OVCX: Cincinnati UCI Cyclocross Festival

All photos by Naz Hamid, from here.

Naz and I left Chicago Thursday at about 11:30 AM in order to head to Cincinnati, Ohio, my hometown, and race the OVCX UCI Cyclocross Festival, a three-day series of races. The racing started Friday with the Darkhorse Cyclostampede in Burlington, Kentucky, then moved to Middletown, Ohio for the Java Johnny's race, and finished with the Biowheels/United Dairy Farmers UCI-1 race in Harbin Park, located in the Cincinnati suburb of Fairfield.

I've ridden two of those courses before – last year doing the Burlington race with Ben Popper and the Harbin Park race back in '05 as my first race ever as a 'cross racer (and getting seventh in the process). Last year, Burlington was a brutal course: rutted, dry and hot. Harbin Park, more wooded and with substantial terrain, was hopefully as I remembered it: a real sweetheart. I had no idea what to expect of the Middletown race, which is what I like, as I like being surprised. Actually, I had no idea to expect of the entire weekend, as racing CX three days in a row is quite a test of ambition, legs, and equipment. I could crash badly in a race and be forced to forgo the others, or I could overdo my efforts in the unseasonably hot weather that was predicted for the three days and ruin my legs. The rules of the weekend were to stay hydrated, eat lots of food and have a good time. Normally I have no problem with abiding by these laws, but as any competitive cyclist, amateur or professional knows, sometimes things go exactly the way you don't expect them to.

Ben, Julie, Tim and Devon had to wait until after work before they came down to cincinnati. While waiting for them, Naz and I hung out with my parents, went to Melt for dinner and checked out Shake It!, where I bought a used copy of Mudhoney's "Superfuzz Bigmuff" for cheap. By 11:30, the rest of the crew was in town and in my mom's kitchen, eating ice cream and talking up plans for the next day's race.



Friday morning, we got the day going at a leisurely pace. Naz and I went to Kroger's and bought groceries and set about reading the paper, tweaking our bikes and gathering together all our materials for that afternoon's race. After arriving and registering, I put on my cleats and helmet and got out onto the course. Just as last year, the ground was rutted, bone dry, but fast. A long pavement straightaway led to off-camber ess-curves through trees, then to a series of short, sharp rises which had to be taken out of the saddle and slow, down to a long straightaway to the UCI-dictated maximum of two artificial barriers, then down into a small gulley that at speed threatened to crack forks. After this, a long pavement section led toward the back side of the course, which doubled back over an even more rutted section and around an off-camber corner. Then the course headed down the hill with a log at the bottom of the turn and back up to the start/finish.

Because I preregistered, I got a call-up and secured a spot on the second row. Pat Kelly, a former teammate of mine from the Midwest Flyers/Campus Cyclery squad was close by, and we made jokes and self-deprecating comments before the gun was to go off. And hardly a minute went by and the UCI official was in front of us, giving the rundown and then shooting off the starting pistol. I took my initial sprint aggressively, cutting in behind the front line of riders and setting myself up for the race. Things were going well by the time the group got to the bike path on the back side of the course – I was in about the 10th to 12th position in a good draft. Then, as we transitioned onto the dirt and back onto the pavement for a short climb, I stood out of the pedals, heard a clunk, and then I felt no resistance from the pedals. I looked down hoping to see a dropped chain, but instead my chain was laying on the pavement, getting run over by the 40 riders that were behind me.

So there I stood, waiting for all to pass and occasionally hearing "Oh, MAN, does that gotta suck!" And suck it did. My race was over and I hadn't even completed a lap. So, I walked the bike back in, cussed and sulked a bit, and tried to not act like a brat. Julie came through with a new chainpin and I went for a good ride on some beautiful Burlington roads to clear my mind and burn off some of the excess energy that I had reserved for the race.

Afterward, we went over to my dad's house and cooked a big family-style dinner of spaghetti, garlic bread, and salad, with beers to wash it all down. Got to hang out with my dad and talk about life, my future, jobs, and so on. Our lives are so busy sometimes that the only time we get to talk is when I come in town for a race or he gives me a holler on his way home from work. This is all matter for another blog post, though.



