Posts from a Pro Wanker

The Watering Hole

2011-05-17T19:21:00.000-07:00

He sits all teary-eyed throwing darts. It’s not just failure that occupies his mind, but malice.

Each dart he throws represents a Hincapie curse—a broken shift cable, a front flat, a cracked Madone...

We’re doing 80 in a 45 with two bikes on the (saggy) roof rack and one on the trunk.

And on that board, there’s a picture of me.

The sirens blare. He’s on our tail. I move over to the right lane. He follows.

Maybe it’s mercy or just a “Big Dumb George” mistake, but sometimes he misses.

And then he suddenly switches lanes to ticket another. Miracles do happen.

When you race with teammates, you don’t rely on miracles. You control your destiny. Things aren’t easy, but they’re easier. Because with numbers comes power.

I’m not talking about a flock of sheep fighting off a wolf, but a pride of lions hunting a crippled water buffalo. Think Sinead and company in any MWCCC race. Or Liebovitz and the Marian crew in the 2011 Collegiate Nationals Criterium Championship.

For too long, I’ve been on the wrong end of that spectrum. I've been the lame water buffalo—buoyant, bloated and slow. And all year, I’ve had company—huddling with my fellow bovines.

We’ve hidden together from rain and gravel, skirted real training and complained about our lack of filling feed. I've learned to see the world from dull, domesticated and entitled eyes.

But Saturday, something changed.

It’s a miracle what a satiric blog post can do—for reader and writer. Because this weekend, that cow became a killer. I was aggressive and started the breakaway. I fought for five laps off the front to finish behind two Texas Roadhouse riders despite what my SRM told me was impossible.

Because you just have to ignore the numbers when there are five TRHS riders, eight Alderfer Bergen guys and one Bissell master in a field of 24 starters. And it takes more than persistence to get a good result. You need to know the field, the wind, the course and you need the big GH to miss the board.

Saturday, GH flinched. And in that moment, I countered an attack, caught a wheel and was joined by a TRHS monster.

For five laps, I worked my ass off to stay with the break. I took my pulls, but I also prayed. Lots can go wrong in five laps, especially on a broken bike.

In the end, I finished third. And it was a vindication. Racing has never justified my existence, but a good result rarely has hurt anyone. (Unless there is USADA testing for the winner.)

I know; 3rd place isn’t a big deal. The super-duper fast guys weren't at the Fat and Skinny Tire Festival, but at Tour de Grove. Regardless, I raced hard and smart, and I finished on the podium in a tough race with a strong field.

And the rest of the car did well too. Axie rode like a beast to finish fourth in the rr and fifth in the crit while Robin killed it in both races—winning the sprint in the rr and taking the solo win in the crit. Sometimes, success begets success. In a car with pros, you can't help but do your best.

I would like to think this weekend speaks to the future—of races won and riders crying in my wake. But they say you cannot connect the dots looking forward. And for a moment, I'll agree.

The 2012 collegiate season is a year away and much can happen in that time. Come February, I may not be racing for the Northwestern University Cycling Team or doing any collegiate cycling at all. It’s far too early to say with any degree of certainty.

Regardless of what February brings, one thing is clear: There will be no more huddling with the water buffalo.

Coming soon: "Profiles In Courage": The past informs the present in a series of satirical vignettes.

I Wish I Were A Real Cyclist

2011-05-12T10:00:00.000-07:00

It’s true. As a lowly Cat 2 rider, I wish I knew what it means to be a real racer—to be one of the boys, to go hard in the paint, to be The Boss. (If you need a clue, just check out all the emails you were bcc’d on. Oops, whatever happened to privacy?)

I want to know that feeling of setting up a lead-out train on a group ride of fellow Cat 4/5 wankers. I want to win that sprint and brag about it all night. Group rides aren’t about training, they’re all about the final kick.

I want to be varsity. I want the exotties to fawn over me as I do my hill repeats at the boat launch. I want them to know I race and ride in all conditions—so long as it’s above 70, sunny and without wind.

I’m a real man, a hard man. I suck it up and eat at McDonalds on the road, and I never complain. Heck, I can stomach Panera if I have to. I can even deal with Qudoba, occasionally.

I’m the real deal, and my Zipps prove it. Nothing shows a man’s worth like the cost of his bike. Because when I get dropped by a girl, it just makes me feel that much better. Ah, overpriced carbon and the sound of deep dish wheels on a North Shore training ride.

I’m going to win DII nationals, and I want you to know it. However many laps I need to sit out of the road race, and however many officials I need to yell at to make it happen, it’s going down. (So long as I can find a team to race on.)

I’m a strong man, and talking behind your back proves it. There’s nothing like complaining to a bunch of juniors and calling you a bitch behind your back. It makes me feel like a real, strong man. Like I can stand up right to your face and tell you exactly what I think.

I’m a good racer, and I know how to listen to my powermeter. When I go above threshold, I know it’s time to pull myself out of the break. Winning the sprint for 20th place is what counts.

I’m a team leader, and I know what it takes. I’ve been to every race weekend and have always put myself last. (Except for that time on spring break when I led a ride that was too hard for some people. I guess the repeated warnings about its length and difficulty weren’t enough.)

And finally, I’m a good guy. I’ve got my friend’s backs. I let them train in my house on my velodynes, I shoot them training plans, let them cry on my shoulder and carry their secrets. Whenever someone crosses the line, I’m there to cheer for them. Always.

If you’re still reading this (and I pray to God you’re not), I’ve got a confession to make: I’ve never set up a lead-out train on a group ride, I’m neither varsity nor a real man, I’m never going to win nationals, I race like shit and I’m no longer (after this post, at least) a team leader or a good guy.

But frankly, I couldn’t be prouder of myself. Because it’s not about how fast you ride, or how expensive your pedals are. Hell, it’s not even about how much you brag, what your FTP is or how much you pay your high-dollar coach.

Cycling is about love of friends, family and sport. And it’s about competing at your best with humility and respect. It's about fun.

Sadly, these values are out of vogue. Something has happened, and the wankers now control the kitchen. And I’m left here with my Baker Boys cupcake asking, where have all the Pro Wankers gone?

The Boys are Back in Town

2010-11-08T14:18:00.001-08:00

Evanston is no cyclist’s paradise. The streets—if they can be called that—are mere meandering paths between potholes that stretch on in narrow, wind-blasted and uninteresting monotony. And don’t mention the cars.

But the North Shore does have its benefits. And while it may not be the best thing for my power to weight ratio, the sheer number of bakeries and restaurants is a wonderful thing.

In my absence from this blog, I’ve been doing some riding. I've also been writing and reading. Heck, I've found these things called people, and I've been spending quality time with them. Mainly, I’ve been eating. And I am happy to say I have found two gems: Baker Boys Bakery in Highland Park and Wildflour Bakery & Cafe in Lake Bluff.

On most every ride, I find someplace warm and stop for a meal. Maybe it’s the cold or my utter apathy for the bike, but nothing warms the soul like cheesecake and red velvet frozen custard on a cold day. And I’ve been stopping into both of those places rather frequently to eat out.

