DFL

I was on my way to work on a Friday morning and accidentally stopped for 10 minutes to watch the sunrise and the surf. My friend Jen was walking her dog and we stopped to talk. We see each other around the neighborhood all the time and we started talking about a bike race that was coming up on Sunday.

She said, "You should try it - you'll do better than you think."

It's a cyclocross race - you're on a road bike (sorta) with small, knobby tires and riding on the road and off-road, with lots of barriers and run-ups. So you're constantly hopping on and off your bike, carrying it up hills, running with it, bumping people around. It's on a short course, about 2 miles and only lasts for 45 minutes. So you go as hard as you can, and there's lots of people watching and cheering you on. It makes you feel important.

So I paid my $40 bucks and raced. Or, as I call it afterwards, "rode the course", because it's not really a race if you don't know what you're doing. But more on that later.

The day before the race, Jen tells me I need to be in the 1:30 race. That night, when I was looking at cyclocross techniques online (because remember, I had no idea what I was doing), I noticed that the 1:30 race was for the "A category." I figured that translated to "the people who know what they're doing." I was flattered that Jen thought so highly of my riding abilities. But not flattered enough to not double check - so I called the race director to get clarification. He confirmed that that category is for "the people who know what they're doing" and "based on what you've told me you shouldn't be in that category."

So I dropped down to the "B category", called Jen to re-coordinate our departure/arrival time, and continued Googling "cyclocross techniques."

The more I read, the more confident I got. I mean, how much direction do you need on how to get off your bike when it's rolling? And getting back on while running? Just swing a leg over and get going. And throwing your bike on your shoulder while running over 16" high obstacles - got it. And riding off-road? I do that all the time.

Then I ate everything that wasn't nailed down. Pizza, cookies, ice cream, beer.

Then I stripped my bike of all the extras that I commute with - rack and panniers, front light and taillight, pump and tool bag. Oh yeah, and the water bottle holder, too. You don't even carry water on these races, because they are so short and high intensity. And the good racers say that water just adds weight and slows them down. But more on that later.

After I stripped my bike I practiced some of the drills I saw online. Up and down the driveway, hopping off my bike, throwing it over my shoulder and running with it for a bit, then bringing it back down and mounting it while running.

After doing that for about 3 minutes and feeling like an idiot, I was really glad that I dropped down to the B category. Turns out it's kinda hard to do all that stuff well. Then I got a little nervous.

I went to bed at 8pm. A perfect excuse to go to bed early - twist my arm.

Woke up Sunday morning before the alarm, gathered all my crap, and made my new favorite powershake (wheatgrass, spirulina, banana, maple syrup, mixed berries).

I rode to Jen's house, about a mile away. We loaded up and drove south towards Monterey, went left at the smokestacks, and kept driving futher into the sticks. We signed a bunch of waivers. We paid our money. We unloaded our bikes. We went to the team tent. Yeah, team tent. Jen rides with this team. And they have a tent. Lots of spandex, shaved legs, guys warming up on rollers, bike tools, expensive bikes. And lots of water bottles lined up on a folding table.

Then I got nervous again, because I didn't bring a water bottle. Google said you don't need them. Stupid Google.

I walked around and checked out the course - it was in a sports complex with lots of softball fields, batting cages, bleachers, and some open areas that I couldn't really see. Racers are allowed to pre-ride the course, so I did.

Up a hill on the pavement, through a couple of chicanes, over a couple of barriers, along a rutted out, rooty section of single-track, into an open area with some berms and jumps and sandy patches, across the grass of a softball field, through another twisty chicane, across the infield of another softball field, a thirty foot run-up with the bike on my shoulder that puts you at the top of a hill under a shady tree (more on that later), 100 feet of fast single track with a 10 foot drop on the left and too many spectators on the right, chicane, chicane, then back to the bottom of the hill where it all started. That's one lap.

After my pre-ride, I hung out watching other races and got more nervous. Saw a few people I knew from the neighborhood and was talking to Jason from the bike shop. He races a lot and was giving me tips. He asked what class I was racing in and I said "B" like I knew what I was talking about. Later I speculated that the look on his face may have meant "Why are you asking for tips if you're in B?" But more on that later.

After I told him "B" he said, "Oh, you mean that group?" and pointed down the hill to the starting line where my group was about to start without me. I hustled down and finagled my way into the lineup of about 40 guys.

