I was so excited about Woerden, I couldn’t wait to blog about it. Instead, I spent the next morning packing up all my stuff at Sten’s place in Lille, and then driving with my old Nerac teammate Nic Smutny 11 hours from Belgium to his home in the Czech Republic.

We’re in a town called Znojmo, and it’s absolutely beautiful. This whole trip is an experience, but getting to come here has really made it something special. I’ve been to Prague and Tabor before, but to be off the beaten tourist path, to be in the wine-making region of Czech, and to have a local showing you around is really exceptional. I’m most fortunate not only to be in the wine-making area, but also to be here while the burčák is flowing. It’s a very delicious, very dangerous drink. Imagine grapefruit juice at 5-10% ABV. Gorgeous.

So many people have helped me on this trip. Sten, his brother, his parents, his girlfriend - and now Nic. He drove 10 hours overnight by himself to meet me in Belgium, and then ride up to Holland with us to pit for me at Woerden. Then he chauffeured me back to Czech, put me up in his house for a few days, and is now taking me to the World Cup tomorrow in Tabor, staying with me Monday, and pitting for me again on Tuesday in Podborany before I fly home on Wednesday. Amazing.

As I mentioned briefly when I got home from Woerden the other night, things went much better. I really have only had one serious goal for the races over here, and that was not to get lapped. After Ardooie and Kalmthout, I was starting to doubt if that was possible, and if I had wasted my time entering those races. I especially felt badly about asking USA Cycling to put me in a World Cup only to be lapped with 4 to go.

Woerden reminded me that I’m not a terrible bike racer. To be competitive in these races, I need to be on point. If I show up on a bad day at a World Cup, it’s going to be really bad. I’m not the best in the world. I don’t live in Europe. I’m not on drugs. There are a lot of challenges already there just to be in the mix. At Woerden, I showed that I can learn from my mistakes, make adjustments, and have success. I also remembered that even here, I’m a decent enough bike driver to still have that as a strength to a degree. The guys at the front of the race are the ones who have the best fitness in the world, AND the best bike driving skills. I’m really only on par with the latter, in comparison.

Before Woerden, I adjusted my position on the bike back to my traditional fit, and away from my road position I had been trying to adapt to. I moved the bars up a centimeter, and the saddle forward a centimeter. What a difference it made.

My hip angle opened up, I got closer to my bars, I could put weight on my hands, and I was absolutely ripping the corners like I was turning on my front wheel only. Most importantly, my back never shut down, so I could make power all night long.

I also brought a different mentality to the race. I was relaxed and not feeling any pressure, but at the same time, committed to giving everything I had from start to finish. There were about 50 starters, and I was called up in the second row. I started as hard as I could. I still lost a lot of places in the first lap, and for a few moments thought I might be in for another day like Sunday. But soon I settled in and started bringing people back. And by “settled in,” I mean I got into a rhythm of complete aggression and relentlessness. I had no idea what place I was in, but I didn’t care. Whether I was alone, chasing, had someone on my wheel, or someone in my way, I stood up and sprinted out of every turn. Instead of coasting into corners at a good speed, I pedaled as hard as I could for as long as I could, and used my brakes as late as possible. I never let up until I saw 1 lap to go, and knew I was going to finish the race on the lead lap.

At that point I was alone (Sten had been on my wheel for the 2 to go lap and attacked me!) and only wanted to finish the lap safely. I had one rider chasing me still, but I had enough left to ride hard and keep from being caught. What a huge sense of relief and satisfaction I felt when I crossed the line. I gave Sten a big hug and nearly cried.

When I found out after the race that not only did I finish on the lead lap, but that I got 25th place, I was beside myself. Next thing you know I’ll be scoring UCI points or something. Crazy.

There are less than 50 people starting in Tabor. If I DON’T score a handlful of UCI points, I’m an asshole, basically. We’ll see. Remind me in the next post to tell you about my “Righteous 10%” theory of cyclo-cross and how it relates to doping.