It’s often a nice change of pace to eat out. But eating out—after or during a hard ride—can be a rather trying enterprise. You want to go hard, but you don’t wanna get things dirty before you sit down for your meal.

More importantly, if you’re carrying out, you have to deal with your load of food. So utilizing strategies of protection is key. The right kind of protection allows you to go faster with less caution for longer. In other words, it protects your cupcake.

(Yeah, yeah. Mixed metaphors and crude sexual language. But come on, it’s my first post in a long while. Cut this wanker some slack.)

To protect my cupcakes I use small plastic containers suspended from my seat by electrical tape. The suspension absorbs vibrations and protects the frosting. And by keeping the cupcake out of my vision, it prevents accidental inhalation during the ride.

(Out of sight is out of mind.)

Sometimes though, you have to take protection into your own hands. If you forget the tape, you just have to carry the treat. In that case, a cardboard box is recommended. And I suggest stuffing the box with tissue to keep things tight. You don’t want the cupcake moving about.

But let me caution you: 30 miles carrying a box of cupcakes requires some legit core strength—something you're not likely to have if you're eating a box of cupcakes...

In traditional fashion, the above was just a big segue from the barren blog des(s)ert to renewed fertile blogdom.

Readers, I hope you haven’t lost faith. I’m back. And I’m dumber than ever.

Coming soon:

Papp, part II

Guest post by James Bird

Chicago Bike Racing commentary

Collegiate Cycling News news!

So stay posted and start checking out the blog again.

Rosey

Pro Wanker Kits are Ready!

2010-10-14T06:57:00.000-07:00

Wankers everywhere—it’s the day you’ve been waiting for. Finally, after much pause and procrastination, the Pro Wanker kits are ready to be purchased. It is time to send me your orders!

How this works:

1) You decide what you want to buy

2) You email me what you want to buy and include your sizing

(scottrosenfield AT mac DOT COM)

3) You write me a check for 20% of your order cost

4) We wait until the kits arrive

5) I mail the kits

6) You give me a check for the final 80% of your order cost

Main items for sale:

1) Jersey: $48

2) Bib Shorts: $72 (these cost so much because they charge $10 to provide extra material in the groin. Trust me, it’s necessary. Thin white bibs are not always what you want.)

3) Lycra booties: $20 (Note: these are a different material than last year. The Speed Lycra are a bit more expensive... by 18 bucks. But if we get 10 people who want that version...)

In addition, you can pick out other items from the Champion System website. (Scroll down to Order Form—USA) So long as we get 10 orders for one main item, all other items can be ordered 1 apiece. This does not include accessories such as gloves. (This link explains it.)

Note:

1) All orders are subject to a 2.5 percent Pro Wanker Junior Racing Tax. A 2.5 percent tax will be added to your order to help sponsor junior racing. The goal is to provide a damn big purse at Tour of America’s Dairyland for a junior omnium.

2) Unlike last year, I will not be paying for shipping.

Rosie

Joe Papp Interview: Part I

2010-10-06T19:25:00.000-07:00

In the mind of the public, doping is a dirty thing. We assign blame, claim righteous indignation and experience a visceral rejection to the cheating of our idols. So when our stars start to fall, we find pleasure in accelerating their descent.

Meanwhile, to the developing world―where conditions promote doping and ethical muddles―we show indifference. Viewing cycling, the sporting public sees doping as a test of morals rather than economic necessity.

And every year, another rider from a disadvantaged background emerges and shocks the world with his performance. For weeks, we are stunned by the talent. In the underdog, we have found a new idol.

Invariably, the star is soon found a fraud. One must only look to the 2010 Vuelta Espana for a current example. Ezequiel Mosquera and his teammate David Garcia da Pena tested positive for Hydroxyethyl Starch, a blood plasma expander.

Over four years ago, another rider tested positive for a different drug. In his case, it was for using synthetic testosterone at the 2006 Tour of Turkey. At the Landis hearings, this same rider provided testimony regarding the benefits of testosterone for cyclists. And earlier this year, he pleaded guilty to “conspiracy to distribute performance enhancing drugs.” As the Post Gazette reports, the plea agreement in the case is sealed. As of now, “it remains unclear if Mr. Papp is cooperating against anyone.”

Although a talented rider who raced on the U.S. National Team and represented the U.S. at the UCI Pan American Continental Championships, Papp was hardly a superstar in the mold of Alejandro Valverde or Alberto Contador. And unlike many other dopers, he was not running from abject poverty. His motivations are his own, and his comments cannot―as he repeated often―speak for all.

In the following interview, Mr. Papp discusses much. Over the course of more than two hours, we covered topics ranging from junior racing to doping in the Tour de France―to name a few. In a series of Q&As, I will publish his remarks. They are lightly edited to ease comprehension. Some lines are omitted, but only if they leave both the general message and literal meaning of the text unchanged. Additionally, my questions have been rephrased to guide your reading. Other than that, his words appear exactly as he spoke them.

Contador's Positive Test

PW: What was your initial reaction to the Contador positive?

JP: First reaction when I saw the headline was that it was a spoof. I couldn’t believe it. When I read it, it was horrifying. I cannot imagine Contador intentionally doped with clenbuterol. It’s a doping product that is not very effective; it produces horrible side effects, especially leg cramps and muscle cramps that are unbearable. [Clenbuterol is] not in the pantheon of doping products that any cyclist, let alone a Tour de France contender, would reach for.

PW: Beyond the sanctions Contador may be facing, what results could the positive have on cycling?

JP: I think it’s going to be terrible. We’re at a point here in the public and also with the media that the level of cynicism is off the charts right now. And the predominate initial reaction will be rolling of the eyes... “Oh those cyclists. always doped...they’ve been doped since 1900...” I don’t think many people will initially want to hear or really think it’s food contamination.

PW: Earlier this year, the Radioshack rider Li Fuyu tested positive for clenbuterol. WADA and the UCI were hardly lenient with him. What type of position does this leave both organizations now in dealing with Contador?

JP: They’re in a horrible position. I don’t even know what leeway―if any―they even have...

Unless they can find a piece of meat that came off the plate of the meat that supposedly contaminated his urine with clenbuterol, I don’t think there is anything they can do for him.

PW: So does the Contador case show the need for changes to the WADA Strict Liability policy?

JP: Absolutely. There has to be the provision within the code for the adjudication of the case of legitimate food contaminate in such a manner as to not penalize the athlete. If he didn’t do it―if he really had food contamination―he shouldn’t lose the Tour de France.

(Until the next question, the following material was lifted from a portion of the interview that occurred several moments later.)

Is that [the stripping of his Tour de France title] really the right thing, the right response? I don’t want him to be positive. I’m horrified.

I’d much rather him be positive for a blood transfusion, cortisone, EPO― a product that makes sense to use. In that case, I'd say he’s a dirty cheating scumbag just like I was.

Why do you take EPO? Because it really, really works.

PW: Can you speak to the improved testing methods and how they may have affected the Contador positive?