At first I was irritated when nobody would hush up so I could hear the guy who was giving directions. Then I just let it go and started looking around for people I could beat. I found two - a little kid on a BMX bike and an old guy with a potbelly and poor bike handling skills. Then I counted the total number of racers in my group. There were only 8 of us since we were in the single-speed category. Simple math told me that I was going to finish at least 6th.

Then I heard something that made me nervous. Again. One of the racers mentioned something about a "C category." C category??!! I thought I was as low as I could go! Crap.

So the race director blew the whistle and we started. Just a big pack of guys on bikes like you see on TV.

That's when the problems started. I couldn't get my left foot clipped into the pedal, and I totally floundered halfway up the hill and got dropped. That's bike lingo for "left behind."

So I rode the first lap hard, trying to keep up with the better riders while keeping the little kid and old man behind me.

First lap done in about 9 or 10 minutes. I made it up that hill pretty easily the second time (it's always easier when you can pedal with both feet) and started planning my strategy for the second lap. What would I do differently? How would I approach that turn? Would I run over that bush again? Get more speed going through the sandpit. Don't look at that root next time, look beyond it. Pedal harder through that flat section.

Then I saw a guy down, off his bike, sprawled out in the bushes. He wasn't moving. I didn't stop for him. I was too busy racing.

Near the end of the second lap is when the lapping started. That's when you get passed by other riders. Humiliating at first, but then I made a plan. If I could just keep up with them it would look like I was actually *in* the group, not getting *passed* by them. And it couldn't have happened at a better spot - right at the starting line, at the bottom of that hill. I was grinning inside, wondering if they give ribbons for 6th place finishes. Turns out those guys didn't even slow down going uphill, so I got dropped again at the same spot as the start of the race.

Then I got thirsty.

I forgot about my thirst when I passed that guy who was still down in the same spot. But this time there was a medical truck next to him. Turns out he broke his leg.

About halfway through the third lap more riders passed me, but I was used to it at this point, and just moved over to let them pass, telling myself that they were the better riders of the bunch. "So long as the little kid on the BMX bike and the old man don't pass me," I told myself.
Then I remembered I was thirsty and had no water. My throat was caked with dirt and all I wanted to do was spit, but my mouth was so dry I couldn't do it.

Chicane. Chicane. There's that hill again.

Then I see Jen, standing halfway up the hill, wagging a water bottle!! Sweet. Just like on TV! So I grabbed the bottle as I rode by. Other riders did the same and then threw their bottles back on the ground before they reached the top of the hill. That seemed like the stupidest idea ever, so when I got to the top of the hill I pulled over and tucked the bottle into my jersey.

Off the bike. Run over two 16" high barriers. Hop back on the bike. Down a rooty single-track section. Cut across a softball field. What lap am I on? How much time is left? I lost track of both. I also lost track of the little kid on the BMX bike and the old man.

Now it becomes a suffer-fest. My heart is pounding, my mouth caked with dirt. My lower back hurts, and I'm thirsty. Turns out that anytime I want to drink water I have to stop riding and do a yoga move to get the water bottle I tucked into my jersey. At this point, I am so tired of stopping and dismounting for the race that I don't even bother to stop to hydrate.

I rode the course again (notice I'm not calling it "racing" anymore).

Chicane. Sandpit. Hit that same bush again for the fourth time. Tried to spit. Couldn't. Back to the hill.

When I got to the top of the hill, my spirits changed dramatically because I saw all of the guys I started with pulled over under a tent, drinking water and getting rubbed down. I wanted to drink water and get rubbed down, too! I looked at my watch and saw that I had been going for 45 minutes. So I figured the race was over. Nobody really tells you when it's over. There's a little flipchart at the finish line with numbers that do down with each lap, but when you get lapped as many times as I did, you gotta wonder if that flipchart really applies to you.

So I did at least four laps, maybe five. But I did ride for the entire 45 minutes. I looked around for the little kid on the BMX bike and the old man, but didn't see them.

I hung out, walked around, looked at bikes, watched Jen's race, watched the men's "A category" race to see how it's supposed to be done, washed down three ibuprofen with two Tecates, broke down the team tent, and went home.

Ate everything in sight again and went to bed at 7pm.

The next morning I had the following email from Jen (I'll let you figure out what "DFL" stand for):
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"You have been officially initiated into the painful "leisure" sport of cyclocross racing with a big, fat DFL - 32/32! Seems to be the standard position for first-timers. I did exactly the same. My guess is it has something to do with the shady rest stops...maybe?

