Crossman

Super heroes are popular. According to ask.com the top 5 super heroes are Superman, Spiderman, Batman, Wolverine and The Hulk. I have decided that one super hero is missing: Crossman. Cyclocross needs its own super hero and comic books because cross is the sweetest thing about the winter, besides long coffee shop rides. I cannot believe that I have missed out on cross all these years. I feel like I have been blind and now I can see the truth: cyclocross is awesome. However, I have just opened my eyes to a blinding light and I am still blinking, trying to adjust to this new side of the cycling world. So how did this first season go?

I first got the idea to race cross when a couple people were going to the USGP at Louisville and there was a bike someone let me borrow. The fit was off, bike was heavy, and I had just learned how to mount and dismount the day before the races. I entered the Cat 2/3 race and got 17th on Saturday and 24th on Sunday. First weekend of cross: out of control.

The weekend after the Louisville GP race, the team was supposed to go to Purdue for one of three collegiate races in our conference. Well, only five of us went. We were graciously hosted by the Purdue cycling team who let us stay in their cycling house which was 5 minutes from the course. The course was subject to a lot of wind, with a few technical sections, but a lot of power areas where I could really go fast. Got 2nd both days behind my LWC teammate and rival, Cruise Bogedin. 2nd weekend of cross: getting stronger, still lacking in technical skills

Purdue was fun, but there was not much competition. So early on Sunday morning, Cruise, Mike Souers, and I all piled into his tiny green toyota and drove to Lexington. Of course I lost rock, paper, scissors and was forced into the tiny back seat. I didnt feel the back seats affect until 3/4ths of the race was over. With just four laps to go, my back started to really hurt and I couldnt put the same power on the pedals. I had caught Cruise for 3rd, dropped a chain and my postion into 4th but now that I was fading, it was in jeopardy. I got caught by a Calistoga rider. We dueled it out on the last lap but he got me with three corners to go by superior cornering. 5th place is not too bad though. 3rd weekend of cross: catching Cruise, but need to work on cornering.

The last collegiate cyclocross race was at home 4 at Lindsey. I had the worst luck. On Saturday, I went from the lead group to way off the pace because my chain came off at least 4 times and my brake caliper was rattled so loose, I had to stop and fix it with an allen key. Ridiculous. On Sunday, I got a flat in the first 100 meters of the race. There goes my race! I continued on and my times were only slightly off the leaders. What did I get? I forget for good reason. 4th weekend of cross: Terrible luck, but I learned to corner.

The next race Cruise and I did was on our way back from Thanksgiving in Michigan - the Ohio State Championships. It was a rather flat, very fast course with tacky mud in the corners. I chopped a few guys in the first couple of corners to move up into 5th. 2 strong guys, whom Cruise had pointed out before hand, attacked on the second lap and I went with them. I was having some serious trouble through the sand pits and lost a lot of energy catching back up with the two leaders. An article talking about the race described me as, "Martz, off the front or off the back!". Last lap through the sand, I got gapped and could not return to the front. At least 3rd place brought home a decent check! 4th weekend of cross: Stronger, more technically sound...as long as there is no sand.

Our final tune up before Nationals was the Kentucky State Championships held at the same place as the Louisville GP. What a difference a few weeks makes! It was cold, muddy, and slippery. I got squeezed in a corner and found myself at the back of the field. But, by not crashing, throwing down the hammer where I could, and taking corners easy, I somehow worked myself into 6th place. Cruise was on form and got 2nd, narrowly missing out on the win. 5th weekend of cross: add slippery mud to the technical work on list.