JP: If the labs are getting more effective and more exact in what they are able to screen for... let’s say they can find traces or metabolites they may not have been able to identify before because the quantity was too small. What if they start identifying clenbuterol in urine samples that is really from food contamination that they didn’t pick up before because their protocol wasn’t as exacting. It’s horrifying to think of that.

PW: Why do you think Contador did not use clenbuterol to improve his performance?

JP: The doping that takes place at the elite is pretty sophisticated, rational doping, and taking

clenbuterol during the Tour de France is not rational.

It doesn’t do anything. If you’re taking clenbuterol because you think it has an anabolic affect, it’s just better to take testosterone. And if you’re taking it because it has an anti-asthma affect, just take salbutamol which you can get a therapeutic use exemption (TUE) for.

I used clenbuterol and it’s horrible. I couldn’t wait to get that out of my system and to never touch it again. It goes against all logical thought. I can’t think of any reason why he’d take it at any point during the year.

(The following paragraph was added after email correspondence with

Mr. Papp.)

I can’t think of any reason why he’d take it at any point during the year, though there are riders – especially in Europe – who believe in the benefits of clenbuterol if taken during the off-season, or outside a period of heavy racing. I just think that there are drugs that do what Clen [clenbuterol] is supposed to do better, with fewer side effects and less risk of detection.

Doping in the Junior and U23 Ranks

PW: Following the positives of the Szczepaniak brothers, it appears that doping has reached the junior ranks. Can you speak to this at all?

JP: I think doping... has trickled down into the age group racing and the recreational racing. We know for a fact that it takes place at the junior level and certainly the u23 level in Europe. In Italy, for example, I can think of a few different instances where junior or u23 athletes have been doped by their coaches or doctors―typically often without their really knowing they’re really being doped. I haven’t heard of a case yet with a junior orchestrating their own doping program.

PW: What differentiates those countries from the U.S.?

JP: Where the economic opportunity is not very good for the majority

of the population, then the use of doping products at u23 or the junior level when competing for [the] World Championships becomes something plausible. It means the difference between 2000 Euros a month or a couple hundred Euros a month as a bus driver. You’re talking 10 times increase in salary. If you’re trying to help your family survive, it’s a different equation than if you’re an American kid trying to go faster on his bike. It doesn’t make it any less of a bad thing, but a bit more understandable.

The difference [is] in the importance that cycling occupies in different cultures in different countries. In the U.S., it’s almost exclusively a recreation pursuit. Anyone who goes into cycling that isn’t at the level of a Tour de France contender in the U.S. is going to be losing money if you figure what their opportunity cost it...

[However,] Cycling offers not just a way to make money, but a pretty fun exciting way to make money―provides travel and a whole host of opportunities that aren’t available if you’re just a laborer, if you’re working in your town... It’s a wonder that it [doping in poor countries] doesn’t happen more.

(Until the next question, the following material was lifted from a portion of the interview that occurred several moments later.)

As an aside, we’re not aware of the fact that doping is seen in a very different context in countries outside the U.S., Canada, Britain, Western countries, where really there isn’t economic opportunity. Where you’re really looking at making 200 Euros a month as an unskilled laborer. It really is a different calculus. People can try to avoid accepting that, if they want. But it still doesn’t change that it’s a different reality for the person on the ground...

PW: And how can juniors afford a doping program?

JP: The doping products themselves are not expensive. There are many countries in which you can buy steroids, testosterone, HGH (human growth hormone)―you can buy them over-the-counter without prescription and they don’t cost a lot...

PW: As juniors who dope leave the junior ranks, do they continue doping?

JP: They don’t give up the doping program. If they needed the doping program in order to progress to the level they’re at, they’re not likely to give it up just because they got to the level where they’re earning a wage. Bernhard Kohl is a good example of that. He basically explained that he started doping at the beginning of his career and each of his advancements, progressions in the sport, was connected to doping. When he got to the top, it wasn’t something he stopped doing...it was part of his preparation, part of his program.

PW: Considering that doping appears to be largely a socio-economic issue in the developing world, what can be done to clean the sport?

JP: (Until the next paragraph, the following material was lifted from a portion of the interview that occurred several moments earlier.)

The anti-doping education and the anti-doping effort in general need to be comprehensive and also flexible. Bend with the wind on the ground and take into account what the reality on the local level is. On the Internet forums, a lot of moral indignation and visceral rejection of doping [occurs]. Pretty harsh condemnation of the people accused or implicated in doping and that’s understandable certainly... But you wouldn’t hear it or get that same example in Uruguay or Argentina. It’s a different environment entirely.

PW: Other than economic and educational changes, what can be done?

JP: It would seem that a big problem is the ease of access to the pharmaceuticals... This is from personal experience: definitely eye-opening the willingness of medical professionals in these kind of countries to actively involve themselves in managing your doping program. The lack of fear. It was something very normal. If anything, they looked at doing you a service that you didn’t damage your health. Took pride in their involvement and helping their athletes to do the best job doping they possibly could...

It’s going to have to come from the state side and within the medical association in those countries... It’s a lot easier to condition behavior at the beginning than to change it after it’s established in a pattern.

PW: And what role does testing play in this?

JP: Anybody who thinks of it [that] we’re going to see radical change just from increasing vigilance over the athletes is―I think―going to be disappointed. We’re dealing with a 100 years of tradition and history here.

PW: Is there anything else you'd like to say?

JP: Scott, this was a great interview and I really want to thank you for giving me the chance to share my experiences and observations with your readers. I love cycling and I always have…I’m grateful for what cycling gave me, I’m remorseful for how I hurt the sport, but I just want to encourage you all not to give up on bike racing, either as fans or participants.

PW: In the days since I first interviewed Papp, Kirk O'Bee has been sanctioned for doping, Ezequiel Mosquera and his teammate David Garcia da Pena have tested positive for a blood plasma expander, and elevated levels of plasticizers have been found in Alberto Contador's blood.

Clearly, doping continues in the professional peloton, and for this, fans of the sport should be saddened. However, the current situation provides an unparalleled opportunity. For the first time in years, nearly the entire sport is implicated in fraud. From Alberto Contador down to domestic professionals, the veneer has been shattered. The truth is now visible for all to see—doping is endemic in cycling.

And this truth is almost too terrifying and horrific to bear. It threatens to destroy the love of even the most ardent fan. It shatters the idealism and beauty cycling is built upon. So in this trying moment, we must be strong. We must recognize the existence of widespread doping without abandoning the sport or losing hope. We must move past denial and fear to action.

As Adam Myerson wrote earlier this year, it’s time to clean house—fully. Let there be no doper left standing.

“So burn down Babylon. Burn pro cycling down. There will still be racing, there will still be races. Burn it down, so we can build it up again new. I condemn Landis' original decision to participate in a corrupt, immoral system. But I'll stand in front of the flames with him and watch it burn.”

Stay tuned for the final installments of the Papp interview.

Photos courtesy of Joe Papp

Fall Fling—Weekend Two

2010-10-04T17:32:00.000-07:00

A post on Saturday's racing is coming. Until then, enjoy Sunday's race report.

