Alder Martz

Snake

2010-12-24T16:02:00.000-08:00

I have an addiction. And the first step is admitting this addiction: I cannot stop playing the Facebook game snake. Its such a simple game, but then again crack, beer, and sudoku are simple as well and people need interventions for them. The object of snake is to 'eat' the red squares. As your snake digests each block, it grows longer and longer until you either run into yourself or run into the perimeter in which your snake resides and you die and the game is over. Done.

The thing that drives me crazy about snake is the scoreboard. I have

got to top it at some point! There are four different categories to which your scores are compared: All of Facebook (All Time); Your Friends (All Time); All of Facebook (This Week); Your Friends (This Week). To date, my high score is 570. Thats pretty weak compared to most people on Facebook. The top score of all time in snake is 2057289333826 by MJ Havens.

HEY MJ! You are a cheater. Cheaters dont belong in snake! How can you get a score that ends in 6 when points are given in multiples of 10? You make me sick.

In my quest to top the charts at number 1, I saw two possible ways. The first was to delete everyone who was in front of me in the standings. A bit of a cop out, but hey, addicts do what they need to do. The second was simply start playing Monday morning when the weekly scores were reset before all the losers who spend all their time playing snake get on. So I did. And guess what happened this morning? Yeah, I'm sitting number 1.

But, now I am in 3rd and frantically trying to regain my former position while writing this.

Falling from the Top of the World

2010-06-02T10:15:00.000-07:00

Have you ever dreamed you were climbing a huge mountain? Right as you reach the top, a huge wind comes and then all of a sudden, you fall, plunging through space until BAM! Gravity takes it revenge. I have never had such a dream. But that is the best way I can describe my Saturday. Read on. Its a journey and a half.

The plan Saturday was to drive to Greenville, race in the afternoon, and then continue on to Elberton, Georgia and race another crit that night with a road race the next morning. Rather straight forward. Left in the morning with Scott Harris and the girlfriend, Jackie Kurth.

The race in Greenville was put on by the Demaine Cycling Team. Simple, yet fun course. There was a steep little hill coming to the finish line and then the course slowly sloped down all the way back to that hill. Sweeping bends, wide roads, very safe. They are having another race there June 17, so get out there and race. Quality money, safe racing, close for a lot of people. Its not like they asked me to tell everyone about the race. So June 17.

The field was not that big, so I decided to attack from the line. It worked. I got away with Julian from Demaine and JWinn from Les Amis. We worked well together and finally escaped the last desperate attempts from the peleton to being us back. When the three of us were about to lap the group, I attacked, finished the lapping alone and then went to the front with some teammates and brought everything back together. There was still 30 minutes to race, but the race ended, with me taking the win. First one in a while! Throwing ones hands in the air is such a great feeling; every win is special, and I savored it. Podium and everything! (Didn't I mention this was a great race and that everyone should attend. June 17)

Scott, Jackie, and I packed up and left for Elberton, a quick 90 minute drive through no where to a small town in Georgia. The crit was smack in the downtown area and featured a long home stretch with a 180 degree corner at the end then a quick right and left onto another long stretch before two more right hand corners back to the finish, which I might add felt like a slight uphill.

The race began rather slow, although the first time through the 180 corner, the guy on front slid out. Laughs erupted from the group. Poor guy. Tim Henry of Team Type 1 Devo attacked with Ceasar Grajales of Bahati Foundation. I attacked to get up there, got within a few hundred feet, looked back on the saw the field on my wheel. So I swung over, fulling expecting people to pull through. But no. We all sat and watched the race go up the road. That was it. It was time to race for 3rd, there would be no double today. I tried to get away, but the course had one speed because it was so tight. Tim and Ceasar eventually lapped us and rotated on the front, making sure nothing else would go. It would come down to a sprint. Still, AJ Meyer and myself were trying to get away, taking turns attacking and countering each other.