That brought us to Nationals in Bend, Oregon. Conditions that I had never faced before: snow and ice. We pre-rode the course the day before the U23 race and it was so icy. But, hundreds of people riding the same course caused the conditions to change dramatically. For the U23 race, it was muddy but still very slick. Watery muddy. I had a good start, moved up from the rear of the field into the middle, caught temporarily in a crash and settled down into the top 25 with Cruise near me. My undoing began about halfway through the race. Either my arms were too cold to shift, or my brakes quit working, but all of a sudden, I could not corner. There was a long off camber section on slippery grass and one lap my wheels just slid out from me, breaking my shifter. I climbed back on, made my way to the pit and got a spare bike from Shimano. They didnt even adjust the saddle and I was too hyped up on adrenaline to notice. Once more though on the off camber section, I did the same thing, only this time I crashed into one of the wooden stakes, breaking it, and what felt like my shin. In pain, I slid down the hill into the snow, clutching my leg. I tried to get back on and keep riding, but the pain in my leg was too great and I called it a day. The medic said I just bruised my bone and to keep ice on it. I still have a big bump there, although it doesn't hurt anymore.

The next day, I could not walk, much less ride. The team, however, did fantastic, and we got 3rd place overall. Three people had outstanding rides: Ashley James got 2nd, right after claiming the U23 womens title. Clayton Omer had a mechanical first lap, started at the back and finished in 6th. And Taylor Ladd, who just began racing cross a few weekends before, battled his way to a top 15, throwing up after the finish. It was not the best way to finish a season, hobbling around with a bruised bone. But the team podium helped to make up for it.

Next season, I am hitting cross with full force! Crossman will return!

Into the Wild

I am sitting in the Portland airport trying to find internet. It keeps evading me. I will connect, open up my browser and poof! Its gone. Perhaps this time, it will stay just long enough for me to write something. It has already been a long day. I awoke this morning at 3 in the morning to board a bus from Columbia to Nashville to catch a plan to Portland. Now, I am waiting for Coach Grigsby to secure a van so we can make the final leg of our trip: three hours across Oregon to Bend for cyclocross Nationals.

As we flew into Portland, I saw a massive mountain out of the window. Come to find out, its Mt. Hood. We flew incredibly close and the picture that I took with my phone does not do it justice at all.

While on the flight, I talked with a very interesting older gentlemen. We began talking about movies, the economy, how technology is changing the brains of young children. When we passed Mt. Hood I commented on the book I am reading right now, Into the Wild.

For those who don't know, Into the Wild is about a young man named Chris McCandless. After finishing college, Chris left for the West in his beat up car. He gave away all the money he had to charity, abandoned his car and hitchhiked, walked, paddled, and camped out from Atlanta to Mexico to Minnesota to California to Alaska. He met and influenced all kinds of people. His trip to Alaska was to be his greatest adventure yet. Inspired by the words of Jack London, Leo Tolstoy and others, Chris went into the wild with 10 lbs of rice and a shotgun among a few other meager belongings. He was found in an abandoned bus, dead from starvation.

A guy sitting on my other side heard about me talk about Chris McCandless. "He is a nut!", the man declared. "I read the book and he is a complete idiot who got what he deserved." I disagree. Looking at Mt. Hood gave me a pang of anxiety to climb to the top and crest its peak, look around and do something. It was the same urge that Chris got as he traveled. Instead of just dreaming though, he took action. I look up to Chris McCandless. He questioned society instead of just accepting it. He took a look around and said why.

I hope that I can do the same. Bend will be my own adventure, this being my first year of cyclocross. May I also rise to the challenge with passion and the same unwavering determination of Chris McCandless.

Rain Rain and more Rain

A few days before fall break began, I went to a Lindsey Wilson soccer game. It was blanket night, a weird and wacky event the student government thought up in an attempt to get more people to attend soccer games. Not that they really need it though, because other than sports events, there is not much else to do. That night, blankets were a good idea though. It was so cold I could see my breath, which might not seem like a big deal to some, but its a crisis for any good southerner. I was so glad to be going home to some warmer weather.