In bike racing, one can inflict a tremendous amount of pain on his competition. But because people are fairly rational actors, it is almost always in one’s best interest to cause the minimum amount of pain to achieve his goals.

After all, the pain you impose upon your competition is a pain you too must feel. No matter how powerful you are, it takes effort to cause hardship. So ordinarily, there is no need to attack and sit up just to cause pain for your competition.

But as with most statements, the above is based on a simple assumption: people are rational actors.

And if you’ve met me, you realize the above is rather false.
Sunday is a rather clear example of this reality.

Going into the race, I was sitting either 5th or 4th overall in the 1/2s. My goals were to protect my lead, get the IsCorp juniors into a break and to leapfrog the riders ahead of me.

As things began, it was clear that the race was going to be a painful one. The wind was brutal. To ride outside of the draft was to tempt fate.

Somehow, a break made it up the road. The original break was small but dangerous. I tried several times to bridge the gap, but I was covered. Eventually, another move went—this one larger and even more dangerous. After a several lap chase, the field and I had managed to close the distance.

Naturally, when I relented and settled into the pack, the same group of riders attacked. Up the road, the race was riding away from me.

At this point, a rational actor would have made a decision: Try to bridge the gap, or focus on winning out of the remaining field. Naturally, frustration rendered such a decision moot.

Rather than break away, I began a policy of scorched earth. Attacking laterally, I would do a series of sprints to dislodge the weaker riders. Once up to speed, I would settle into an anaerobic pace. As I tired, I would get up to sprint again. For several laps, I continued this policy.

I was not attempting to break away. The initial accelerations were not violent enough, and the pulls were far too hard. Rather, my efforts were with a single intention: to cause the long line of faces behind me to grimace in pain.

Finally, the cards read three to go. My legs were dead from torturing the field, but I decided to make a final dig.

So I attacked. And this time, I did little looking back.

With the day over, my teammates and I discussed the racing. To my utter joy, they mentioned the field’s ire at my riding.

“Who’s this guy in a pink kit, and why the hell is he attacking again?”

Fall Fling 2010

2010-09-30T13:20:00.000-07:00

A year wiser?

One year ago, I penned my "famous" first foray into blogging. And in a single sentence, my style was captured: “The Fall Fling is maybe a brownie that was left over from last weekend’s party and is now a bit stale and hard with some random powdered sugar sprinkled on top.”

Instantly, my readers knew: I’m an idiot who’s obsessed with food and writes pretentiously with grand ambitious analogies that can be reduced to meaningless jibber. (Like this sentence.)

Well readers, little has changed—I’m still your favorite fat idiot. Except a year has passed. So while today marks 365 days since my first blog post, it also marks a year since my first full foray into the Fall Fling.

A year heavier!

Several pounds heavier and a category “better,” I entered this year’s Fall Fling with low expectations. Primarily, I was there to support the IsCorp juniors—Peter Davis, Kevin Lindlau and Kaleb Koch—and the new Northwestern cyclists.

Invariably, George Hincapie decided to rain on our parade. Not only did several of the NU kids fail to show (with legitimate excuses, of course), but the juniorfolk arrived with less than 20 minutes to spare.

As I rushed around doing nothing in particular, I realized my brakes were not functioning. Eventually, I found my worn down brake-pads were to blame—the shoes were gouging wonderfully circular cuts into my carbon wheels.

Thankfully, GH and I have a close relationship (after all, his brother makes my kits). In times of cycling crisis, I prevail. So the mechanical turned out to be no problem at all. I just raced without brake pads, right T-Peng?

Known Unknowns and Unknown Unknowns

As we lined up, the IsCorp super junior squad and I outlined our strategy: I would try to break away, Kevin and Petey would attack and try to control the field, and we’d lead Kaleb out in the event of a field sprint.

While things began predictably unpredictable, they took a turn for the unpredictably unpredictable when Petey snapped his chain. Thankfully, ABR has the unlimited free lap rule and he was able to find a similar size bike to race—which he did, and race the heck out of.

As Petey rejoined the pack, we realized a Kenda rider was in attendance. Things suddenly got more confusing. As is always the case, every rider in the field followed the one pro guy around expecting him to do all of the work. It didn't matter that there were around 100 other guys in the race. So long as there is one pro, nobody is required to do any pulling.

So when the break went and Mr.Kenda didn’t chase, the break was gone.

Naturally, when I’m supposed to be coaching the juniors, I make the biggest mistakes. As I began to patrol the front following great pulls by Petey and Kevin, I hesitated. Restarting the lead-out from the final corner, I swung right and was trapped between the curb and another rider. Naturally, there was nothing to be done. Kaleb had to go the long way around and was unable to win the field sprint. Good job, coach!

Finally, the TT

Sunday brought its own surprises. With the failure of my SRM to work and my front wheel still flat from the ABR TTT, I was hesitant to race. Naturally, TTs are my strength for when equipment matters more than talent, I find success. Sadly, my equipment was not up to par.

And after having to move and park three separate times, I managed to get on the bike with just enough time to get nice and cool before my start. Regardless, I still threw down a somewhat respectable time.

In comparison, the juniors all rode great races. Kevin blasted through the course and Petey rode very well on his road bike.

One weekend down. One more to go. Watch out world—Kaleb returns. And this time without an idiot lead-out.

Upcoming Papp Interview

2010-09-22T11:29:00.000-07:00

Laptop on legs, he sits on his bed—his flabby form contained by nothing but well-worn tighty whities. Surrounding him, spilled coke mixes with Cheetos crumbs

In other words, it’s just another night for just another blogger.

Breaking the silence, his inbox suddenly reads: One New Message. And just like that, he has a real story. He has a lead.

And assuming the blogger can actually write coherent sentences, this single email transforms him from overweight deadbeat into dignified journalist.

Well folks, I don’t drink pop, and I rarely eat Cheetos. Also and rather unexpectedly, I don’t think tighty whities look too bad on me. (Just ask Axie, Will or Ian.)

But my inbox does read 1025 new messages...

Anyway, on the urging of a Mr. Mark French, I contacted Joe Papp about an interview. Mr. Papp has agreed to speak with me. The focus of our discussion will be doping and junior/u23 racing.

This—the junior/u23 racing—will be a Pro Wanker exclusive interview. Yep, the pink and white has just made the bigs. (hahaha. Yeah right!)

As part of the interview, I would like to take questions from my readers for Mr. Papp. So readers, feel free to post your question in the comment section of this post or email them to me: scottrosenfield AT mac dot com

Yours,

Rosey

Bright Lights, Big City

2010-09-20T18:46:00.000-07:00

For years, the same faces have won the same races. There has been little suspense. The winner always comes from a small pool of people. For the US Pro TT, he is DZ. For the RR, there is no victor other than Hincapie, Hamilton, Leipheimer or Fast Freddy.

While Hincapie and company were once young, promising talents, they are no longer. Their best years are behind them. Tour or Roubaix glory becomes more and more unlikely with each passing dope-tainted year.

