Beberitz’s teammates quietly around the course, noting the black arm warmer and front wheel being used by Aaron’s closest friend and team mate who led the lap. A few riders started to move up on the outside or inside and each was interfered with to keep the moment proper. After we finished the lap of silence, the race began in earnest and a light rain began to fall, cooling things off, but not wetting the pavement fully.
Shortly after the start I realized two things: 1) I had hydrated properly all day, drinking more than a gallon of liquids, and 2) in the rush of things I had not been able to relieve myself in the past hour… my discomfort began to build.
Oddly, about 20 laps in, the race was stopped. “Please stop racing, leave the course, there is a medical emergency – please stop racing, leave the course.” Never in my 29 seasons of racing had this happened, and my heart sank as I considered that perhaps another racing tragedy had occurred.
However, as we all peeled off in ones and twos to side streets, the arrival of ambulances, coincided with an announcement, “there has been a medical emergency in one of the houses lining the course and the fire dept. and ambulances are blocking the road.” Sad that anyone should be experiencing a medical emergency, but at least it was not another serious cycling incident.
Just then I had an idea – I leaned my bike over and headed across course to the Port-o-potties and was able to complete my pre-race preparations – 20 laps into the race. Sure enough, within minutes another 20 or 30 racers rolled over to take care of business… We all milled around the start line for about 20 or 30 minutes and finally they recalled us to the start. They removed 10 laps from the race and off we went – now with 30 instead of 40 laps to go (they shortened the race to try and keep on time).
I was feeling pretty good and maneuvered around the pack getting a gauge of the wind and how to finish the race. With 27 to go, they rang the bell for a $30 prime sprint. I moved up easily through the pack to watch the sprint unwind on the backstretch and found myself in 3rd coming through the final corner. I decided to go for it and came up inches shy of winning the prime. More notably though was the significant gap we had on the field.
So it started – the dreaded breakaway death march. For the next 7 laps I maintained my stance as the significantly weakest player in a 3 man breakaway. Each of the other two would lead somewhere between 1 or 2 straightaways at a pace of 27 – 29 mph, and I would pull half a straightaway at 26 – 27 mph, struggling to re-connect each time I pulled off. After about 3 laps we had a full straightaway lead, and I resigned myself to the possibility that my suffering would continue for another hour.
Instead, the pack gave chase, and I was, frankly, relieved when I looked back and saw them close behind. I immediately sat up and faded into the rear of the back as we saw 20 laps to go. I continued to suffer for a number of laps from the oxygen deprivation I had undergone during my short stint in a breakaway (only the second of my whole career) and even as the laps read “5 to go” I was still uncertain as to whether I was going to muster the courage to set myself up for the sprint. I felt tired, lazy, moribund.
But… something changed. I can’t exactly even put my finger on it. It is emotional, it is physical, it is…spiritual. With a lap card showing “4” in front of me, something physically changed within me, as though there was a subconscious galvanizing of forces and energy previously unavailable at my disposal. I dropped my hands to the drops (the lower part of the handlebars – more aerodynamic) and started using each corner to move up a few slots. From 60th to 55th, from 55th to 42nd, and so on. I can’t claim any real rationality to this complex maneuver except to say that it felt pretty easy, as though the position I “needed” to be in on a certain lap was exactly where I was… 25th with 3 laps to go…. 15th with 2 laps to go, and 6th with one lap to go… All with no greater perceived effort, really, than riding the race.
A glance to my heart-rate moniter, and I was operating in the upper 170’s – a big effort, but I didn’t feel it… I moved up to 5th on the backstretch and with 2 corners and 400m to go I had that “feeling” that I was going to win. As we headed through the downhill corner into the short uphill prior to the finish stretch, I prepped for the maximal effort ahead. Just then, rider #4 directly ahead of me, clipped a pedal and was suddenly sideways on the course. I locked up both front and rear brakes and narrowly escaped hitting him full force before he flopped over the curb onto the grass.
The good news was – the whole pack behind had watched the unfolding debacle and braked, meaning that no one passed me even as my progress slowed from 30 mph to 15mph. The bad news was that there were 3 riders that were unencumbered by the crash who were now 2, 3, 4, now 5 bike lengths in front of me as we headed up the short hill to the final corner into the finish stretch.
I was still fairly fresh though, and I got out of the saddle and strained every muscle and tendon in my body to regain my lost inertia. As we headed up the hill, I kicked with every ounce of power I had and started closing the gap, and as we swung wide round the last turn, I reconnected with the 3 riders even as they fanned out across the road, each seeking his own path to the finish line. I headed straight at the back wheels of riders, 2 and 3 (on the right side) even as I had no real place to go, but fortunately, they left enough space for me to squeeze through.
I rocketed between them, and lit it up toward the finish only to miss passing the inside rider until well after the line. I was slightly disappointed, but yet pleased with managing a second place in the face of near disaster. As we coasted toward the first corner, it was only then that I noticed the black armband of the winner.
It was none other than the best friend of the recently deceased rider, riding on pure adrenaline, honoring his departed friend. Later, friends and acquaintances congratulated me on having the “most appropriate” second place in tour history. I didn’t give it to him – he won it fair and square – but I’m glad he won….
I returned to the start finish line and watched the start of the pro-race as the tallied up the results from my race. As it turned out, the generator for the operations crew had quit with one lap to go, and there was no video record of the finish. The race official, Craig, gathered us together to say, “other than first and second, we really don’t have any idea who placed in this race, so we’ll be using the honor system to sort it out…” Thank God I was second.
The racers argued for the next hour so we sat and watched the pro race and I ended up speaking to a man who’s daughter Maddie (shorthand for a Sanskrit word) was playing with Kat. He was in a movie we had watched last year called Endless summer II – essentially a surf documentary – as the “king of freshwater surfing.”
Apparently Sheboygan can get 10-12 foot waves when the winds are right. Eventually Craig and the racers settled their differences, though none of them seemed satisfied, but eventually I collected my $100 check for second place and we headed back to the campsite to cook dinner.
Jose and Mark joined us and we cooked out at the beach, sharing some wine and grilling chicken breasts, zucchini, squash, with salsa, refried beans and tortilla chips. The sky was so blue with humidity that the lake and sky were exactly the same color and there was no horizon. There was a sense of vertigo as though the beach ended at the edge of the world and there was only sand and sky and an endless dropoff into space.