It was warm in Charlotte for about two days. And then it had to rain. With rain comes the cold. I was planning on hiking on Monday. It rained. Tuesday the weather cleared up and I went for a ride. Not a cloud in the sky. Yes! Could I hike on Wednesday? No. It poured. So I rode the rollers. Same with Thursday, but I spiced it up with a run. Now some of you are saying "Hey Martz! You are a big time cyclist. Why don't you dirty your hands and wet your feet and go ride in the rain?" Three reasons amigo:

1. I left all my rain gear back at Lindsey Wilson. I have a vest. But thats not much help in a downpour.

2. There is no point in me going out for a little ride and catching a cold. Being sick is the pits.

3. This is my face when its raining and its cold:

I was reading a Cyclesport not too long ago. There was an article about Levi Leipheimer with a few pictures of him riding in a blizzard in Utah. Intense stuff. His jacket and bike and SRM were all covered in snow. It was very inspiring. I think I'll stick to the South. Sure riding in the rain is fun. But the cold and rain? Ill pick C.) None of the above. There is a reason George Hincapie moved from New York to Greenville, SC. The weather. He may tell you otherwise but we all know the real reason.

Why I Love Bikes

I am finally in college at Lindsey Wilson in Columbia, Kentucky. Its the second week of classes, and this morning I had to give a short speech to my Public Speaking Class. The idea behind the speech was to bring an object that represents you, and talk about it for 2 to 3 minutes. I sat down a few days ago to try and come up with what to say, but nothing came to me. I decided to leave it alone and go on a ride. Two hours and a couple intervals later, I knew exactly what I was going to say.

2 to 3 minutes is a short, short time. I talked about how I first got into riding because of the MS 150 bike ride, which I did when I was 9 with my father. I briefly talked about all the places I had traveled to and raced at while on Hottubes and I told the class that I am a professional cyclist and that I had come to Lindsey Wilson to race for the collegiate team and, hopefully, win a national title. And then the 3 minute light came on and time was up. I walked back to my seat and sat down. Others gave speeches about their boots or their guitar, but all I could think about was how I was not able to communicate the most important point: why I love bikes. How my bike is a place of solitude, somewhere that I can go to get away from the stress of life. How I can feel free, how I can clear my mind of everything else that is going on. How refreshed I feel afterwards. That is why I love the bike.

Maybe once a year, there is a race, that no matter what, you always think about after the fact. Its a race that will stay with you for the rest of your life. Two years ago it was Junior Tour of Flanders. Last year it was Trophee Centre Morbihan. This year it was Philly International Classic. What an amazing race. Big teams, big riders, helicopters circling overhead. I didnt finish the race; I only lasted for 100 miles of the 156 total. It was my last lap that I vividly remember and often think about. We screamed off of Kelly Drive headed for the Wall. The jostling, constantly moving peleton bunched up at 35 miles an hour. Usually, the group would be one or two long thin lines at that speed, but with everyone desperate to be at the front, 35 miles per hour does nothing to lengthen the peleton. The run into Manayunk is on small, crowded streets, very European in the way that the buildings are very close to the street. The cheers from the yelling crowd echo off the buildings in the canyon-like atmosphere. And then you slam on your brakes as hard as you can. Rear wheels skid along the pavement. Riders try to maneuver around each other for better places as they slow down. A quick right turn, then another right after, and then a left. The wall rises before you.

The Turn Onto the Wall

I was trying to get Tim Henry to the front, so I was fairly close to the head of the field. Flimsy barricades hold back the massive crowd. As the climb begins, the peleton once more spreads out after being squeezed from a wide road to one lane. People stand and clap and cheer and scream and yell. I always managed to be near one of the National Team riders (look at the picture, and there I am next to Danny Summerhill it looks like) and everyone would burst out chanting "USA! USA! USA!" over and over whenever they would pass. The higher up you rode, the more the crowds pressed in on the roads, trying to urge on anyone. The color, the noise, the pain, it was all a blur. I was getting dropped and I could feel my legs begin to cramp. Everyone had passed me and the officials car was pulling next to me. "GO DLP!!!" People were screaming at me to ride harder. To dig deeper. To reward their screams with more effort. I responded by standing up and stomping down on the pedals. People went even crazier over it.

Right After Finishing

My efforts over the top of Manayunk allowed me to catch back on to the field once they settled down on Kelly drive. I grabbed some bottles, passed them to some teammates, and found myself off the back once more when the peleton hit Strawberry and then Lemon Hill. When I got to the feedzone, I was too tired to really reflect on what had just happened. But now, I get chills every time I think about it, and I remember that those moments are why I love bikes.