Also, thanks to Ewoud Dronkert for the photos, and this awesome 750 of Ouwe Daen from the Utrechtse Stoombierbrouwerij I can’t wait to drink:

When I’m done with bike racing I have every intention of coming back to Europe specifically for beer tourism. I think I’ve earned a real vacation in this lifetime.

I shoulda bought it when I had the chance.

I finished on the lead lap at Nacht van Woerden, AND I got 25th place, the last prize money spot. Prize money. I can’t even believe it.

It’s 1:30 here now so I’ll write more tomorrow. But I actually did everything I said I was going to in the race today. I attacked every single section of the course, from start to finish. I finally felt like a bike racer. And I got a result I can finally be proud of.

Rochefort 8 right now. More tomorrow.

I just looked at the World Cup standings and remembered that points go 50 places. I got 51st.

I did, however, get 5 UCI points for being an official finisher. People bitch about riders sandbagging C2 races - is it possible to sandbag World Cups for UCI points?

You can listen to this while you’re reading, if you like:

Good Morning Slaves - The Fantômas-Melvins Big Band

So, for the record, I did not get lapped 4 times. I got lapped once, about 40 minutes in, with 4 laps to go. The way the results get done, you have to make it to half way to be an official finisher. From there, whatever lap you get lapped on is what gets recorded. So while it’s accurate to say “1 lap down,” for those lapped on the final lap, it’s incorrect for the those who got lapped with 2 to go, or in my case, 4 to go. Further, while a normal ‘cross race is 60 minutes, the World Cups and World Championships are 60-70 minutes; basically one extra lap.

Either way, I got my ass handed to me, much worse than I was anticipating. I lined up in the second to last row, as expected. I wasn’t nervous or worried, and in fact, that may be part of the problem. I started quickly, but with the first u-turn on to the grass coming at about 400 meters, there was never really an opportunity to do anything other than stay where I was. I knew from watching previous editions of the race that the riders in the back would come to a stop and have to walk sections in the first part of the race, so I simply rode easy, stayed on my bike, and waiting for the clog to drain.

From there, though, I was just not engaging. I do not know how to race at the back. It feels like there’s nothing to fight for, no reason for any emergencies or to race with any kind of passion. I assumed I could ride a steady race from the back and be strong all day. And while I did ride a steady, consistent pace, everyone else was racing. I was riding tempo. My back was killing me, I couldn’t sprint out of the corners - I just didn’t have it.

As I said to one of my clients yesterday I feel like I’ve been almost being too clever, too conservative. There is a time to ride with the “sit up early, recover, don’t brake” approach that lets you roll the turns and save some energy. What I’m being faced with here are riders who are going full gas to the turn, braking hard, rolling the turn just as fast as I can, and then sprinting out of them, even at the very back of the race. It’s like I landed on Krypton and none of my powers work here. The pedal their bikes like rally car drivers with lots of turbo, unlimited fuel supply, and plenty of braking power.

When I got lapped, and when I watched the race on TV later, you can see the relentlessness with which the riders at the front of the race are racing. It’s 110% whenever you can pedal, recover in the turn, and then 110% again, from start to finish. There are moments where a group might come together and then there’s a pause, or where it makes sense to follow a wheel. But even following a wheel means racing in that style, because the person you’re following is riding that way.

In thinking about my performances since I got here, I see 3 major issues. One is that my back is still killing me in the races. I experimented this year with setting my ‘cross saddle position closer to my road bike to try and ease the transition to ‘cross, and it’s absolutely backfired. I feel great on the pavement and when pedaling steady, but I can barely turn my bike or lift my ass off the seat for uneven terrain without excruciating lower back pain after about 20 minutes. That makes it hard to pedal, no?

Two is that I was definitely still jetlagged, and dealing with trying to be all things to all people. The meetings on Saturday weren’t hard or stressful, but when I’m falling asleep on every break between them and then still waking up tired after 9 hours of sleep overnight, I’m obviously not 100%.

Third is that I just have to change my style. I have to race at the back with the same intensity I race at the front. Where ever I am in the field, I have to fight for every position, care about it like I’m racing for the win. Every spot is worth fighting for, and I have to come at it with more intensity and more meaning than I have so far. I can’t waste the opportunity to do these races by being in my own head the whole time.

