Sunday, September 23, 2012

TD Bank Mayor's Cup


Late season crits are a tall order.  I think the mental rigors are more draining than the physical expenditure.  The physical demands are not remarkably different from cyclocross.  Most of yesterday's race felt to me like a cyclocross start strung out over twenty miles:  constant jostling for position at thirty miles per hour.

But what a scene!  Racing around Government Center with crowds, cowbells and Frankie Andreu announcing was very exciting.  Early on, I nearly overcooked the turn onto Congress while pushing the pace off the front - that bordered on too exciting.  There were a couple of iron grates on that turn that I couldn't shake out of my head and I thought I was going into the metal barriers for sure.  Later, it looked like I had gotten away with two other riders.  I was the only one with team mates in the mix, so it was a long shot and got shut down pretty quickly.  With one lap to go, I got pushed into the barriers and had to brake going into the hill on Court Street.  Between being a little spooked by the pack and all the lost momentum, I was looking to finish upright from there on in.

I haven't seen the final results yet, but I definitely made the fun podium.  The place podium, not so much.

Thursday, September 13, 2012

Ready to Ride


It will be tough, but I'm going to wait for the grass to dry out before hopping on this Truckload of Awesome.  

When I demo'd the wheels, the first thing I noticed was the handling - I expected great spin, but sharp cornering carried the day.  This week I glued up three wheels at once, the third being an old and beloved Mavic GP.  The weight difference between the Mavic and the Enves is shocking.  Or it's shocking that I was so blinded by the Enve's handling that I hadn't really thought about the weight dividend.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

The Baddest Assed Thing I've Ever Owned

I just finished up mounting a set of Vittoria XGs on the Enve wheelset.  The sight of big, knobby tires on a carbon aero rim deserves a Keatsesque ode; a Brownsian sonnet.  Pick them up and feel the shocking absence of mass and rise to epic.

The question is whether I line up at Green Mountain as Achilles or Patroclus.  Or perhaps I just need a better ventilated workshop.  Is grandiosity a symptom of huffing too much mastic?

I'll post a photo when I'm confident that the glue job will hold through the weekend.