Last year there was a cyclocross racing event held in Bend Oregon United States of America for the purpose of declaring some cyclocross racers better than other cyclocross racers at cyclocross racing. The better cyclocross racers selected by that process are not pictured here. It was cold, wet, frozen, snowy, muddy, sunny, bright, dark, windy and some word that means deep soggy leg sapping grass that makes you want to hit the guy next to you who knows the secret of riding through it because that's why he's passing you. Maybe the French have a word for it, like they do for every other cycling concept. I suspect it is a vowel-intensive, diphthong-laden term. In the American language, we will call it bullshit, because that is what it was. Also, rainbows. The rainbows were nice.
YSCX Mobile Tentquarters was established at the lowest point on Pro Row. We know this because when the frozen ground thawed, the ice floes flowed directly into our tent. Like so:
This is what happens when we are not allowed to use our best and only cyclocross skill - finding the best spot on the course for the tentquarters - and are instead assigned a spot on a grid. That said, the guys from Enduro Bearings set up next to us could not have been better neighbors (unless judged by KFO's standards, in which case their failure to design, manufacture and give us free Campagnolo-compatible ceramic bearings was a gauche faux pas of the deep soggy leg sapping mudgrass variety). Thanks to the good folks at Enduro Bearings, we were not forced to rely on the restaurant-style space heater Kevin stole from some unguarded patio dining area on the way home from the dinner at which he was reminded his one and only job was to get a space heater for the tent. Behold the fruits of Kevin's labors:
And if it looks like it isn't working, that's because it's not. So get out there and buy Enduro Bearings - because their space heater worked.
And now we will review the YSCX Nationals That Was on the YSCX Scale of Spectacularity, from leastest to mostest.
Least Spectacular: Frank Lazlo and the Perils of Having Standards
There was something about the time I spent on the bike that week that told me, in no uncertain terms, I was doing it wrong. KFO hardly needed to confirm that fact for me. But she did:
I believe I mentioned in a past post that without standards we would have nothing to fall short of, which is how I spent the non-beer drinking portion of The Nationals. I ocurred to me during the 347th meter of the race, as I was flying over the handlebars after having been forced into a course marker by a clever competitor intent on proving something, I'm sure, that I had not crashed once this season, an oversight I would address repeatedly in my two days on the course. My train of thought was derailed by the remaining two-thirds of the field electing not to avoid either me or my bike, probably due to the better traction to be had by running me over than in attempting to ride through the frozen mud bog in which I landed. Ever game, once the entire field made its way over me I gave chase and inserted myself into the mix where I belonged:
I believe the gentleman behind me spotted me somewhere in the range of 75 pounds, and then passed me on the run up. It was that kind of week for me.
The Thing That Is Better Than Least Spectacular: Kevin Max
The only reason Kevin does not come in last in the YSCX Scale of Spectacularity (The Nationals Edition) is because that is exactly what he wants, and denying him the validation such an honor would give his whole "training and preparation are wrong and bad" ethic is the only way I can say I succeeded at anything that week. Plus, he was ahead of me at some point during the race so any claim to lessermost Spectacularity he might make would be hollow indeed:
Athough it would be too much to ask for an encore to last year's face-plant, it should not go unmentioned that Kevin remained drearily upright throughout the contest:
If one did not know better, one might accuse the Original Doctor Spectacular of actually trying, or worse yet, training! We here at YSCX HQ sincerely hope Kevin will renounce his clandestine training program and return to his former Spectacular ways. And we hope he returns the space heater, because we are not thieves.
Spectacular Good Humor: Seamus
I will make this short, just like Seamus's race. That's him in the mighty black and black with extra black kit, waaaaaaay over there:
Sadly, Seamus never got close enough to the camera for a worthy photo. Having discovered the French grass was unlikely to produce one of his patented race-ending flats, Seamus chose a line through a rutted muddy section that ensured a collision with course furniture of sufficient Spectacularity that his brake would arrest further spinning of his front wheel. Forever. Somehow, though, I think it might have been his plan all along to make us get up early after we were all done racing, stand around in a driving snowstorm, and cheer him as he rode by. Once. You tell me, does this look like someone preparing to do cyclobattle for 45 minutes with the best cyclobattlers this country has to offer, or is he already thinking about waffles?
Most Spectacular: The YSCXX Crew
Regular readers of this blog may recall that we here at YSCX have the best of intentions when it comes to equipment preparation, but will from time to time overlook small but key details. In Astoria, we were guilty of failing to inflate J-Green's tires properly, or at all. For The National, it was the Bomber's pedal that was overlooked, and as a result of our neglect, it stopped, well, pedaling.
Yet despite a several minute repair job involving the removal of her pedal from her shoe, reattaching it to her bike, and giving chase with a pedal that WOULD NOT MOVE, the Bomber came within seconds of finishing on the lead lap (by way of comparison, I came within three laps of finishing on the lead lap...of a six lap race). The Bomber had an amazing season all around and richly deserves the YSCX Rookie of the Year honors that I just bestowed on her by writing this sentence. While the rest of us wallowed in the mud and slogged through the French grass, the Bomber sailed through clear blue skies with rainbows in them.
Of course she slogged through the rest of it too, but it's my blog post and that is how I like to think of her race. This is how The Bomber remembers it:
And then there were the YSCXX Elites: KFO and Sarah, who very nearly won their "catch me if you can" deathmatch showdown with seven-time National champion and (now) double Worlds silver medalist Katie Compton.
Well, it wouldn't be a deathmatch without a professional wrestler, now, would it? KFC took off from the front of the pack and within a lap or two was mowing down backmarkers like suicide squirrels on the boulevard, while Sarah bravely fought a rearguard action for almost the entire race.
KFO likewise did her level best to throw as many bodies between herself and the oncoming onslaught that was Katie Fucking Compton in an effort to forestall the inevitable catch:
In a race-ending move that was equal parts clever and practical, Sarah and KFO finally let KFC catch them with a lap to go, thus allowing them to get to the bike wash area early, after which they posed for next year's edition of YSCX Training Tips and Life Lessons.
Well that does it. A sentence that can be repurposed in any number of ways. In this case, it puts the period at the end of the sentence at the end of the chapter on YSCX 2010. Stay tuned to this corner of the series of tubes for posts from the Classics of Spring in which the Bomber will meet Jens! and PhilandPaul, and we will bounce around on cobbled Belgian roads in awful weather and in so doing replenish our cylcing mojo for the cross season to come!
Until then,
Go real fast.
Frank Lazlo
