Hotter Than Heck

I'd always wanted to do Hotter N' Hell, but it seemed like when the time came to race it every year, I was burnt out and tired of racing and looking for a break. There are certain races which I feel like every Texas racer should do at least once, and HnH definitely qualifies. 100 miles with temperatures usually soaring over 100 degrees, along straight, flat roads filled with crosswinds all make for epic conditions for a race.
This year was similar- I found myself in less than stellar condition following a long, hot, summer and a very lengthy season of racing. After the State Team Time Trial I was filled with a lot of pride in our effort and a tiny bit of disappointment in the outcome (5th place). Then my teammate Kookie Orr phoned to tell me he was aiming for the win at HnH and wanted some teammates along to help him out, I thought, " it would be nice to witness an arctic rainbow win in person."
So, last weekend the Wooly Mammoth machine rolled up to Wichita Falls to take on the hundred mile road race known as Hotter Than Hell. Brian Griswaldo, Matteo Mooro and myself joined Kookie Orr on the start line and faced off with a field of 75 guys from all over the Southwest. I saw kits from Kansas, Oklahoma, Arkansas as well as Texas.
We were the only Norwalian team though, and the language barrier became apparent early on as Kookie got into the first major break of the day at mile 15 and disappeared up the road. Other teams began chattering at Griswaldo and myself to help patrol the field and shutdown any bridging attempts from the heavily favored home squad MSU. When we responded to the horribly thick southern accents with our crisp Norwalian, all we received were baffled looks.
None of this banter bothered us, and when Kookie and two of his breakaway companions were reeled back in at mile 75, Griswaldo and myself unleashed a flurry of punishing attacks which whittled the field down and caused more confusion and anger amongst the remaining teams. MSU tried in vain to get people up the road, but the relentless pursuit of Griswaldo nullified all of their attacks setting the stage for me to launch the final move of the day.
With two guys still up the road and the field content to wait and sprint for the last podium spot, I struck out on a solo mission of agony at mile 92 thinking we only had about 5 miles left to race (we had a little more than 8 to go). Two others bridged to me a few miles later and the three of us settled into the brutality that accompanies flogging your legs mercilessly at the end of the longest race of the year.
Coming into the final k my breakaway group fell apart and I found myself off the back and trying to hang onto a 5th place finish, but alas the cycling gods were'nt with me and the charging field swept me up in the last 20 feet of the race. I slid from fifth to 14th in a split second, and crossed the line worn out and cramping. Oh well, there'll be other breakaways.
Kookie and Griswaldo arrived comfortably in the field, and poor Mooro suffered a mechanical early in the day and spent 3 hours chasing the pack. Racing is hard sometimes.

Why Didn't We Think Of This?

Platza Anyone?

After a tough 3/4 of a season of racing followed by a short off-period, I decided to treat myself to a trip to a Russian Bathhouse as a way to reinvigorate myself for the upcoming final months of the race calendar.
I chose the oldest Russian and Turkish bathhouse in New York City, and together with former soigneur and team confidant Thomas Shiefer, set out to spend an afternoon in some serious saunas.
Once we picked up a large bottle of water from a couple of old Russian women near the entrance, Thomas and I headed to the locker room and then downstairs to the sauna area. The bathhouse itself is in an old building near the lower east side of Manhattan, and is comprised of several different types of saunas, an ice bath/pool, rooftop sunning area, and massage rooms.
We immediately jumped in the ice bath which is a 4 ft. deep pool in the center of the bathhouse with water which could'nt have been warmer than 50 degrees, it was possibly the coldest liquid I've ever jumped in.
Then we sampled each of the 5 saunas over the next hour, before Mukhar approached us and gave us the hard sell on a Platza treatment. Mukhar was in a navy blue robe with a tan towel wrapped around his head and a pair of Crocs on his feet. Originally from Uzbekistan, he convinced us we needed to receive Platzas from him before we left.
Thomas and I continued to enjoy the saunas and ice bath for another 30 minutes or so and then found Mukhar for the Platza, which consisted of an intense rubdown with an olive oil based soap, a beating with oak branches, a rough and brief massage, as well as a brutal stretching followed up by more beating. All of this in the Russian sauna room which was the second hottest room in the bathhouse.
When he was finished with the final beating Mukhar ordered me into the ice bath and then placed a dry navy robe on me and sat me down before rubbing his hands through my hair repeatedly. This ritual was repeated on Thomas, and was pretty amazing to both witness and endure.
After another few sauna visits Thomas and I ventured up to the roof to relax and unwind from the Platza. On the roof we saw several old Russian men laying out sunning themselves, and we relaxed on a bench for a little while before heading back in for a final sauna in the Aroma Therapy steam sauna.
A short rinse off followed and we were out on the street feeling like we'd just ridden a century with no water. My legs cramped the rest of the night, as I tried to down enough fluids to return them to normal. Nearly three hours in a sauna will do that to you I guess. Thanks to Thomas for discovering the gym known as the Russian and Turkish Baths and taking me to experience a Platza.

