Day 3 of the GP Cycliste was destined to be my last. I have never been, nor ever will be, a good criterium racer. Crits, as they are affectionately called, favour those with legs about twice the size of mine. I always considered myself to be just fine at crits. I could hold my own, maybe finish in the Top-10 in Alberta crits. Oh boy, was I ever in for a surprise in eastern Canada.
Alberta criterium races are a tame affair when compared to eastern Canada. They’re slower, shorter, and far less aggressive. Alberta crits max out around an hour, but out in Ontario and Quebec it’s not uncommon for them to be more than 90 minutes. In terms of speed, in my experience, Alberta races are 2-3 km/h slower. This lethal combination of speed, length, aggressiveness, and danger makes for a tricky race. Especially when you are suited to hillier racing. Saguenay wasn’t the worst crit I had experienced, but in hindsight I had already lost the mental battle. From the start I was at the back of the field, chasing the wheel in front of me after each corner. I tried, without success, to move up on a few occasions but I was already hurting. Eventually I was off the back and lasted a few more laps before the commissaire pulled me from the course. I wasn’t too distraught that my race was over; I had lasted a good while longer than I had expected after the first day baptism by fire. I knew that I couldn’t help my team in the race the next day, but I knew I could help Tim, our soigneur. Tim was truly a blessing for those 4 days in June. He spent his time off work travelling to the race with us and looking after anything we needed. It is so incredibly helpful to have someone like him with a team during a stage race. The whole team was run like a well-oiled machine. I was grateful to have a behind-the-scenes look the night after the crit, helping Tim prepare sandwiches and bottles for the next day. Another shoutout has to go to Glen and Jay, who worked tirelessly to make sure everything was planned for the next day. They were our directeur sportifs, mechanics, team managers, and every other position that a team needs to fill. The next day was a true test for everyone racing. A long, gradual hill with a fierce crosswind split the field as Tim and I watched from the feed zone. The indefatigable Derrick St. John made the lead group that stayed away for the rest of the day. There was a huge number of DNF’s that day, but I was proud to see that no-one from RwR threw in the towel. Derrick eventually finished 5th, a big result for the team. In the end, it was unforgettable experience. In hindsight, while I may have been a little disappointed in myself, I knew it was a learning process. I knew I’d be back stronger and with more experience soon enough.
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After the torturous first stage of the GP Cycliste de Saguenay, the team went back to the hotel and showered before dinner. My roommate, Justin, had been racing far longer than I. This was my first UCI race ever, and I got the impression that this wasn’t even his first of the year. A seasoned and experienced racer is typically very organised. Justin was no exception, with an immaculate suitcase and race-day bag. This was in contrast to the pile of clothes spilling over the sides of my bag. I learned pretty quick that more organization equals less stress overall. In my experience, teams like to be punctual. If the director says that the van is leaving for the race at 9, it pulls out at 9. You better be there or you’ll be riding your way to the start line. It seems to me that there’s always “that one”, the one person who is almost always just a few minutes late. Most teams won’t actually leave a rider behind, but I’ve heard of a few who do. The better the organization and setup of the team, the lower the stress for everyone involved. And if there’s less stress, everyone races better. Luckily, this is not foreshadowing for the second stage of Saguenay. On the whole, Ride with Rendall was exceptionally well organized. You just never want to be the person that’s always late. Anyways, back to the exciting stuff. We rolled up to the start of stage 2. The start and finish were just a small distance from the previous day. The course rolled uphill for the first half, before a hairy crosswind section. A left turn then took the peloton onto a smooth section of road with a strong tailwind followed by a short descent down to the finish. We did 9 laps of that course, totalling about 170 km. The race started and my only goal was to make it as far as possible without getting dropped. Turns out that was going to be pretty hard. The first half of the course was relatively easy. Even with the hills it all seemed pretty chill. Maybe I had just recovered really well? That thought vanished as soon as we turned left into the crosswind section. All of a sudden everyone was in a world of hurt. The pro teams hit the front of the group and wound up the pace. In a crosswind, the group forms what is called an echelon. Essentially, the best draft is slightly to the side of the person ahead of you, so the group lines up with a certain number of people across the road. Since there is a finite amount of room, anyone not in a position to be beside someone else and in this optimal draft has to work very hard just to keep in contact. This can be even worse if the person at the front doesn’t use the whole width of the road. I wasn’t near the front so I had to fight just to hold the wheel in front of me. I learned a lot of lessons in just a few kilometers that day. I got dropped with 2 laps to go when I just couldn’t hold the wheel in front of me anymore. I was cooked from 2 days of hard racing. I didn’t want to let my team down and I wasn’t ready to be done just yet. I rode the last 2 laps mostly solo, occasionally with a few other stragglers. Once dropped, the goal is always to make it in within the time cut. Race organisers set a time cut, which is usually a percentage of the winner’s time added onto their stage time. If you finish outside the time cut, you get a DNF. I made it in time that day. Not quite last but a fair ways back. There were a few nasty crashes that day, but luckily no one from Ride with Rendall was hurt. We crawled back to the hotel, showered and went to dinner. We were in bed by about 8, ready for a long sleep before the next day’s criterium. All in all, Stage 2 of the GP Cycliste was a learning day. No results or efforts to write home about, but I know I’ll never make the same mistakes again. I really felt as if I was thrown into the deep end. That day taught me how to keep myself afloat. Photo: Tim O'Connor