One of these times, I came flying through the 180 and into the quick right left. I took the right turn full speed, pedaling through the corner. Looked up and saw this guy in the road. I yelled, trying to say "Stand still!!" It probably sounded like Ahhh Blah Glah Jah Yah. The man stopped. I saw a gap between him and the sidewalk that I could fit through and keep going. Hopefully he would cause mass chaos in the peleton and I would get away. All of a sudden, the man stepped into my projected path. I had no where to go. I slammed on the brakes and nailed the guy. Went flying onto the sidewalk. I was sprawled on my bike and my elbow hurt. I had gone from winning a bike race to a freak accident that was unavoidable. Such is bike racing. I lay there for a bit, shocked, letting everything sink in. But there was a race to finish, so I shouldered the bike and walked to the pit to get back in the race.

The race coming to a sprint, I gave up trying to get away. So I sat 3rd wheel behind Tim and Ceasar. As the laps ticked off, guys would come up, trying to take my wheel, but I each time I held them off. With one to go, Tim and Cesar pulled off. I sat there waiting for someone to go. And someone did. A big guy in blue came flying past and I jumped on his wheel for the perfect leadout. Unfortunately, I got pipped at the line. 4th. Ah, bike racing. I was not in a very good mood, the win forgotten about. I felt like I had fallen from the top of the world. In a sense, I had. You are only as good as your last race. Good thing there was a race the next day. Thats whats important to remember in this game: put the bad stuff away and move on. Its always a new day when you wake up. No matter how far behind last place in the Tour is, he starts with the yellow jersey and has a shot at winning that day. Fall from the top of the world? Just start climbing again

To Adam Little: We Will Miss You

2010-03-18T09:58:00.000-07:00

His name is Adam. He is a kind, generous, incredibly warm person with soft, easy voice. He lives in a nifty house at the end of a long gravel road. In the front lawn is a trampoline and a large blown up ball, in which you can crawl into and bounce about. It was a recent Christmas present for his two young daughters. In the driveway is a Honda Element, red. In his basement there are bikes, bike parts, a home gym, and extra shoes, helmets, socks, and clothes for his cycling team, Subaru Gary Fisher. He loves riding. This past Wednesday, he was riding his bike to work. But now, Adam is gone.

Most people do not realize that cycling is a team sport. Nor do they know the of the close knit communities of bike riders and racers that exist in every city and town. I dearly love the people in Charlotte cycling community: Rafik makes sure we are safe, Reid has something interesting to contemplate, Andrew encourages, Scott listens to problems, Riley makes you laugh, Blair is out of control. There are so many, I cannot list them all. But each one is special and a friend to everyone else. We come together in times of need like when Andrea had cancer. As time goes on, we lose people: Torsten left to go back to Germany, Dylan got hit by a car, and now Adam.

I knew Adam a little. He was always with his team at races, a close knit family of riders. They share more than just a riding friendship; it goes much deeper than that. Over winter break, Adam invited me to ride with the team in 25 degree weather. I agreed to come and we all nearly froze together. It is in those moments, when you are miserable, that true character shows - and all that radiated from Adam was his eternal smile. I don't want to believe he is gone. I have a lump in my throat, my eyes are watering, and I am at a loss for words. Adam has ridden away from us now on a lovely, well paved road into the setting sun, but it was not yet your time to go down that road. We will miss you dearly Adam.

To the Cars: This is the second time I have gotten a phone call about the death of one of my family. Please. Take your time and slow down. You have taken yet another from our band of brothers. We are people like you, who have families and friends who will miss us dearly. Who must solider on through the grief of the loss of a friend, father, or husband. Adam was just riding to work, helmet on, riding the white line that runs along the side of the road when he was hit by the car. Please. Take your time and slow down. Nothing is worth the life of anyone.

To the Riders: We must be more aware of the cars around us. Ride two abreast and no more, take up less of the lane. Our actions on the road, be it good or bad, have repercussions for the next cyclist down the road. A death should not have to be a wake up call.

To Adam Little: May Your Journey Continue in Peace

In Which He Solves 2 of the Worlds Problems

2010-03-09T21:39:00.000-08:00

Today I had a test in nutrition. It did not go well for anyone. The test was on fats, a subject which was recently introduced and a subject on which there had been no lesson. The test was on nothing that I had read, but, I did take away something interesting from the reading. Perhaps you know and perhaps you don't, but fats are carbon atoms with hydrogen atoms. They form chains and these chains are held together by a 'backbone' of glycerol. But enough of the chemistry, the important thing is the difference between saturated fats and unsaturated fats - hydrogen. Saturated fats have maximum hydrogen atoms attached to the carbons where unsaturated don't. Simple as that.