McMinville Madness Part 2

So you wanted some more? Part 2 is here. I rode the time trial easy. Just so I could qualify for the tt. And of course it had to rain during it. After the time trial, Blair, Strad, and I went to the pasta dinner. Any race that serves a free pasta dinner is quality in my race bible. And the volunteers were so nice. Filling up drinks, making sure you had utensils, throwing away trash. They were Trojans in their own right. After dinner, we found a room at the Scottish Inn and called it a night at 9. It felt like 11. Next morning, we threw our laundry into a washing machine and headed to the closest waffle house. Yes. Again. It's excellent. Of course, while eating our delicious eggs and waffles and bacon, Blair just had to blurt out to our waitress that today happens to be my 19th birthday. Who spends their birthday at a Waffle House? But the girls behind the counter didn't care. After birthday wishes and the Waffle House Birthday Song from the Juke Box, our waitress, Joellen served me a massive helping of triple chocolate pie. With extra whipped cream. "Come on Martz. Eat up. Its your birthday today!" Shut your mouth next time Blair. Ill do the the talking. I cant wait to see you race on a stomach full of triple chocolate pie. With extra whipped cream.

The McMinville crit course is strange. Its only a kilometer long, with 7 corners and a sweeping turn. And the 5th corner is extremely off camber because you turn from a slight uphill onto a steeper uphill. And the road drops away after the corner. Its like the roof of a house, where the two sides meet and if you hit it wrong your wheels just might leave the ground in a ramp-like fashion, coming down just in time for you to hit the hay bales strategically placed to catch you. Hay bales are the subtle way of courses saying, hey! bale (pun intended) out! this might be a dangerous place to push it. The nice thing about local pro 1/2 races is that the fields usually pay attention to these signs since most of the riders know the consequences of trying to push the limits in the wrong places. Notice I said local. The big races with major pro teams don't give a crap about hay bales or dangerous sections of the course. Not only is there money on the line, but also your job. Very motivating.

The race began with a bang! Tim and I were close to the front, which is important in crits with many corners. Corners are like those small, nasty speed bumps in supermarket parking lots. You have to slow for them, and slowing down doesn't help when you are trying to move up. So staying near the front is imperative because it makes the race easier. There were lots of attacks in the beginning, but nothing was getting enough room to stick. And the corners were not helping. There were two places you could attack and not have to slow for a corner immediately after attacking. The finishing stretch and the back stretch, right before the dangerous corner 5. Both are downhill and fast. Team Aerocat (Emile Abraham and his teammate Emilio) realized this, and so to defend their overall lead, Emilio rode a steady pace on the front, immediately chasing down anything that tried to go. No one was helping, and they asked for no assistance. I knew that for something to stick, Emilio would have to crack first. My first thought was to start attacking and hope that others would counter until Emilio could chase no longer. Once I saw that, I would go. But a better opportunity presented itself when the announcer rung the bell for a 25 dollar prime. I was 3rd wheel. In front of me was Emilio and a Myogenesis guy. Emilio, obviously vying for the prime began to ramp up the pace. As we rounded the final sweeping bend to the finish, they both sprinted hard for it. Right after they sat up, backs moving up and down in an effort to suck in air, I attacked hard.

Its amusing. At the beginning of the race, Emile asked about primes. He was told that there would be none. Emile, playing the true bike racer when money is on the line, argued that the race bible had stated that our race would have primes. The announcer said he would ask the promoters about it. And that was the end of the conversation. But it was Emile's insistence that primes be given that gave me my chance to attack. I took another Myogenisis rider with me, Oneil Shirley from Jamaica. That was good. It meant that they other strong team would not chase, leaving responsibility with Aerocat. So we rode. The gap went out and then slowly started coming back down.

I thought that the move was over and I hoped that Tim was ready to pounce and hit Aerocat again. But that's when I looked back and a solo rider was bridging. It was Dirk Puhlmann from Texas Roadhouse. He came to the front and began to pull. I wasn't going to help him. And neither was Oneil. Puhlmann actually had a shot at the overall. Not only that, he had a shot at displacing our teammates in the general classification. So Oneil and I sat there and hung on. The gap shot open again with the time trial machine pulling. There were occasional primes and Oneil and I would go for them. He got three and I got one. Dirk got none. Not fair? That's bike racing. And Puhlmann knew it. And he rode without complaining.