Saturday morning didn't start off so smooth. I had set the alarm on my phone for 6:45 AM, but I'd made a mistake and the alarm didn't go off. Naz woke up at 7:23, looked outside and said "Zach! Get up, we slept in!" So I jumped out of bed, got myself together and we were out on the road to Middletown by 8:00. On the drive up, I was able to showcase some local Ohio attractions including Touchdown Jesus and Trader's World. Shortly after, we got to the venue and Naz and I both remarked, "This doesn't look promising." Middletown's Sunset Park was the race venue and it was a small patch of greenspace tucked in a residential neighborhood, maybe a quarter mile on each side. From the street, it looked like a mess of tape, congested, and not at all well thought out.

Once registered, we got on our bikes, went out to recon, and found that our expectations were rash. Yes, the race was tight and congested, but it was a wild trip. Short power sections would transition to off-camber switchbacks. A small climb up a gravelly service road would immediately drop down into a swooping descent past the shelter and through a severely rutted and rooty transition area. To race well on this course, handling skills would be needed, along with the ability to get out of the saddle and sprint every 20 seconds. Oh, and the kicker? A sandpit with a 180 degree turn at the end, which was entirely rideable the first half, the second not so much. In pre-race, riders left and right were crashing or stalling out in the sand and forced to dismount and run the bike at a hefty cost of energy and time. The strategy we all came to was to bomb the short descent into the sand, ride hard and dismount for the second half. Easier said than done, of course.

At 11:50, I was at the staging area, sucking down a gel and taking one last drink of Heed. By then, the heat was really coming on strong – a high of 85 was forecasted for the day and by the time of my race, it was about 80 and not a cloud in the sky. So much for the sodden, wet misery of fall cyclocross – the day was shaping up to be a steamer. I felt sorry for those who had to race later in the afternoon. Much like Friday's race, I got a call-up to the second line, where I again talked smack with Pat Kelly. Unlike Friday's race, I had a bad start and couldn't get the legs spinning fast enough to sprint to the front of the first, fast pack. At the off-camber switchback ascent, I got stuck behind a succession of crashes, forcing me off of the bike and into a run.

As the laps went on, six of them for the Cat. 3 men, I settled into a solid rhythm, not getting passed, but also not able to pass the few riders dangling just feet in front of me. Brent Emoff of Team Hungry (a former Midwest Flyer and friend) was just 20 seconds ahead, and a Team Louisville rider who responded well to Julie's heckling was maybe 10 seconds. No matter how I tried, I couldn't reel them in and that's how I finished the race – 42nd of 53. Not that good.

After an extended spin with Kerry Nordstrom and Brent, I cleaned-up and changed, and watched the Elite Women and Men tear it up. Katie Compton flashed a grin at me when I called her a "killer" and I heckled all those fast dudes that get paid to ride cyclocross professionally. Ben started off strong, but he lost some placings to the heat and fatigue. After his finish, we packed the cars and headed back to my mom's, where we cleaned ourselves up. A trip again down to Northside for Melt, a beer from the Northside Tavern, and Graeter's capped off the night and we were all in bed by 10:30.



I woke up Sunday morning at about 6:15 after a night of fitful sleep. Coffee and a small bowl of oatmeal was all that I could stomach, but I had time to fuel before my race, so I wasn't much worried. We all drove to Harbin Park in Fairfield, which incidentally is where I first raced cyclocross back in 2005. Much like the day before, after registering for the race and getting our numbers, Naz, Tim, and myself went out to ride the course to see what it was all about.