The way I see it, some genius in a white lab coat and glasses (or a Steve Jobs so it can be cool) needs to come up with a way to take saturated fats, remove the extra hydrogen atoms and turn all of our saturated fats into unsaturated ones. Saturated fats have been proven to increase the chance of heart failure, diabetes, and cancer (of the prostate actually, not sure how). This would allow Americans, as well as other countries, to continue to consume their fats, just healthier ones. All the fries at McDonalds would be that much healthier. All those foods with nasty hydrogenated oils would stop killing you. Killing you? Now thats a bit harsh! No, not quite. According to an article by Walter H. Schmitt, Jr, D.I.B.A.K, D.A.B.C.N., using the definition of poison, hydrogenated oils are poison. And this bad fats problem could all be solved simply because you have a couple less hydrogen atoms hanging out in your happy meal.

So what happens to all of these extra hydrogen atoms that are just hanging out? We cannot let them just hop around in the atmosphere when they are not supposed to be. That's how global warming occurs. Or cooling. What needs to happen is scientists need to harvest all those nasty little hydrogen atoms and put them into good use as alternative fuel for our driving habits. Hydrogen powered cars are not just pipe dreams - there are some of these cars already on the roads of Germany and Japan. All they need are some hydrogen atoms - and the ones from our used-to-be-saturated fats would work just fine.

Honda FCX Clarity, hydrogen powered car

Or you could just eat healthy and ride a bike. Its up to you.

Intramural Basketball

2010-03-04T20:25:00.000-08:00

Perhaps when you read the title, you thought, "Wow, Alder is now playing basketball. That is something new." I'm sorry to disappoint, but I am not playing basketball. I get blisters on my feet from just walking to the cafeteria and classes. I tried playing a pick up game of basketball this winter and all the jumping and running and cutting this way and that - my legs and feet were so sore I could not walk for the next two days. No. Instead of playing intramural basketball, I just watch.

One of the teams, the Wolfcats, is comprised of a bunch of random cyclists and two runners. I just sit on the bench and try to look like that one really good player who is injured all season long. A bunch of skinny cyclist and runners running around trying to act like Lebron James and John Wall is quite amusing. Its also a little sad. So far, they have wracked up a total of zero wins in four games. (This included an embarrassing loss to a team called the Vintage Fatties. Yeah, its exactly what it sounds like.) No wins, until tonight.

Tonight, the Wolfcats faced the Monstars which consisted of at least 3 JV basketball players and a couple random dudes. I gave the Wolfcats no chance, especially after losing to these easy teams. At the end of the first half, we were down by 18 points and everyone had their heads down. We had been playing well, but the Monstars were grabbing, pushing, shoving, and the refs were not calling anything! Brandon Hopkins got hit so hard in the quad, he had to come off and rest.

The magic began in the second half however. We went on a 10-0 run to start off, cutting the deficit in half. Perhaps the Wolfcats might not lose another game. They started making shots, stealing the ball, getting in the JV players faces and the Wolfcat bench was going crazy cheering at the Wolfcats and jeering at the Monstars. All of a sudden, with two seconds left, the Wolfcats were only 2 points down with 2 seconds left. But the other team had the ball. They tried to in bound it but the ball was intercepted and we called a timeout. There was just enough time for one final shot. Logan Collins caught the ball, turned and went up for the three pointer. Time slowed until the sweet sound of a swish was heard. Logan had made the shot. The bench erupted and we all went crazy, storming the court and yelling our heads off. I had so much adrenaline pumping through me that my hand could not stop shaking for 10 minutes after.

The Wolfcats could not win another game this season, but I will call it successful. Its the underdog story, the upsets that makes sport so enjoyable. So here is to the underdog, playing with heart in lieu of talent. That is the heart of sport. Perhaps someone is reading this and says, "Hey guy, check yourself. This is just intramural, calm down." I say to that person, check yourself back, you weren't there.