One time going through the dangerous corner 5, I was on Dirk's wheel and Oneil on mine. We flew through it and I heard the inevitable behind me. The sound of Oneil hitting the deck. He had simply taken the corner wrong and paid for it. But, due to free laps, he got back in the break. As time wore on, I began to think about the finish. We had been out there for a long time, and in the primes that Oneil had beaten me in, he had jumped right after the last corner, went really hard through the sweeping bend and then sprinted the short distance to the finish line. I decided to try and repeat his same trick on him for the finish. Every time that we went through the finish, I imagined right when and where I would go. I would look back, but the field was not coming back. I could see them on the opposite side of the course and they were not strung out at all. Poor Emilio was still on the front.

The bell rung again. This time for the last lap. Dirk's pace slowed down but Oneil and I didn't move an inch. I was ready. I knew exactly what I was going to do. I made one mistake however. I underestimated Puhlmann. I had expected him to simply pull over and accept third. He had been pulling this whole time! How naive. I should have never expected the veteran bike racer to simply pull over. There were points and money on the line! We rounded dangerous corner 5 and began our uphill. I was on Puhlmann's wheel and Oneil was on mine. Dirk began to pick the pace up a little one last time. We rounded the final corner and I stood up and began to accelerate to the inside of the sweeping bend. But Puhlmann must have anticipated my move as he swung inside too, not allowing me to get the gap I needed on Oneil. Not good. My plan was suddenly foiled. Ill just wait on Dirk's wheel and come around him in the sprint with my jump I reasoned. Oneil would have twice the distance make up and surely he would not be able to do it. But Oneil was not happy on my wheel and tried to dive up the inside to Dirk's wheel. I moved over on him in an attempt to squeeze him into the barriers and force him to break. But the slippery man from Jamaica got his handlebars in front of mine. It was over. I had to swing wide as Oneil took my place, losing Puhlmann's wheel. When your handlebars are in front of anothers, you own that person. Want to move to the left? Do it, they cant do much. Unless you are Logan Loader. He does things on a bike no one should be able to do. Oneil jumped around Puhlmann in the finish and I could do nothing but coast in for 3rd. Not a bad result at all, but I really wanted the win, and I was not happy about getting 3rd out of 3 riders. But that's the kind of drive that makes you come back for more.

I found Tim after the race. It was a little disappointing, but Tim and I were still 4th and 8th on the omnium. And that, plus primes, plus placings in the rr, tt, and crit meant money. And its all about the Benjamins at the end of the day. I am still analyzing, thinking what I could have done better in the crit to win. And now I know. Next time Ill... well I guess you will just have to wait and see.

McMinville Madness Part 1

At 12.07 on Friday, the school bell rang signaling the end of third block, allowing me to go to lunch. But I didn't go to lunch. Instead, I got into Blair Turner's Volvo and we headed down to Greenville, SC to meet up with Strad Helms. There, we loaded up Strad's Volvo station wagon (note: Volvos are perfect cars for bike racers) and continued our drive down to Atlanta and then up to Chattanooga, stopping once at a gas station to fill up the car and then a waffle house to fill up on food. The three of us spent the night at AJ Meyer's house. I just want to say that one of AJ's dogs is the biggest dog I have ever seen in my life!! It looked like a small bear as I cautiously peered over the fence. Big, black, and friendly. Fortunately.

The next morning we left early to drive to McMinville, which was about an hour and a half away. We arrived with plenty of time and I slowly got ready to go. The road race course was held on a 55 mile circuit. About 20 miles in, you climbed a stair step climb which lasted about 2.5 miles. A little way after the climb, you turned right onto a highway, which was consistently a headwind with constant undulations for about 30 miles. The course finally leaves the plateau by a very fast 2.5 mile downhill, which, at the bottom, leaves about a mile left to race. The pro 1,2 field had the privilege of doing two laps.

