2006 Rouge Roubaix
By: Ben
March 5, 2006

This was to be my first bike race, a little 100 miler through the piney woods of Louisiana and Mississippi, about 15 miles of which are decidedly off-road.  I am surely not a cyclist, in fact at one point in the race I considered that they might want to give a basic skills test before allowing you to enter this particular race.  And such a test I would have not a prayer of passing.  I went into the race with two very large concerns - my lack of bike fitness, and the state of my "taint".  You see, I have spent very little time in the saddle since IM Florida in November.  So my goals were modest: to finish, and to incur no permanent damage to my nether regions.  I spent several weeks pre-race whining to anyone who would listen about how out of shape and worried I was.  The typical response was "you'll be fine".  Well........

But I felt great race morning - woke up early and had a huge breakfast.  Then on the hour and a half drive to St. Francisville I went through 2 cups of coffee, banana, breakfast cookie, and water.  We would take off in three flights.  At 8:00 the big boys, the Cat 1 racers.  These are the guys that have a team and a strategy, even a team mobile home in some cases.  Like a mini TdF, I suppose.  8:15 would be the B team, the Cat 3-5's, also in their team outfits, and some sense of a plan.  8:30 would be the "granfondo", supposedly for fit cyclists, but content to be riding at a more relaxed pace.  I think between the 3 flights there were maybe 150 racers?  Our group looked to have maybe 25, including a tandem hybrid that I found intriguing.  I knew about ten of the group as area triathletes.  I too am a triathlete, or more accurately, a runner who swims and bikes just often enough and barely well enough to do them. 

So at 8:30 sharp we pulled out of the motel parking lot.  It was just a little nippy, and I had the arm warmers on, but the forecast was for a perfect day.  

The first 25 miles, on good roads with some rolling hills, went by much like any long group ride that we might do from Red's on a Saturday morning.  Easy pace, chatting with different people, a mild sense of anticipation.  It was supposedly a "neutral" start, but our group of 10 fell behind some others pretty quickly.  We made the right on Sligo Rd., and the pace began to quicken just a bit.  After another 3 or 4 miles it picked up a little more and we caught a bunch of roadies so our group was now maybe 20.  The pace at this point was not all that brisk, but because I am so undertrained on the bike it was a hair faster than I wanted.  Had I been in typical mid-summer shape, I would probably have found it a bit slow.  We then came to the first of the three off-road sections, and everything changed......

Mark Miller and I were maybe 40 meters behind the main group talking when we hit the gravel.  I slowed drastically at the feel and amount of it, while Mark slowed much less.  Within 15 seconds the group was out of sight, and after maybe another 45 seconds so was Mark.  Shit!  I knew from the cue sheet that this part was 6 to 7 miles long.  The prospect of riding it alone was not appealing.  I just couldn't figure it out.  My computer was dead for the whole race so I never knew my speed, but I don't think I ever topped 9 mph on this stretch.  The rest of the field passed me in groups of one, two, or three over the next 15 minutes.  When they passed, they were usually going 14-15 mph, so they would be out of sight in no time.  It was quite a drag, though I tried hard to find some dark humor in it.  I eventually figured out that if I shifted my weight more to my seat the fishtailing of the rear wheel was lessened.  But I would forget this after a few seconds, or maybe it's that the tri bike geometry tends to throw me forward on to the aerobars.  I should mention that at 6'6" on a 61 cm Cervelo with the seat jacked up all the way it's a long way down for me and at 48 y/o, I am trying to keep my crashes to a minimum.  Anyway, this stretch went on for entirely too long (50 some minutes of fear with a total focus on not wiping out), and again, with no computer I really never knew where I was or how far I had to go.  I had to get off and walk up hills twice, probably the only person in the race who was unable to ride them.  I knew that the course record for longest time to finish was nine hours, and beating that became my new goal during this stretch. Finally, I came out the woods and saw the highway, and a few folks milling around.  One of them appeared to be Allen McClure, and even before he came fully into focus, my mind played out a frightful scenario, and that is precisely what came to pass.........

"Hey, they're only 3 or 4 minutes up the road, you wanna get 'em?"  he said.  Okay, I said, let's go.  My legs felt good, as it doesn't take much effort to pedal 8 mph, even through gravel.  But I knew Allen had been putting in monster mileage and is a stud athlete anyway.  I told him let's take it steady, I don't know if I can hang with you.  We took off at a breakneck clip immediately, and passed a few stragglers early on.  I could hang with him on the flats and descents and it was fun to be going so fast, but as soon as there was any sort of uphill - and there were lots -  he would pull ahead.  A couple of times I did manage to stay on his wheel on slight upgrades but I almost blacked out doing so.  I talked to him several times begging for mercy, which he granted.  But he was so strong it was unbelievable.  I don't know if the group elected him, as the strongest rider, to stay and wait for me and bridge me back, or if he just ended up there, after getting 4 or 5 miles off course, essentially ending his hopes of capturing the "B" race.  Anyway, after 30 minutes of this balls to the wall stuff, we caught the group, which had splintered some.  I had so many excursions far beyond my aerobic zone, that I was afraid I might have blown my whole ride on that section.  There was a feed zone where we caught the gang, so I stopped just long enough to grab three chocolate chip cookies and when I got back on the road, everyone was gone.  Oh well.......