On the other hand, though, you either signed up for the wrong category or they put you in the wrong category. You are in the B Category (100-199) all cyclocross bikes. You should have been in the SINGLE SPEED B CATEGORY - all single speeds. I don't know how that would have changed things for you but just so you know next time."
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Turns out the little kid on the BMX bike and the old man *did* beat me!
And they didn't stop the clock when I pulled over under that shady tree to catch my breath?!
And I signed up for the wrong category?
And she thinks there will be a "next time"?!

Anyway, it was fun, and I *will* do it again.

TWO BUCKS WASTED

Woke up at 6am thinking about a girl.

Blackberry dream "maybe someday."

Cried "SHIT!" out loud to myself in the kitchen when I saw the sunrise.

I hustled down to the corner

and enjoyed this view, all alone on the cliffs. When I asked some friends a few hours later if they saw the sunrise, they looked at me like I was crazy. I guess most people don't get up at dawn on a Saturday.

Dry roads, clear skies, and sunshine, so I pulled out my favorite bike and ran an errand in 39 degree air. Happy. A kid in the drugstore asked "Is that your fixie outside?"

I came home and decided to ride a few miles across town to explore Land of Medicine Buddha, http://www.medicinebuddha.org/, so I layered up in one of my favorite things ("Icebreaker" top - it's merino wool) after a smell check.

This stuff is awesome. For two days this top was tucked inside a cordura nylon bag along with my wet weather gear. I pulled it out and it didn't even smell.

I loaded up for the ride (toolkit, water, journal and pen, energy bar) and and headed down the hill to Capitola and saw the holiday decorations getting pulled down at the restaurants on the beach. Checked out the headlines for the day in Santa Cruz and over the hill in San Jose, a.k.a. Silicon Valley. Tough times.

I wasn't totally positive on the route to Land of Medicine Buddha, so I headed out of Capitola, up Depot Hill, and grinned when I saw this roadie in front of me. I like passing roadies in their full kits when I'm on my fixed gear. With a bag slung over my shoulder. Going uphill.

Getting close... closer...and he's behind me...

Then I got a flat, and learned that my small, space-saving adjustable wrench was too small to remove the rear wheel.

So I used my last CO2 cartridge to fill the tube, thinking I could just haul-ass the four miles home before it flatted again. I blew the CO2, hopped on the bike, and the tire was flat again in about 30 seconds. Two bucks wasted. I was more upset about wasting two bucks than the sudden change in my plans. Thank you yoga.

So I turned around and headed home...through a eucalyptus grove

and hitch-hiked for the first time in my life

Closer to my neighborhood, I saw another example of typical Santa Cruz living. People put stuff on the street corner that they want to get rid of. There's always a handwritten sign on the stuff that usually just says "FREE." I liked the sign on this thing. It says "FREE. YOU FIX IT." So bossy! I was super-stoked and I stopped traffic when I took pictures of this. It says "If my life had a soundtrack..." and is written in cursive on the white stripe of a crosswalk that connects a parking lot to a spot overlooking the ocean. I was walking back and forth across the street, totally oblivious to any traffic, reading it over and over. Happy. I consider this crosswalk to be one of the unofficial entries into my neighborhood (Pleasure Point). And seeing it as I entered my neighborhood made it that much better. How many people in cars will never enjoy this? :)

I got home and went straight to the garage to fix the flat. I found the cause...

...and added the punctured tube to the other 12 tubes that are waiting to get patched.

After I fixed the flat, I went for a spin around the neighborhood to test it, making sure I didn't stray too far. This lady had it figured out.

I pulled onto Manzanita, the street that my garage is on, and saw the neighbor boys playing cars . Pretty boys with pretty cars. Check out Anthony's custom plates on his SS Camaro(FSLFUEL).

Around 4:30 I went down to the Dirt Farm to juggle fire. Short days and beautiful sunsets. Yesterday, I met this guy who was taking pictures of me juggling. He showed me the pics and they were really good, and he said he would take more if I showed up again today. His name is Loic and he's from France, here on holiday, renting a house in the neighborhood. Here he is taking a picture of his daughter (and the guy on the far left is my neighbor Terry).

After he took a lot of pictures of me he asked if he could try juggling. As I handed him the clubs, dripping with fuel, and the lighter, I asked "Can you juggle clubs?" He said "Yes, a little, but never on fire." In a few minutes we had him doing it. I was impressed - not with his juggling chops but with his generosity. He spent so much time taking really good pictures of me over two evenings while keeping two kids in check, and never once made any reference to himself being able to juggle. Thanks, Loic. Very refreshing.