A look at this year’s Tour de France appears to be a confirmation. American riders were announced as potential winners, yet they failed to deliver. And as a rule, they were part of the old guard.

And for a time, it seemed like little would disrupt the state of affairs. While the Pharmstrong boys may not be speeding up, they are still fast enough. Who would challenge their reign?

The first shadow of insurrection appeared at the Criterium du Dauphine. A then unknown American from HTC managed to ride within himself and contain the attacks of Contador in route to a third place. Despite his foreign name, Tejay Van Garderen was soon an American cycling idol.

Next, larger cracks appeared at the Tour of Utah. In the form of Taylor Phinney, Levi was defeated in the TT. Yes, Phinney had a skinsuit and Levi did not. And yes, differences between skinsuits can amount for more than a handful of seconds. So compared to a jersey and bibs, the gains are enormous. But the boy still won.

And in the climbing stages, Ian Boswell surprised. Climbing like few other riders his age, he managed to stay with the big guns on the hardest stages.

Even more impressive, 2010 l’Abitibi winner Lachlan Morton riding for Holowesko Partners (Garmin’s junior racing team) managed several respectable placings on the intense climbing and TT stages.

In Spain, Van Garderen later followed through on his Dauphine promise. While he eventually fell out of the top 15, he fought valiantly and was within striking distance of the top ten for most of the race.

But compared to this weekend, the results in Spain and Utah were nothing but blips. In two days of racing, the old guard has been destroyed.

Again, the defining shot came from the young Phinney. Narrowly defeating Leipheimer, he posted a time over a minute faster than the third place finisher in the USPRO TT.

A day later, Ben King rode to one of the most impressive results in years. Going on an audacious breakaway and then attacking the group on the Paris Mountain climb, King soloed to the win.

Some will say the wins of King and Phinney are tainted. Riding for Trek—Livestrong, they are assumed to be recipients of the RadioShack doping program. However, we can hope they are not. The results of King and Phinney have followed a linear path. From their youth, they have excelled.

Rather than with doubt or anxiety, the results of this weekend should be welcomed. On their own roads in their favorite races, the old guard has been defeated. Ready or not, American cycling is entering a new era.

For one, I hope it to be a cleaner, more competitive and entertaining one.

Dopage

2010-09-15T08:47:00.000-07:00

Hopefully, this post will be read. Likely, it will languish on the interwebs unnoticed and lonely. In the off chance that you are a real human and read this post to its conclusion, I'm interested in your opinion and feedback. Disagree with me? Think I'm a misguided? Let me know in the comments section. And please, make your comments anonymous.

Motives

I’ve largely kept my head out of the doping game. Yeah, Pharmstrong jokes are easy to make, but I like to leave the accusations to the Cyclingnews.com forums. Reputations are too important to impugn on heresy and Internet innuendo. However, the recent Chicagobikeracing.com posts regarding an impending drug bust have aroused my interest.

The calculus involved in doping must be complicated. As one contemplates injecting himself with the product, he likely weighs the health risks, expected performance gains, monetary costs and odds of getting caught. Some might not even pause, but I’d like to think most do.

For the pros, the decision likely becomes a monetary one. And as is so often the case, greed rules the day. For the master cyclist, I’m not so sure what the thought process is. Perhaps ego is the motivating factor. Maybe it’s fear—of aging and finally slowing down.

Catalyst

Regardless of my rambling, it looks like USADA is acting on the confession of former pro cyclist doper turned pusher, Joe Papp. In coming months, expect a number of pro, elite, and masters cyclists to be busted for doping on behalf of Papp’s testimony.

(Papp is highly active on the Cyclingnews.com forums in the Clinic section. He also posts regularly to Twitter.)

Papp himself has an interesting story. In 2007, he was suspended for using synthetic testosterone at the 2006 Tour of Turkey where he won several stages. At the famed Landis hearings, he provided testimony regarding the benefits of testosterone for cyclists.

Explaining why he testified a the Landis hearing, Papp said, “By testifying here outside of clear conscience, and helping next generation of riders see that they have a choice. I don’t gain anything and I lose a lot.”

In reality, it appears Papp’s motives were not completely pure. Earlier this year, he pleaded guilty to “conspiracy to distribute performance enhancing drugs” while he was offering information against other athletes suspected of drug use, according to Cyclingnews.

As he claimed to be helping to rid cycling of dopers, Papp was actually providing riders with drugs—something few articles explicitly mention. They ignore the timeline, making Papp a hero. The reality is gray. Like with all men, the truth goes beyond hero or villain.

One Race, Two Wins

But the Papp story gets even more complicated. And it takes another turn for the confusing with the lifetime ban from cycling semi-local hero/villain Duane Dickey recently received.

On Chicagobikeracing.com, an anonymous poster with the handle "VeloDoc (Project 5)" writes “sucks when it happens to a genuinely nice guy.” All over the Internet, praise is heaped on Dickey. His doping conviction is ignored, rationalized, or dismissed with the anonymous clicking of keys.

I cannot comment on Dickey’s innocence or guilt. USADA claims he possessed and used EPO, possibly supplied by Papp. Additionally, he refused a sample collection. If USADA cannot be believed, then all sports—not just cycling—has an issue. So for the sake of this article, I will assume USADA’s claims have merit.

(And I realize the issues that this assumption brings.)

What is most disturbing about this case is the phraseology of "VeloDoc." “When it happens” implies Dickey was forcefully injected with EPO. That doesn’t seem to be the case. Dickey, like the rest of us, has free will. He chose to posses and take EPO.

And this statement is about more than Dickey.

On Free Will

Perhaps USADA is totally wrong. Maybe this is all one big mistake. Regardless of that, doping is a choice. And if Tyler Hamilton taught us anything, it’s that being a nice guy has nothing to do with doping.

Heck, if Cyclingnews.com’s Clinic forum is to be believed, Hamilton’s wife arranged the doping logistics and then may have had a fling with Lance. But hey, that’s Cyclingnews.com’s Clinic forum. So Tugboat, I’m sorry if the above turns out true.

(Sorry, I'm not providing the link to that one.)

Who Will Be Busted Next?

To return to the Papp situation, one should doubt his testimony. If history is any guide, he is an opportunist. However, his evidence should not be disregarded if it can be corroborated. I, for one, hope it isn’t. Likely though, it has been. And it appears to have great relevance on American racing.

Tweeting about the 2010 Tour of Utah, Papp wrote that McCarty had earned a 5th place. On the stage, he had actually finished sixth. Ahead of him were Levi Leipheimer, Francisco Mancebo, Ian Boswell, Darren Lill and Phil Zajicek. Papp’s Tweet (screw you NYT, I’ll use Tweet as a word) implies one rider who finished ahead of McCarty was a doper.

Again on Cyclingnews.com’s Clinic forum, Papp points toward Zajicek and Lill as the likely dopers. According to speculative posts by other members, Leipheimer and Mancebo are assumed to be part of more sophisticated doping programs. Ian Boswell is assumed to be too young to dope. Lill then becomes a suspect, but is ruled out based on the timeline of Papp's pushing. This leaves Zajicek, who is claimed to have been busted at the “Tour of Qinghai(?) [sic] when he took a legal decongestant (not on the banned list) which metabolizes in the body into an illegal substance that was detected in a test,” poster “Rupert” wrote.