Tonight I’m heading to the Netherlands for the Nacht van Woerden. It’s been raining here all night and all morning, so it looks like I’m going to have my first genuinely muddy race. It doesn’t start until 9:30 at night, so in addition to trying to figure everything else out, I’m going to have to deal with picking lines in the mud, in traffic, and in the dark. Awesome. At least I actually have a start contract for this race!

It’s not the Fourth of July, but:

Fourth of July - Galaxie 500

I wrote a poem on a dog biscuit
And your dog refused to look at it
So I got drunk and looked at the Empire State Building
It was no bigger than a nickel
And if it don’t improve
Then I have to move
I never thought that I would end up here
Maybe I should just change my style
But I feel alright when you smile

Thank god for Janice and video chats.

“The Latest News,” or perhaps, the last word:

Seriously, I don’t want to talk about it. I had no business in that race today. None.

http://www.sport.be/nl/wielrennen/veldrijden/article.html?Article_ID=317141

Scroll down for the “fotospecial.”

Nys crashed on the first barrier and landed face first on the second one. You’d think the day before a World Cup maybe he’d be more careful.

He’s also not even pretty. Just pretty for Belgium.

So today I had two big meetings. The first was the management committee meeting of the AIOC-Cross, and the second was the general meeting of all the AIOC-Cross members. The AIOC-Cross is the Association of International Cyclo-Cross Organizers. It’s a private association that every UCI race organizer around the world is allowed to join for a small fee. There are generally two meetings per year, sometimes three, and one of them is always at Worlds. Once I started coming over to watch worlds, I started attending the meeting, and was eventually asked to join the management committee.

It’s hard to say what the AIOC-Cross really does. That’s one of my main complaints about it. We spend a lot of time talking about the meetings themselves. When to have them, what to discuss - things that most modern groups might discuss ahead of time via e-mail. Then we mostly brainstorm about the situation of ‘cross around the world, what’s going well or poorly, and what action we’d like to see taken as organizers. We often send our recommendations to the UCI ‘Cross Commission, of which myself and the president of the AIOC, René Vermerien, are also members.

The meetings can be kind of hectic, because everyone is encouraged to speak in their native languages first, and then we translate as needed. In addition to whatever people’s native languages are, most everyone also speaks at least French and/or English as well, so things normally get translated into one of those languages. Our management meeting consists of Belgians, Dutch, Swiss, British, French, and Luxembourgers, so we go back and forth between French and English. And because French is not everyone’s native language, they speak slowly and carefully enough that I understand things pretty well. In fact, today was the first time I actually spoke French directly to ask a question. It’s probably been since high school that I was able to do that. Almost everyone else speaks at least 4 languages: Dutch or Flemish, French, German, and English. And at least one guy speaks Luxembourgese. Seriously.

In the general meeting, we had to add German to that as well, and the one German guy ONLY spoke German. You can see why it takes forever to get anything done in a meeting in Europe.

I was happy with the way things went today. I’m always a little nervous that I’ll be taken seriously or that I have enough experience to speak effectively in this group. But I’m always treated well and find that I’m able to make relevant and meaningful contributions, and that my opinion matters. Even though I’ve been organizing my race for 18 years now, I’m still much younger than most of the other organizers, and probably weigh half as much as well. To be sitting at the head of the table with the other management committee members, and be presiding over a group of organizers that includes people running World Cups, Superprestiges, and Gazette van Antwerpen events can be daunting. We spent a large part of the day discussing the out of control start money in Belgium. Realizing that I have some kind of influence on what Sven Nys and Lars Boom might get paid sometimes makes me laugh.

