I Choose Cake. :: :: BURNHAM RACING ::

I Choose Cake.
St. Francis Hospital Blue Island Pro Am report by Eric Goodwin 07-14-2008

With eight men sporting the winged black’n’white on Saturday, we had another big vee-dubya-trek showing for the Category 3 event at the Blue Island Criterium. On one hand, it’s thrilling to roll up to the start line with the largest team in the field. Nobody enters a race thinking they’re going to be able to cover every single attack for the next 40 miles… however there is a distinct difference between being a loner and gambling that the breakaways will come back, and being part of an army that can relax because one of your teammates is all up in that breakaway’s grill. On the other hand… if you get shut out of the podium with such a large representation, the frustration of a hard day certainly gets amplified exponentially.

This race is in the hometown of two of our riders and while the course is pretty basic, I certainly enjoy the neighborhood residents coming out and taking an interest. While I was waiting for my post-race hamburger, the cooks from the corner diner kept pressing their faces against the glass to see how the guys from Team Columbia were doing. On that note, I think I speak for all the locals when I say we LOVE seeing the fresh faces come in from out of town for the Superweek events. Arizona, Colorado, Texas, California… there’s a sudden infusion of curiosity and apprehension as the local yocals attempt to size up the newcomers. It also makes for some fast racin’ – every unidentified rider that attacks is surely some state champ from somewhere and must be stopped immediately… or so we assume.

The plan going in was pretty loose. We… okay, MATT… has been hitting the podium here and there with his finishing kick, so the idea was to give the breakaways only a modest leash and try to have fresh bodies available for the end-game antics that predominate 90 percent of the races around here. About three or four laps into the race, that plan took a side road when an unmarked rider in a blue (longsleeve!) super suit launched a nuclear salvo off the nose of the field. If the race announcer had not promptly identified him as Robert Quinn, the day would have turned out quite differently. Robert and I were teammates of a sort four years ago. By teammates, I meant our uniforms looked similar… I was a hyperactive Cat 5 and Robert was traveling the Midwest as a Cat 2 with some other racer wannabe named Reid Mumford. I put the race plan on hold and covered Robert’s attack, then dropped back through the pack and sounded the alarm that The Quinn was someone to be feared.

Various Trekkies did an admirable job of rotating through the forward numbers and keeping their clamps on the field. In this land of 45 minute cage matches, it’s always a somber moment when you take a look at the Superweek lap counter after half an hour and realize you still have another 50 minutes left to slug it out. I happened to be moving forward at the moment where a small break, covered by Andreas, was being reeled in by the field. At that point, about 40 minutes in, Mr. Quinn and Alex Voitik hit the launch button. The mental klaxons were blaring so I chased on to the move. Julian had the same instinct at the same instant, but when I came around on his right, he tactfully situated himself into blocking position and helped the move open a gap. Eventually xXx’s Peter Stritmatter and Velo Trocadero’s Tim Pacholski, the State road race champion from behind the cheddar curtain, joined our trio and the move became supercharged. Voitik has been on a mean streak with multiple Ws, Quinn was a beast, Stritmatter is an accomplished triathlete who can go into TT mode and whittle away at your soul, and Wiscochamp Pacholski was taking his own strong pulls. Me? I was just the guy with the big team that was grabbing on to the back pockets of all the chasers and wagging the ‘no-no’ finger at them.

The break rhythm for the first 20 minutes or so was steady. Voitik and Quinn emerged as the strongest, and the fact that they followed each other and took most of the uphill pulls kept our gap from shrinking. With 18 laps left on the board, however, my back logged its first formal protest. With 12 laps remaining and some lower back cramps demanding to be acknowledged, I missed a turn at the front and started to draw a little unwelcome attention from my companions. I said something about seven teammates blocking and indicated that it would be my only comment on the subject (using fewer and more colorful syllables). The break could have faltered, but looking through the photos, I see a massive collection of saviors on yellow bikes that were indeed keeping the chase wolves at bay.

Stritmatter, Pacholski and I were in survival mode for the last ten laps, as Voitik fiendishly began inserting some withering, 30 mph pulls on the backside of the course. My morbid, lackluster contributions were down to 10 seconds or so, just enough not to get punched in the face. With five laps to go, the back gave final notice and shot a bolt of white heat down my hip. I yelped, pulled out of line and stood up to stretch out the cramp, and of course Voitik dumped a gallon of nitrous into his jetstream and burned my face off, with poor Pacholski stuck behind my fading wheel.

I quickly descended into a mental black hole where I came face-to-face with the one and only Breakaway Reaper. I was well-remembered by The Reaper from the 2007 Blue Island race, where I was ejected from the winning move after just two laps off the front. Never one for conversation or pleasentries, The Breakaway Reaper asked simply “Cake or Death?” As Voitik and his two clingons got smaller and smaller in my field of vision, I quickly decided on “Cake”. Breakaway Reaper said “LOL, okay” and I screamed after the trio with all that I had… literally screamed, as I think each pedal stroke was punctuated by an f-bomb. Sorry, Blue Island, I hope you enjoyed the show. I made it about 20 meters from Stritmatter’s wheel and Tim mercifully closed the rest of the gap. I resolved to finish with the group no matter what, as quite simply, my teammates had given me this shot. The mental image of fading back to the field after such a long effort made me nauseous.

With three laps showing on the card, Voitikfound another tub of nitrous and I watched from the fifth chair as he unceremoniously dispatched all four of us with one fell swoop. In my current state, I had absolutely no say in the matter. Quinn was extolling us to pursue, but our speed was probably hampered by our tongues dragging on the pavement. I think it was understood that the race was for silver and our now-foursome held a modest 25 mph on the last two laps with Voitik dangling about 10 seconds away.

I actually had time to consider my finishing move, and two thoughts emerged – I doubted my ability to come around either Quinn or Peter, and Tim was basically an unknown to me. I also didn’t want to face a headwind with guys on my wheel. So I decided to gamble… as we rounded the final turn I jumped straight to the fence on the right side of the road, using the buildings to hide from the crosswinds. I also got very, very angry… at what exactly I can’t say, but it’s been a while since I saw the podium and I think I was mostly mad at the Breakaway Reaper. In any case, I’m sincerely hoping that no photos from the last 100 meters show up anywhere, because my pain-face might scare most people that know me. Both my calves cramped halfway to the line and as I type this two days later, they’re still throbbing. I held the gap to the finish, threw my bike for good measure, and proceeded to turn one where I pleaded with a crossing guard to unhitch my legs from my bicycle as I most certainly could not do so on my own.

Hopefully my ‘mates already know how grateful I am for the shot at the ‘W’. If they’d gotten together they could have closed the distance on their own and potentially written a different ending, but as it was I got my once-a-year top-three finish and a sweet podium plant to boot. With Nick taking second in the Cat 4 race, it was a banner day for the team. It had been two years since Andy Daley logged our last Superweek podium at Brewers Hill, so two silvers on the opening day is a great start. Congrats to the team for a stellar effort!

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