Again, the above is pure speculation by a potential random Internet waco. However, the claims on the Cyclingnews.com forums have often been substantiated. And Papp’s commentary seems to support the above quotation.

Let History Be Your Guide, Lemmiwinks

The year is 1998 and the Tour de France is in shambles. The discovery of doping products in a Festina team car leads to the reopening of an investigation into the TVM team. Before the Tour is over, the existence of a systematic network of doping is revealed.

In one race, the veneer of plausible deniability is shattered.

The year is now 2010—12 years since the Festina scandal. And cycling is still plagued by the dopage. But is seems that the basic issues still remain. Dopers, when caught, deny and fail to implicate the networks. The anti-doping organizations are not trusted. Fans believe in cover-ups and some of their fears appear to be founded.

Meanwhile, bloggers write about theoretical limits on performance (FTP must be less than 6.2 watts/kg, for example). Yet their numbers are flawed. They fail to take into account the climatic conditions and weight difference for each rider. (According to Andrew Coggan and others.) In one swoop, an entire cadre of riders is assumed guilty. Perhaps some are clean?

Tolerance Camp

There is no easy way out of this quagmire. And if I knew the answers, I sure as heck wouldn’t be blogging about them. But some things clearly have to change in cycling. That much I can say.

For starters, dopers must be stigmatized in the style of The Scarlet Letter. The attitude toward them cannot be “oh, he’s a nice guy.” Frankly, it doesn’t matter if he’s the nicest guy in the world. He’s a doper. Ergo, he’s a cheat. Cheats don’t deserve respect or inclusion. Look what baseball did to Pete Rose after what he did to the sport’s integrity.

(Please, don’t get into the whole baseball doping thing. I’m speaking only of this case. And don’t bring up his one night back into the field. That was a poor decision.)

USADA/WADA must have credibility. When another Landis gets busted, there can be no question to the integrity of the system or the tests. A doping positive must be difficult to dispute. The organizations must be impartial and trustworthy.

USADA/WADA must have some accountability. At the CAS, athletes should be able to dispute cases and actually win—if their arguments merit victory. As much as every cheater should be caught, nobody should be falsely banned. So this means no more leaks to the L’Equipe.

Catching dopers must go beyond urine and blood tests. Clearly, they are easy to defeat. Informants should be used. And doping cases should be investigated by the police whenever and wherever possible.

The networks must be taken down. Behind every doper, there is a pusher. The people who supply the drugs must be found and stopped.

I’m no fool. (Well, I actually am.) I know my recommendations will not be easy to implement. In fact, they may be impossible to achieve. But as more doping cases are announced, the future should be on our minds. Our actions should be guided by our vision and values, not retribution, fanaticism or revenge.

Little Red Nightgown

2010-09-14T19:30:00.000-07:00

Pro Wanker Kits

Reader, the deposit has been placed. The proofs have been sent in. And the Pro Wanker kits are being approved by Champion System as I type! Expect to see the final and gorgeous design in two weeks. If interest is high enough, I’ll leak some spy shots before then. Anyway, expect to be filling out order forms in about 2.5 weeks.

The ABR Tour de France (Fall Fling)

It's that time of year again. (No, Scott hasn't been hospitalized for gorging himself on butter...hibernation listed as the excuse.) Fall is here. Yeah, the cold sucks. And school is back in session. (Not for me, suckers!) But ABR is putting on their best weekend(s) of racing.

Distributed over two weeks to allow for recovery, the Fall Fling has two circuit r

aces, a crit and a short TT. I highly recommend you come out and race. The Northwestern Cycling Team will be there. And so will I. What more could anyone want? If you're a collegiate racer or junior folk and need lodging, hit me up.

Sadly, the first weekend falls over collegiate track nationals. So I may only be racing the final weekend. Decisions. Decisions...

Tour de Donut

It is with great regret that I must miss the Tour de Donut. As I wrote and say on a daily basis, the race sounds genius. Sadly, it falls on Yom Kippur. For all of you heathens out there, I will be fasting that day and praying for my atonement. That makes eating donuts a but difficult. However, I exhort all of you other wankers out there to go!

Star Sight, Star Bright

I was out driving instead of training. As I motored through Ft. Sheridan, I noticed a gaunt figure in Kona kit. On a whim, I pulled up besides him and started a conversation. It turns out he's Barry Wicks, and he lives in Evanston. He's a pro CXer. Hopefully, he'll hook up with Northwestern Cycling for a few rides sometime soon.

My Milkshake...

Small Stones

2010-09-13T17:52:00.000-07:00

This Year's ABR TTT did not go according to plan. 60 k TTTs require luck—something we had none of. Regardless, I will be back next year.
The Start

To shift down, first shift up. In fact, shift up twice. Then shift down once.

No, this isn’t retreating to move forward. And no, you don’t end up where you started.

This is riding my TT bike—one without basebars, skewers or fully functioning brakes—at 35 mph with a screaming tail wind while only inches away from three other riders.

And at these speeds, time reveals its fluidity. Minutes seem to drag on for hours only to snap and disappear with the speed of seconds. On a good day, your body begins to pedal to a beat. Every action and movement goes according to script. It's part of the TTT time bending magic.

And things were musically magical. We were cruising in the low 30s after the first turnaround. Rounding the s-bend, we hit the long crosswind stretch before the final turnaround. Our echelon was perfect. We were down a man, but riding possessed. Victory was within grasp. We were pedaling to a beat.

My Story

A pebble stares at me. It’s round. Maybe the size of a acorn. It poses no harm. It’s perfectly smooth. In the face of this feeble "danger," I do not veer from my path.

I have minutes to change course. But this pebble can do no harm. Without doubt, the impact is devastating. Releasing all 120 psi in a second’s time, the tire deflates. A perfectly round body has slashed my sidewalls.

A pebble has ruined my day. A pebble has ruined our race.

The Build

The wind blows a warm breeze. Looking out from my six foot three window, I see acre upon acre of corn. The plants ripple in the wind.

But I stand still. I am besides the road. Somehow, the bike's top tube is supporting my impressive weight. I rest and wish I had brought with me some water on this too warm day.

Reeven rides past. I exhort him on. Another team goes by.

Finally, Lowell appears. I raise an arm, signifying my front flat. As Mr. Koch runs out of the car, I yell for my Y-tool. My super duper aero skewers take minutes to remove.

The Chase

Back on the road, I settle into a fast rhythm. For seconds that last minutes, I dream of catching the team, taking a long pull and propelling us to victory. But this does not happen. Unlike Lance, I don't believe in miracles

Up the Road

The remaining three power on. As they hit the tracks, their speed suggests a time capable of winning the race. Despite my flat and them needing to wait for Reeven to latch back on, they’re flying.

And then Kyle hits something. Out goes his tire. So he slowly rolls in.