We started out really slow. Before the race, Tim, my teammate, and I, had talked about tactics. Tim wanted to really hit it up the climb the first time up it and said that I needed to be in a break so that he could bridge across to me, giving us the advantage of 2 men together. So i was active in those first 20 miles. I tired to go with things, I tried to start moves as well, but nothing was being given too big of a leash. While coming back from one move, I saw Emile Abraham (Aerocat) attack up the side on a false flat. Tim didn't go with him and so I picked myself up and went after him. I bridged easy, and we started to roll away, being joined first by a couple other riders, most notably Eric Murphy (Myogenisis). We rode together and got to the base of the climb where we began a steady ascent. About a third of the way up, I looked back and saw Tim coming across on the wheel of master world time trail champion, Michael Ulhuiser. The two of them rode right through the break and we all scrambled for wheels. Over the top of the climb, there were eight of us with about 45 seconds on a chase group. But, once we got to the highway, the chase of about 25 caught the break, and the heavens opened up. It was a very hard, very cold rain. But now that everything was back together, I had to get into a break again. Hopefully this time the break wouldn't be caught by a huge chase.

It took many, many tries. I would move over to the far right on the highway, attack, move back onto the road, and try to ride away. But the field was never keen on letting me get very far. Finally though, I got it right. I attacked with Emile and we were brought back immediately. He swung to the left, and I to the right. The field followed him, and so just rode off alone. Eric Murphy came after me. A little while later, Emile, his teammate Emilio, Murphy's teammate Sullivan, and a couple others came across to make 10 at the front. But no Tim. So we rode. Right before the descent began, the rain stopped and the sun came out. As we rode through the finish with one lap to go, Emile started shouting "O yeah baby!! Suns out baby!! Its going to be a sweet day!!" Got to love enthusiasm...

I was beginning to feel the pace, as well as my earlier activity. Plus when I looked back I couldn't see any sign of the field. That was not good. I wanted to keep the gap large enough that a return of the peleton was not possible, but small enough for Tim to be able to bridge. So, for those two reasons, I began to sit on here and there. Once we hit the climb, Murphy attacked and I decided to just ride my own pace so not to blow up. About three quarters of the way up, once more Michael Ulhuiser blew past me with Tim on his wheel, but this time I couldn't latch onto their back wheels. As Tim passes he said "Keep riding, there is still a lot of money left." Ugh. Don't tell me that Tim. But I did. Next to pass me was Dirk Puhlmann (Texas Roadhouse). This time however, I was able to grab onto his wheel. He let me rest for a little, and then it was right back to work. But Tim and Ulhuiser were gone. Dirk and I continued on. I felt like a was off the back. There was no one, no moto official, no riders in front, no riders behind, only the up and down of the highway and the headwind. About halfway through the highway section Dirk and I were caught by a small group of about 5 riders. We began riding with them in a constant rotation. We caught a riders dropped from the break, and in turn we dropped some riders from our break. When the road was flat, you could see, in the distance, the front group trying to work out who would win, and behind that you could see the carnage that the desire to win had created.

Finally. The long downhill. Matt Winstead (Kenda Tires) got into his tuck and began bombing down. I went after him. It was so painful to keep my head upright, trying to look forward. All I wanted to do was just drop it and stare at the ground, not having to use energy to keep it pointed up. But that's not really an option at 50 mph in a precarious position on a bicycle. At the bottom of the descent, Matt accelerated and tried to get away, while I found my way to the back of the group. I decided to play things calm. All of a sudden, it didn't feel like I was off the back. The gloves were off. Money was on the line, as well as 9th place. I decided I wasn't going to freak out and chase anything. I could lose, as long as I didn't hand it to someone else. So I sat there at the back and bided my time. We began to come up a small hill, and our group had just caught someone. For the last time, I attacked, from the back, went straight up the left side. It was good. I had a gap. I could see the finish line in front of me, the officials stand, people, rest. I looked back to see where the group was. They were almost on me. With 200 meters to go, I got passed. I stopped pedaling for a second, and my legs started to cramp. I tried. I had pulled it off. Almost. But I could still be happy with 15th. Tim got 4th. Emile won. There will always be another day. Even for Lance. And for me, that was the time trial later that afternoon. O goody.