Crossman

2010-01-02T22:12:00.000-08:00

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

2009-12-10T15:36:00.000-08:00

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

2009-10-15T16:31:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-28T10:49:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-21T19:49:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-21T11:05:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-27T22:48:00.000-07:00

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.

Can You Beat Me By One Place?

2009-02-17T20:02:00.000-08:00

I had just finished the road race at the NC State weekend. It was the first race of the year. Done, out of the way; and I was just happy to have finished with the group. All of a sudden, Reid Beloni rides up to me at the car and asks a question: "Can you beat me by one place today?" Reid and I had done different events. He had raced in the collegiate stuff and I had done USCF. Natuarally I asked him what place he got. 2nd came the reply. Well I sure hadnt won! But thank you Reid for stirring up the competitive juices so early in the year.

I made the trip to Raliegh late on Friday night, after riding and going to the gym. Packed up the ol tank, the 240 volvo station wagon, and chugged the 3 hours (yes it takes 3 hours in a '91 volvo) all the way to Raliegh town to Mr. Jonathan Kane's house, the manager of the DLP Pro Cycling Team for 2009. Before going to bed, I recived some Specialized shoes, a Rudy Project Helmet, and some glasses, as well as this sweet fleece and beanie.

Woke up, ate, got stuck in traffic, and made it to the road race. Met some teamates: Steve Gordon. Scott Jackson. Andrew Olson. The King dynasty was also there, as well as my buddy Aldo who is racing for Team Type 1 this year. The road race went all right and I was feeling the pace at the end of the 74 miles, probably from a very active first lap that was probably unnessecary on my part. Aldo ended up winning, and I got 15th. Thats when Reid posed his question and the competition began.

Work hard, play harder: I take my games seriously. So to prepare for the showdown the next morning, I went with Jonathan and his girlfriend, Erin, to Target and then the fish store. That night, we met up with most of the team, and a few tag-alongs (T.Karnes!) at the Times in downtown Raleigh for dinner. I got the best thing on the menu to make me fast the next day: The infamous Raleigh Times Burger with chedder cheese, sans fries. The burger rating? 8. It might have gotten a nine, but the side of beans, 15 beans, to be exact, was far too small. The only thing the miniscule portion did, was to desire more beans. (Note to the Times: please add more beans to the side of your burger meal.)

To make up for the small amount of beans I had consumed the night before, I decided to go large for breakfast. So I met Tyler Karnes, teamate Steve Gordon, and the owner of Haymarket Bicycles at IHOP for the unlimited pancake breakfast. I am sure you think to yourself, "Wow, how do these poor bike racers afford such a feast?" Well, the best part of the unlimited pancake breakfast is that it is only $4.99. Yes. Thats it. I promise. Unless you get eggs and toast too. Which are not unlimited I might add, much to my dissapointment. You cant have your cake and eat it too. Or something like that. But you can have as many pancakes as you want.

The crit is my kind of race. Not too long, lots of corners, lots of danger, lots of excitment. Tyler and I walked the course, called some babes, watched some races, and then I had to get ready. It was cold, but I decided to go leg warmerless. It might have been a mistake, but Reid came to the rescue with some warming oil...and bronzing oil. Nessecary? Of course. The NC State crit is a real fun one. Looks like a rectangle, but there is a chicane on one end, and a hill on another, with long flat front and back stretches. Our race got shortened to 45 minutes on the start line due to a crash delay in the Masters race, so it promised to be non-stop action.