While I was in the meeting, Christine Vardaros totally rescued me by coming by the hotel and picking up my license, then getting my race number for the World Cup tomorrow. That’s another aspect of this trip that really hits me sometimes. How did I find myself so deep on each side of the line? How is it that on this trip I can wear so many hats? On one day I’m a member of the AIOC management committee speaking to the organizer of a Superprestige about Boom’s start money, and the next day I’m racing with Boom (if you want to call it that) in the World Cup. I rarely stop to think about all of it, but today I suppose I did. The other organizers think it’s great that I’ll be in the race tomorrow, and while no one expects me to be at the front, it’s still viewed as an accomplishment to be qualified to start.

Now we have a big group dinner, and I’ll come back to the room and pass out, I expect. World Cup tomorrow. Yikes.

I have to get up at 7 am tomorrow in order to ride before the meetings start at 10. So I rented a van, moved my hotel up one night, and drove to Kalmthout. I finally remembered to take pictures today, though. So to make up for the novel from the other day, here are some photos from the past few days. Enjoy.

I can’t decide. I suppose results speak for themselves, to a degree, so perhaps that’s a good place to start?

Ardooie Results

What’s on my mind right now is that I crashed. Again. On the pavement. On the same hip. AGAIN. This is the third time in a month, I think, that I’ve ripped the skin off my right hip. And all 3 crashes have been the same freak thing. I’m just riding, and VWOOP! I’m on the ground sliding with my hands still on the handlebars.

Let me back all the way up to the start. I was called up in the 3rd row, which I was pretty happy about. There were about 50 starters, so there were 3 more rows behind me. I was lined up behind Michael Muller, who was lined up behind Jon Page. It was like being at home!

My plan for the day was to do a normal fast start, but not bury it, and then back off immediately to my own comfortable pace. I talked to Franky van Haesebroucke before the start and he gave me the advice I was thinking to myself. “You just got here, it’s your first race, start slow and ride steady. Jonathan always goes too hard in his first race here.” Perfect.

So while I hit the first section of dirt after the start in about 15th wheel, I dialed it down to TT mode, and about 20 dudes sprinted by me trying to hold the wheels. I tried not to panic, to trust myself, and just kept it rolling. By the end of the first lap, I was somewhere back in the 30’s, but still on wheels, and still close enough to see groups around the turns with guys I would have been happy to ride with like Michi, Nico Clarysse, and Camiel van den Burgh. So I just kept plugging along.

On the 3rd lap, it started to rain, for only about 3 minutes. Enough to make the pavement wet, and dangerous. As we came through the start finish stretch and near the turn onto the grass again, I decided to leave a little room to the rider in front of me and take it gently. As I was thinking this to myself, and before I had probably finished the thought, I was on the ground. I hit some kind of oil patch on the outside of the turn, possibly because I was going slow enough to go a little more outside than normal. I was up in a flash, but already bloody from ripping away the new skin that had finally formed on my hip, and limped to the pit.

I lost a few places, and a lot of morale. I changed bikes and just tried to find my rhythm. And strangely, I found it. Maybe it was because I had nothing to lose at that point, maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe I was just finally comfortable on the course. But I started riding sections in the big ring that I was struggling on before. I flew through the sand pit. I sprinted out of all the turns. And then I started to catch people. Crazy.

In the end, I did still get lapped, with 3 to go. Not a stellar showing. But to get 34th out of 50 starters isn’t embarrassing, at least, even though it felt so during the race. Sten’s brother Sven, who was pitting for me with his dad, said that I was going well in the last few laps and making up ground to the riders in front of me.

I’d love it if I could build on this ride and have a little more confidence in the next race. I should be over the jet lag, and hopefully the crash doesn’t leave me too sore. However, the next races is a fucking World Cup, so I can’t imagine it’s going to be any easier than a little C2 on a Thursday afternoon in sleepy Ardooie.

Tomorrow I have to rent a car, see if I can move my hotel room up one day, and drive to Kalmthout. I’m a little stressed about it. I have AIOC-Cross meetings starting at 10 am, and going all day, with dinner scheduled at 7. Not the best way to spend the day before a World Cup, but then again, I wouldn’t even be here to do the World Cup if I wasn’t using the meeting as my excuse. So my only hope is to leave here tomorrow, get checked into the hotel, and get my ride in at 8 am before the day starts. And drink a lot of coffee, I guess.