The Finish

At the car, we trade frowns. Naturally, I curse Hincapie. Brach claims the name of our team is to blame. (We registered as IsCorp/Pro Wanker.) Someone else blames the team Canadian.

I stick by my guns: The Hincapie giveth, the Hincapie taketh away.

The Other Guys

Thankfully, the IsCorp juniors pull through. As has become habit, they dominated the junior event with a blistering time of 1:20 for something around 60 k. (It is ABR, afterall. Don't expect exact distances.)

(Pictured from left to right: Petey Davis, Garrett Roth, Kaleb Kock and Kevin Lindlau)

The Real Story

For once, the above is true—mostly. Regardless, I must praise this event. The prize-list may be small. But honestly, few of us race for the cash. It's about the fun. And the stupid. And ABR has both of those bases covered.

So if you're free next fall and want to suport what bike racing should feel—if not be—like, come out and race the ABR 60 K TTT.

Rosey

Jerry...

2010-09-10T18:23:00.000-07:00

Note: If you know how to add captions to photos, please let me know. Also, I'll be revealing the Pro Wanker kit design this week. And finally, some Gateway Videos will be posted this week. Stay posted, Wankers.
I’ve slept in an assortment of odd places—on a shelf, in a closet, in a bed with two other guys, in a bed with two guys and a girl, and on many a floor. (Heaven praise the collegiate season.)

However, I’ve never slept in a place quite as seedy as the Day’s Inn off of Lindberg Blvd, STL.

Imagine for you a moment you’re a pedophile. In looking for a hotel, you’d want to keep your drugged and kidnapped child somewhat amused. (You don't want him calling the cops, do you?) So a kid-friendly pool would be nice. And so would be a jungle gym. You’d also want your privacy. So the place would be easily accessed without arousing suspicion.

Well, pedophiles, the Day’s Inn Lindberg, STL has all the above and more!

Easy entry? With no external doors—check! Child amusement? With a full size pool and arcade—check! Privacy? With soundproof cinder block walls—check!

Thankfully, I’m over 18 and no pedophile. So while the Day’s Inn may be many a boy’s nightmare, it was just another motel for me.

But was the Gateway Cup just another weekend of racing?

As has been repeatedly said, bike racing’s beauty lies in the carnival. From the staying in shitty motels to the pinning of race numbers and kisses from overweight "podium" girls, bike racing is about the process, the carnival.

As a member of IsCorp, I’m thankful to be part of the wildest carnival around. Between Tom Petty (JoKo), our resident Canadian (Josh G), Jesus (Jon Cook), the Brach (Brian Rach) and Weisenhoofen, something stupid is always going on. And when you throw me and a team junior in the mix. Well, heaven save us.

But beyond the regulars, Gateway was great. Seeing the Aussies is always solid. Despite the fact Owen has yet to return my final pair of Pro Wanker booties, I can’t help but love him. And Wez—he’s always a pleasure to see.

Mainly though, this weekend was made wonderful by our resident Hill Billy, Colton Barrett. Need more be said?

Ok, it wasn't all that great. The final

crit course had upward of a thousand turns—and many of them were right turns, the most difficult for me. And Sunday's course had an uphill tailwind section. And heaven knows I hate uphill headwinds. But really, since when have I gone to a bike race to actually race my bike?

Mainly, it’s still hard to believe summer has reached its inevitable end. But as a member of a slowly and painfully dying profession (journalism, wankers), it is nice to see something go out with a bang, rather than a whimper.

So summer—it was great knowing you. And Gateway—you were a great way to end the season.

Paving Old Roads

2010-09-07T15:35:00.000-07:00

Note: The following is a recap from the State TT. A Gateway post is soon in coming. Hold on—its got video.

You’re sweating and wearing nothing but spandex. Suddenly, two big black arms grab you. Without speaking, a burly man escorts you behind stage. He takes you to the bathroom and grunts. As you go to close the door, he enters. And as you begin to fill the vial, you are instructed to turn around. Slowly, he begins to hum out a melancholy tune.

The year was 2006 and the scene was Seven Springs, PA. And despite the situation, I was smiling.

Earlier that day, I had been one of the last men off in the time trial. And when I crossed the line, the announcer was yelling my name triumphantly. I was sixth, he said. Quickly, I did the math. With only a handful of riders to start after me, I was assured a top ten result—at the Nationals TT.

Despite my ecstasy, I needed verification. So my mom went to check the results. As she returned, her face told all. I had not finished sixth. I was nowhere near the top ten.

Since that day, my relationship with time has been fundamentally altered. I no longer trust the clock.

But I still race to its ticking.

And the IL State TT was no exception. For the last two months, my goal was singular: Train to win the state title. Threshold intervals, aero tweaking, and dieting (haha, just kidding on that one) became the habit of my existence. I was dropped in crits, missed group rides and spent hours taping and working on my bike. It was all in the name of the clock.

And for several minutes this weekend, it looked as if all my efforts had not been in vain. Doug and Kaleb were following me in the Nazi-wagon. Through the windows they yelled out of megaphones and played into vuvuzelas. By the tone of their mingling voices, it was clear I was hauling.

And I was. At 20 K, the clock read something near 25:20.

For a brief few seconds, I was intoxicated with the moment. Every race ever won, every victory ever lost and every right turn ever botched gained meaning. It all was part of the plan.

But with the same inevitably of 2006, time told a different story. Suddenly, there was a hill on course. And the tailwind home section became a headwind. And the 30 k long course became 33.3 k.

Within sight of the finish, my four minute man dangled ahead of me. While I passed him, the rate of my approach was maddeningly slow. So I crossed the line—tears mingling with sweat.

And so we left without waiting for my time. I didn’t need to stay to consult the clock. At a later hour, the results would reveal the truth. Kaleb had won his race with a blitzing time.

And Scott. Well, he was second to a Mr. Bryce Mead.

Another Pre-Post Race Update

2010-09-01T19:46:00.000-07:00

Kaleb is Fast

While my grammar is lacking, and my vocabulary decreases with each college “recreational” activity I partake in, I still have some standards. So papers that begin with “Merriam-Webster defines creative as ‘relating to or involving the creation of original ideas’” still make me cringe.

In advance, I apologize for the next few sentences. I realize they are no better than the above quoted. Anyway, here it goes: They say a picture is worth a thousand words. So if a video is shot at 30 fps (frames per second) and lasts around 16 seconds... you do the math. And by math, I mean click on the video of me cheering on as Kaleb Koch makes good on a terrific leadout from teammate Petey Davis and wins the Dixon 3/4 race.

Stupid is What Stupid Does

Most people are dumb. Some people are exceptionally stupid. Case in point: man goes looking for ghost train and is killed by the real thing. No joke.

Thankfully, some people are really smart: “Kyle Dubois and his parents claim teacher Thomas Kelley did not warn Dubois and other students of the dangers of the electrical demonstration cords in their electrical trades class. On March 11, Dubois attached an electrical clamp to one nipple while another student attached another clamp to the other. A third student plugged in the cord.”

Oops. I guess not.