Got clipped in. Thats the key to racing crits. If you start too far back, you are caught with your pants down already and thats never fun. You have to race in the top third of the peleton to not experiance too much of the yo-yo effect from braking and accelerating in the corners. I waited a little while before launching a few attacks here and there to try and get into a small group that might lap the field. I even got into a move with Ben King from the Livestrong Team. But it wasnt meant to be. Spencer Gaddy had a great counter, but Time chased that one down. The group was too fast, not to mention giddy at the idea of only racing for 45 min instead of the usual 60. So, it was going to come down to a field sprint. Steve Gordon came up to me and offered to lead me out. "Sure," I said. "I havent really tested my sprintign, but lets give it a go." So, with two laps to go, Scott Jackson got on the front and rode hard for a lap, keeping things strung out. Behind him was Aldo. On his wheel was Steve. And I was hanging on to Steve's wheel after cutting Ben King, and some other guy, off in a corner. With one lap to go, Scott pulled over, and Aldo, on the hill, jumped away from Steve. At the top, he had a little gap and so he put it in his 53-11 and sprinted away. Steve valiantly brought the gap down little by little. He blasted through the chicane and onto the finishing straight. I waited for a few seconds and then opened up. I could see Aldo just ahead of me, as well as the rest of the field just behind. Suspeneded between them, time stood still for a moment. It was similar to one of those cinema moments where a bomb goes off close to a character. And he sits there, stunned for a few seconds, before reality sets back in. I looked over and saw Aldo sit up and point to the sky. I saw another guy sprinting close by. All very slowly. And then WHOOSH! The line appeared before me, I threw my bike, and the seconds began to tick regularly again. Lovely, tranquille feeling. Even better, I got 2nd in the first crit of the year.

Reid. You began this. The competition has begun. Bring your 'A' game. You caught me napping on Saturday. I got you back on Sunday. The only question left is for this next weekend. Can you beat me by one place?

Crepes

2008-12-22T13:53:00.001-08:00

Michael Scott loves bacon. Ron Burgundy loves scotch. Reid Beloni loves bread. I love crepes. They are delicious, nutritious, French, and adaptable to any meal, whether it is breakfast, lunch, or dinner. They are so good, that I have decided to share the best recipie that I have found, so that the thin, warm, pancakes of the French may be enjoyed by all the lucky people who happen to stumble upon this post.

First of all, what is a crepe? Jean Girard from Talledega Nights explains it best: "Dey are like very phin pancakes." Indeed they are. And that thiness has a purpose. Crepes have a special super power that sets them away from pancakes: they fold into a cylinder, making a warm delicious cocoon in which to place anything from jelly to confectianry sugar to vegetables! Now, I am sure you are thinking, 'Alder, surely something so delicious and versitle is complicated to make!' On the contrary dear readers.

The ingredients for crepes are very simple:
2 eggs
1 cup flour
1 cup milk
1/2 cup water
1 tablespoon oil
2 tablespoons sugar
dash of salt

See? That was easy. You probably have most, if not all of those items in your kitchen right now. So, grab all of what you need and double or triple the recipie based upon the number of people eating. The amounts listed are perfect for about 1-2 people based on how hungry you are. Now, mix all of the items together. I prefer the order of eggs, milk, water, flour, oil, sugar, salt. Thats my preference, but hey! try out a new way and make it your own! After you mix all the ingredients, its time to let the concoction sit for at least 30 minutes, and if you have the foresight, overnight. (I never do)

Now grab a stick of butter and a frying pan and possibly a spatula (for the people who cant flip a crepe using force and gravity) and head over to a stove. Turn the stove onto medium heat. Take some of the butter, oil, I Cant Believe Its Not Butter, or whatever you use to grease the pan and do just that. When the pan is hot and sizzling slightly, use a ladle to ladle some of the mix into the hot pan. The batter will spread out, since it is very thin and soupy, unlike its compadre from across the pond, the pancake. Because of this fact, I like to use a smaller pan and I usually fill my ladle about 23/48ths of the way full, or just under halfway. Quickly reduce heat to low. Very low. The sides of the newly formed crepe will form rather quickly, and if you have an excess of batter in the middle of the masterpeice, tip the pan slightly to one side so that the crepe keeps its thin personality. When the sides begin to brown slightly, its time to flip the crepe - as demonstrated here by Brooke:

(photo taken by David August)

Well done! You are almost there! Now, when you feel that the other side is equally browned, or burned, you can flip it again, right onto your plate. Now there is no limit to the amount of times that you flip a crepe. If you are not satisfied with the well-donness of the crepe face that is staring at you from the pan, by all means, flip that bad boy over until you are satisfied!

Now that you know how to make the crepe, explore with it. Explore what kinds of delicousness can be placed in its warmth, explore different ways of folding it. Or you can do what I do, and just eat it on the spot.