Trains, Planes, and Cars

Trains, planes and cars. The most commonly used methods of land based travel. And somehow, on my way to Redlands CA, for the Redlands Bicycle Classic. I managed to use every single one. How in the world did you manage such a ridiculous feat? Why didnt you simply fly to Ontario, which is the closest airport to Redlands, and take a car there? These are great questions which I am still trying to answer.

Our flight left at 6.15 in the morning from the Charlotte airport. There, Tim, Tiago and myself checked our bags in and got to the gate in time. Tiago used his Brazilian charm to waive the bike fee for himself and the rest of us. Boyd however was late because he forgot to bring Scott Teiztel's bike and therefore had to pay for two bike boxes. The flight left on time and we got to New York on time. We had about an hour and a half layover and got to drink some coffee and eat a little bit. I got a muffin and put it into my backpack for later. The flight from New York to Long Beach was 5 and a half hours long! Thankfully we were on Jet Blue. That means free food and drink, as much as you want, and live TV. While watching sports center I learned about the Ftfth Third Burger. Its the biggest, baddest, nastiest burger there is which can be summed up into one word: disgusting.

We finally arrived in Long Beach and it was hot and I was starving. I hadnt eaten since New York where I had a bagel and cream cheese! All of our luggage was there fortunatley and of course my bike box had been searched by the good ol TSA. The problem with the TSA is that they dont know how to put the box back together. In this case the box wasnt even closed properly as shown in this photo!

So now we had 4 guys to lug 5 bikes, and four bags the 69 miles from Long Beach to Redlands. We walked outside just as the bus we wanted took off, so we sat down to wait. I took off my jeans and put on some shorts, exposing my lovley white compression socks. Tim shared his mini bagels and peanut butter and Tiago blasted some music from his iPhone. When the bus did come, it took us about 5 minutes to load all our luggage and then figure out how much the bus fare was. With bikes in the aisle and bags in the seats, we rode the bus for about an hour and a half until we got to the metro. Once again, it was just leaving the station as we got off the bus. Dang it!

As we waited for the next metro to arrive, Jonathan Kane called me to make sure we had gotten there all right. As we were on the phone, I saw the lights of the metro approaching, so I told Jonathan I would call him later. I hung up and grabbed whatever luggage was still on the platform. As I made my way to the car, the doors suddenly shut as fast as they had opened! Tiago, Boyd, and Tim had just enough time to turn around and stare in disbelief at me, standing there on the platform as the metro rattled away in downtown Long Beach.

I looked around. I had my bike box in one hand, Boyds bag in another, and Tiago's bike box was sitting about 5 feet away. A black guy came up to me and said "If you run to the next stop, he waits there for about 15 minutes! You can get on there!" Then, out of nowhere, two girls offered to help me with Tiago's bike. Done. We ran down the ramp to the street below. We rounded the street corner and there the next station was! About another block and some down the street. I ran down the middle of the street, constantly checking that the two girls were still following me. I stopped about two buses and three cars in my frantic run. I finally made it, got the stuff on, thanked the girls and sat down. I rode the metro for another 45 minutes until we got to the end of the line. Thats where we got onto another metro line which took us to the train station.

We made it onto the train with plenty of time, which is a good thing because it took us about 10 minutes to stack the bikes and bags. Boyd volunteered to watch everything, so Tim and I found some chairs and sat down. I was so hungry at that point. I had banked on getting some food at the station, but there had been no time. Then I remembered! My muffin! And Tim shared some more of his bagels. The train ride lasted for about an hour, during which I read Tiago's procycling magazine. There was a really well written article about the pride of Marco Pantani, which egged him on in his battle with Lance in the 2000 Tour de France.

We got off the train in San Bernadhino and got some Subway. Our host met us there and we took his car to his house in Redlands. Finally made it! 15 hours of travel! Looking back on the channanigans of that day, I can only hope and pray that we dont have to repeat our journey out here. Or have someone other than Boyd plan the itinerary.