The next 20 mile stretch, which is all or mostly in Mississippi, was on an outstanding road.  Super smooth, with gentle rollers.  It was great to be alone for a half hour or so, moving at a good pace, feeling reflective and grateful for the gorgeous day and great highway I was rocking down.    I was feeling strong, surprisingly.  Then my swim coach (Lawson Fall) and IronMan mentor (Don Cassano) emerged from the woods after a bathroom break.  We formed a paceline for the next 10 miles, moving along nicely.  Lawson, riding very well, did 97% of the pulling, Don 3%, and me none.  We made the left at Fort Adams, which leads to the second off-road section.  This is the shortest in distance but is easily the most severe.  The gravel was thick and the upgrades steep.  We all had to bail very early and start walking our bikes up the hills, which - in a pair of cycling shoes in loose gravel - is exhausting.   I would love to know how the Cat 1 guys handled this part.  I don't think that even the best of them could have ridden all the way up these climbs.   If they did, I bow down to them.  I lost time to the others in the pack on this section but once again, after 30 minutes of struggle, when I got to the sag stop, they were all waiting for me.  I took a few minutes to drink and eat the best orange sections I ever tasted, and then we took off with about 32 miles to go.

We picked up the tempo and pacelined it through a series of mostly mild rollers, again on great roads.  Very enjoyable.  Susan told us the last off road section was not that bad, much less gravel, mostly hard packed dirt.  And so it was, but I still lost contact with the group, as I just couldn't ride the loose stuff as well as everyone else was.  I could tell I was riding a lot more confidently than on the previous off-road sections, but I still could not hang.  I had to walk two of the hills.  In both cases the grade was not all that severe, and I maybe could have made it, but I have a fear that if I have to bail on an uphill I may not be able to unclip quickly enough at 1.5 mph to not fall over.  At one point, I flagged over a good old boy in his dually pickup with glasspacks and asked him "How far to the pavement?"  He gave me a look I did not not like. "There's a fork up ahead - which way are you going?"  "Right, I think".  "Hmmm - at least three miles, maybe more."  Damn - that was depressing!  But, after taking that right, it got better.  Not exactly pavement, but not much gravel, a bumpy chipseal, I guess.  After 2 or 3 miles, I found the group waiting once again.  This time there was a pickup truck with them, preparing to act as an escort while we went past two houses with bad dogs.  Now that is some good service.  Once again we got to moving pretty well in a paceline.  I lost touch with the lead pack, slowed down to rest up a little and eventually went into a panic when the road name on the mailboxes did not agree with the cue sheet.  I was too tired to be lost.  I stopped, asked a guy in his yard who said you're okay, they've been going past here all day.  A few more turns and I was back on LA 66, five miles from the motel.  I recalled the directions said the race finished 3 miles from the start at the motel, but I did not know on which side, and with no computer couldn't even make a good guess.  Mentally, I was okay with 8 more miles.  I pedaled a little more, turned on Old LA 66, and saw something spray painted on the pavement.  Couldn't make it out.  "Zoom"?  "200 m(eters) "?  Well, after climbing one last hill, it turned out to be the latter.  There was the finish line.  A hair under seven hours, which meant little.  Finishing was more of a thrill that I was prepared for.

I had a riot doing this race.  Had I known just how bad the off-road portions were I would not have gotten out of bed,  for it, I promise.  But I am so glad I survived it and I look forward to doing it again next year, more competently.  The race website is up front about how tough the event is, but still they may understate things a bit.  I know they pray for cold and wet conditions, but I think the extra twenty dumptruck loads of gravel came close to compensating for the great weather they must have hated to see us have.

Thanks to the gang I rode with for waiting up for me three times - I don't think I would have.  Thanks to Mark for recommending I put a cog set with a 27 tooth on, I was in that 27 for two or three hours total, literally could not have finished the race without it.  And thanks to Lawson for doing the most work.  Thanks as well to the race directors - your race is the best and I'll be back next year.  I've done a lot of races in the past 10 years - 5k's, 10k's, IronMans, and now one bike race.  This race is so challenging and unique, that only the Holy Toledo Triathlon outshines it, in my experience.

Pre-race: Mark Miller of Precision Bikes, Smitty, and me.

After: Lawson, Rebecca, Super Stud Allen, Don, Derek, Ben.