The racecourse was at a UCI-maximum length of 3.5 kilometers – which didn't seem like so much because it was so goddamn fast. From the start/finish, a short uphill sweeper led to an uphill sandpit that was only able to be ridden by the pros, then through some off-camber curves in a stand of trees to the barriers. Then, up a long climb to the top of a hill and across a ridge, to a series of switchbacks that dropped down to a small ravine that ramped up the speeds to the high 20's. A climb up a rough patch of double-track led to a series of fast sweepers that dropped back down to a U-shaped turn that promised severe bottlenecks in the first several laps. After that, a climb back up the side of the hill, only to descend at high speed through the other side of the sand pit, which there was rideable with a minimum of pedaling. Then, more sweeping curves that begged for riding in the drops, a treacherous off-camber dirt corner, and a slow slogging climb in the grass to the start/finish.

If the previous day's race relied on anaerobic sprint strength and handling, this course demanded the ability to climb and descend without hesitation. In the Men's C race, Naz and Tim both put in great efforts, with Naz taking 17th in a field of 48. Afterward, he gave me a few pointers, the most crucial being that it was imperative to attack on the uphill pavement section where most riders would try to recover after pushing too hard in the barrier and sand sections. I love climbing and finding my rhythm when the route heads uphill, so I took his advice seriously.

At the staging area, all us Cat. 3 riders were circulating around the parking lot in some strange kind of crit, abuzz with the sound of knobby 'cross tires rubbing on pavement. As I had all weekend, I got to talking with Pat Kelly, Kerry and Brent about the race and who to watch out for. We'd all been finishing mid-pack all weekend, so it was kind of a discussion of which one of us we were going to target. I wanted to take out Brent, who had beat me the day before. Pat wanted to win over all of us, because he's just that kind of guy. Either way, it was a good example of macho posturing and bravado – and I realize now that I miss riding with these guys a lot. At least I get to see them once a month or so, whenever I come home.

And before we knew it, it was time for us to line up and race. I was sketched out by the thought of the pack sprinting on the narrow pavement of the staging area, which turned a sharp left into the course. Once the gun went off, I stayed in the front pack, but let myself get pushed out of the way as we went into the grass. That wasn't such the mistake as it would have been yesterday, as this course with its wider trails and less precarious corners was better suited for a more passive sprinter such as myself.

Once I settled into a good pace, I started passing a few of the riders that had ridden by me at the start. One here, two there, it was a game that I played on the climb to the water tower and on the ridge thereafter. This race also allowed one to recover some – I could catch a breath on the descents, the climbs allowed me to take a drink from the bottle that I had the foresight to stash in my jersey pocket. The heat was brutal, but the shade helped. Altogether, I was riding better than I did the day before and unless I had a mechanical, I would bring it home in a decent spot.

For the last lap, though, I had two riders breathing down my neck, just seconds behind. I couldn't shake them, nor could they bridge up to me, and so we were as we all came flying through the last trip in the sandpit and down the sweeping curves. As the course tilted upward toward the finish, I geared down, got in my drops and sprinted as hard as I could. And I came in without being passed. 36/57.

After cooling down and showering as best I could using a drinking fountain, I went on to see Devon take 7th in the Elite Women's field. As I had yesterday, I live-blogged for Cyclocross Magazine during the Men's Elite race. Check out my dispatches here. Powers came in for the win, just ahead of Wells who had to sprint on his own two legs due to a chain broken (seems kinda common, doesn't it) in the final stretch. It was inspiring to see pro riders go at speeds I couldn't dream of attaining, and riding with a smoothness that will take years for me to develop.

As soon as Ben had cleaned up, we were on the road back home to Chicago. A stop at Waffle House in Shelbyville provided much needed carbs, grease and grits, and by 10:00 PM, I was home and pestering Allison.

Final thoughts:

Playing pro cyclist for a weekend is fun. Forget about the lifestyle. I don't like bikes enough to spend my waking hours racing and then eating. I mean, I love to eat and ride, but on my terms. If I feel like doing a five hour endurance ride in cyclocross season, I can do so and my Sunday results aren't likely to suffer. If I feel like eating a bowlful of icecream, I can do so, too.

My parents are awesome. I didn't think so back in high school, but I think most kids don't get along with their parents at least for some times of their lives. I have had epic battles with my parents, but I'm closer to them now than I have ever been before.

Waffle House is good, but for post-race junk food, Chipotle is king.