Peaking

Outdoor Showers

I love anything outdoors- including showers, and I was excited to find Benedict and Ammie's house equipped with a killer shower on their back porch which overlooks a marshy inlet. I've been routinely taking cold showers out there since I arrived, and as the temperature begins to drop a little more each day, I happily discovered today that the shower has hot water which only adds to the experience.
I went for a brief run with Toby Mammoth this morning followed by a nice 3 hour ride, and afterwards I went out and indulged in a warm shower in the brisk fall air. It's the little things.

Personas

Since arriving in New England a few weeks ago my days have been filled with quaintness and easy base miles. I've also started running 3-4 miles in the mornings to break it up a bit, but for the most part I've just been eating healthy and spending time on the bike.
The riding here is unbelievable. I've visited and ridden in every New England state numerous times and I really believe the area I'm staying in here on the coast of Connecticut just outside of New Haven is the nicest. The roads are nearly deserted, the asphalt is as smooth as the tusks of an adolescent Wooly Mammoth, and the scenery is idyllic. The trees and foliage here are so dense and enormous that you don't need to wear sunscreen on rides because you're enveloped in shade for the entirety of a ride. There aren't any mountains to climb here, but there are some substantial hills which will certainly humble you if you're a retired cyclist like myself. The weather is also my favorite combination possible: sunny and cool enough to ride hard for a few hours without breaking a sweat. I usually leave the house with armwarmers and gloves on and shed the armwarmers about mid way through the ride only to finish a few hours later with them pulled back up. It does'nt get much better that this. I wish the rest of the team was up here for some company, but I've managed to only have to ride solo a few times and the Ipod loaded with podcasts has helped.
I rode with Juan Benedicto "Wrestles Wolves" Wheelarosa this afternoon, and we spent two and a half hours discussing my persona for next season. Wheelarosa has embraced a Navajo persona and is planning on mounting the podium wearing as much turquoise and feather jewelry as possible. I'm most likely going to have some sort of barbarian alter ego similar to Conan for my race persona next season. I remarked that I love the fact that we view racing as most civilians view Halloween.

Cockaponset State Forest

We just got back from our mini- camp out which was just an excuse to cook on a fire and go to bed even earlier than usual. We rode about 20 miles on dirt roads and trails to what we thought would be a secluded, quiet spot on the edge of this pond. Turns out it was a Youth Wilderness Campground... and two boyscout troops were occupying the scenic spots.
By this point it was already getting dark and we were hungry so we hunkered down and set up camp away from the pond and up a steep hill- well away from the two troops which were on opposite sides of the pond. The sound of large groups of young boys horse playing dulled any sense of remoteness we otherwise might have felt in the middle of the forest and lent a sense that we were camping in the midst of a jr. high basketball practice. I had visions of Coach O'Dell with his blond pompadour making the boy scouts do sprints followed by weave drills.
Benedict and I are pretty well versed at the camping drill at this point, but we struggled for 45 minutes to get a fire going with the wet wood and leaves which lay around and our stomachs were audibly upset with the delay. In the end we settled down with our usual "beans and greens" meal of baked beans and collard greens simmered on the fire followed by fresh corn and bread toasted on the fire. A meal fit for the kings we are.
I woke up to Benedict shooting me with acorns rocketed from my slingshot, and we hurriedly and frigidly ate our other standard breakfast of the remaining heel of bread and some apricot jam. Then it was back on the cross bikes and back on the trail to try and warm up on the ride back to town.