After a less than stellar year in 2016, I knew I was lucky to be on a team like Ride with Rendall. I could have very well been riding for a local team, doing local races. A huge part of my motivation last year was knowing that I was taking a forward leap, into a whole new world of bike racing. To an outside observer, this might all seem very trivial. A bike race is just a bike race, right? Put simply, no. There are many different levels to bike racing. With Ride with Rendall, I had the opportunity to ride some of the top races in North America. These races belong to a circuit known as the UCI America Tour. It’s a group of UCI races, mostly attended by professional teams, with a few elite amateur teams mixed in. My first crack at one of these races was at the GP Cycliste de Saguenay. It has a reputation for bad weather, tough and punchy courses, and a lot of DNF’s. When the team rolled into Saguenay, I could tell it would be a far cry from the limited race days I had back home. The first day there consisted of a team presentation, where each team lines up for a photo op and the riders are presented. This all felt very foreign to me, and it was intimidating sitting across the room from athletes I had watched on TV for years. I think some small part of me thought that maybe I would do incredible things at a big race and easily secure a pro contract. That feeling was far outweighed by my logical thoughts that told me that I had no chance; I knew that I would be lucky to finish the 4-day stage race. The first stage was on a hilly circuit just outside of Saguenay. It was a single steep pitch every lap followed by a long, false-flat section, and a descent back down into town. We signed on as a team, stood for a picture, and had a team meeting before the stage. I was very glad to be under the direction of Glen Rendall and Jason Cheney, they have infinitely more experience than me. I knew they had no expectations for me, and that was comforting, I could just do my best and that’s all I could hope for. The stage started and within a few laps I was in the gutter, barely hanging on. Each time up the wall nearly had me dropped, and the false-flat section took every ounce of energy I had. The speed was unrelenting, as the break of the day tried to establish. Unbeknownst to me, the breakaway that sticks on the first day of a short stage race like this almost always contains the eventual winner. Naturally, all the teams want to be in this break, so speeds can be through the roof before a select group gets away. What was I doing while this was happening? Hanging on for dear life on the tail end of the group. I finished that day in dead last. My teammates had ridden an awesome race, each finishing with the pack. At first, the results said that I had missed the time cut and I was given a DNF. Eventually the results were revised and I was given the “lanterne rouge” position. I was just happy to live to fight another day. Sign-on before Stage 1. Photo: Tim O'Connor
Cycling is a spectrum sport. There is a huge range of cyclists, encompassing many walks of life. Those who ride for transport, for fun, for fitness, or to race. Even racing itself holds many different motivations within it. Weekend warriors, casual racers, professionals. While they all may show up for a weekend of racing, each holds different ambitions. The most masochistic of all these groups are the pros. Now I’m no pro, but I’m aspiring to be. I’ve seen how hard amateurs train and I can’t imagine the level that domestic or Worldtour level professionals push themselves. Tens of thousands of kilometers a year, and an off-season of just a few weeks. Cycling demands complete focus and attention. Few other sports require training hours that rival the hours of a full-time job. I had my first taste of this last spring. After being offered a spot on Ride with Rendall, I knew I had to step it up a few notches from previous years. This was no easy feat, with university in the mix and cold weather descending on Squamish. I spent a week of January in California, with lots of riding and knowledge gained. After that it was back to reality, back to a wintery Lethbridge. 5 hours of riding in the Santa Monica mountains feels far easier than 5 hours on an indoor trainer. I’ve always ridden the trainer, but nothing like last winter. When temperatures dip consistently below -15 C, it’s the trainer or nothing for me. It may not be ideal, but I think it’s helped me push myself harder than ever before. When I returned to Quest University in February I found it difficult to push more than 18-20 hours on the bike without compromising my academics. I could certainly let my grades slip and up my training, but that’s just not me. I found the best balance that I could. I finished my school year at the end of March, went home for a few days, and then drove to Penticton. The Okanagan area is a favourite for Canadians looking for a warm-weather cycling spot, without having to cross any borders. I found a motel room for $28 a night, with 2 beds and a kitchen. Why not. I cooked for myself, shopped for groceries and rode my bike as much as I could. The weather was good, and I rode a few times with the Lead Out Project, who were also in town for a team camp. It was a good first taste of how pro cyclists live, and it reinforced my belief that this was something worth fighting for. Bike racing is a beautiful, painful, incredible sport. I am doing everything I can to fulfill my potential and reach the highest level I can. I think that’s all anyone can hope for. Riding in California with new friends Sara Bergen and Tristen Chernove. Photo: Wes Ochitwa
It's been a long year, and I figured I'd write a little bit about my experiences working my way up through the ranks of cycling in Canada. Let's start at the beginning.
This time last year I was pretty lost. I had no prospects for the coming year, and I came pretty close to giving up on this whole cycling thing. It's hard to stay motivated, especially when it's so difficult to see any successes in the near future. Luckily enough, I found a friend. Tim Austen, who I'm sure you'll hear more about, sent me a Facebook message. A simple one-liner that would change my entire year. "Are you looking to get a little bit of uci racing next year?". He told me to send a race resume to the Director of his team, Ride with Rendall. I thought great! Better write a race resume. I sent my resume off and within a month I had a spot on the team. I feel like my experience is pretty common in the cycling world. Opportunities come and go faster than the southern Alberta wind. You never really know how things are going to turn out. That single Facebook message laid the groundwork for this past year. I made friends, experienced new places, raced my bike, and had a great time doing it. This blog is, hopefully, going to chronicle my experiences and give some insight into what it's like racing my bike all across the country. |
Christian GomesI'm a bike racer Archives
February 2018
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