ABR-FIAC Grand National Four Man Team Time Trial

I love wanker races—ones with skewed payouts or crazy terrain. Think Wank the Lake or Great Egyptian Omnium. One of the biggest wanker races of all is the ABR Four Man Team Time Trial.

There was a time when team trials were respected and considered prestigious. But to coincide with my existence, they were made irrelevant by the UCI, IOC... The discipline is now shunned—occasionally included in the Tour but mostly mocked in the Vuelta. Essentially, we’re left with the ABR National World FIAC Championship. And I’m looking for a team. So if you're interested in winning and wanking it up, hit me up.

Death of Summer

The approach of school makes me sad. Yes, I love the NU Cycling Team and think the MWCCC (CCCCCCCp) is the greatest thing ever. But still, I’ll miss summer. I’ll miss weekends that last long into night. I’ll miss the racers. Heck, I may even miss some of the races. But let’s be honest: I’ll mostly miss the warm weather. Winter sucks.

Important Pre-Post Race Updates

2010-08-30T19:34:00.000-07:00

Junior Racing

Pro Wanker has its sight set on big things—sponsoring teams, hosting races, running wanking clinics... Essentially, making the world a much more wankable place. In that vein, it looks like Pro Wanker will be sponsoring a weekend of junior racing this coming summer. What does this mean? Well, a BIG PRIZE-LIST ($1000+) for an omnium of junior racing and, I pray god, huge fields. Yeah, top down economics are a sham, but in honor of Ronald Reagan and the Dixon Crit, I’ll give it a shot. Wanna help? Drop me a line.

Pro Wanker p/b Project 69 Kits

The moment you’ve all been eagerly awaiting: I am taking preliminary orders on the 2010/2011 Team Pro Wanker p/b Project 69 Racing team kits. As you know, the 2009/2010 kits were a huge success. Many races won, bystanders shocked (no pun intended), and friends made under the Pro Wanker banner. For 2010, look

for the classic pink and white 69 booties to make a return. In a break from the past, the kits will be classy and clean. Minimal wankage, tons of pink style. Don’t believe me, just ask my V-neck loving Aussie friends. For those of you without any faith in a kid who wears nothing but cycling Ts, the design will be posted in the coming two weeks. For now, shoot me an email or FB PM if you’re interested. I don’t need to know how much you are buying. That comes later. For now, just let me know if you would be interested in making a purchase. And spread the word! Each purchase either A) makes me richer B) Helps junior racing.

(In the past, these were sold with no intention of making a profit. This year, all money collected will go toward junior racing, not my pocketbook.)

Diet Update

In the wild, animals forage for food. Squirrels dart about collecting nuts, hiding them away for times of future famine. In the kitchen, I too make my rounds. When all are asleep, I descend the stairs and make my way to the pantry. Silently opening the door and inserting my hand, I search for food. Popcorn is a usual target, but the white crackly crumbs tend to reveal my presence. Pretzels are nice, but not my favorite nighttime food. Generally, I favor candy.

To my dismay, I was thwarted this weekend. As I crammed my arm onto the shelf that generally holds the nuts, my fingers were delighted to find hard, round, little candies. The bag that held the treasures certainly felt promising—it had the distinct crinkling crackle of a m&m package. As I withdrew my fist filled of candy, I was surprised. The orbs were spherical and larger than usual. In a moment of hysteria, I imagined them each to be little peanut m&ms. Greedily, I thrusted the fistful into my mouth and began to masticate. Soon enough, a terrible horror betrayed itself. These were no peanut m&ms. These were pretzel m&ms. Perhaps, dipped in chocolate peanut butter these so called candies may regain their flavor. But consumed as packaged, they are no more than dry, disappointing rat droppings

To TT

As you may know, I love TTs. Rather than the infamous Watts/KJ predicting performance, the much more generous (to the aerodynamically obsessed but obese) Watts/m^2 predicts performance. Riders who obsess over this number—a number most are blissfully unaware of—are my favorite fellows. One such cyclist is Kent Bostick. I don’t know much about this guy. I hear he was a huge wanker back in the day. But this pic is all the proof I need. Not only is this former national tt champ riding an aero or die setup, but he’s on a Hooker TT bike with mismatched wheels. Yes, the men who made my front brake actually made an entire bike. (A darn fast one, too!) If I could find this bike, I would buy it, race it, and die a happy man. If I could find this man, I would marry him in whichever state allowed such an unholy union.

Pre Race Updates

2010-08-27T17:51:00.001-07:00

1) I know this one is circling the Facebooks and blogosphere, but here it is: Lance wants to tell you something, so long as you promise not to get angry.

2) In Soviet Russia, picture take you. Well, in Tsarist Russia, anyway. (Click on the link, fool.)

3) Anyone who knows me knows I make many excuses. For example, I lost the crit because there was a right turn. Or I’m starting my diet tomorrow because today is my Hebrew birthday, and I want a piece or three of cake. Whatever the situation, I seem able to create totally inexcusable excuses.

When it comes to Pro Wanker clothing, my excuses are actually valid. About now, I should be redesigning the Pro Wanker kits using Adobe. Unfortunately, my pirated/cracked/hacked version of the software has stopped working. Unless I shell out 700 bucks, I’m SOL. But fear not fellow wankers, where there is a will there is a wank.

4) I never know if I should laugh or cry at the Rapha promo material. On one hand, it’s terribly pretentious in the way a Kiton suit looks ridiculous on a trust fund baby. On the other hand, the suit makes the man. And a Kiton suit is a very fine suit. Anyway, this video is pretty awesome. I wish we could do something like this in WI or IL. Oh wait, we kinda do have that. But it’s called the Tour de Cheese, and is top secret.

5) Apparently, Vladimir Putin plans to drive across Russia in commemoration of the completion of Russia’s first continuous transcontinental highway. Congrats Putin, you’ve officially caught up to the U.S.'s Lincoln Highway circa 1913. Congrats.

6) In other ridiculous news, Facebook wants to patent the use of the word “face.” Yeah. Great.

Race the Lake

2010-08-24T08:31:00.000-07:00

I apologize in advance if the following post offends you. If you are offended, realize that this is satire or comedy or incisive political commentary or something. Whatever it takes, just don't be angry at me.

(If you're a triathlete, I am very sorry to hear that and wish you a speedy and full recovery.)

Finally, I'm sorry but I have no photos from this weekend. It was simply too dangerous to use a camera.

Everybody knows it. But few say it. Maybe it’s because of the NAACP, the PC Police or the ACLU. It might even be because of common decency. Regardless of reasoning, few can spew it: You never go full retard.

It’s that simple. It’s that clear. As evident as gravity—you go in full retard, you go home empty handed.

Well, I did it. I went full retard with $20,000 on the line. And I came home...

The Interwebs

For years, I’ve dreamt of returning to l'Abitibi. The smell of burning flesh and melting carbon, the sound of cracking Zipps and screaming Frenchmen is seared into my mind. The memories are painful, but they drip with a blood sweeter than any known nectar.

But memories fade. And as they fade, I die. I am an addict. I need my year fix.

So Race the Lake (RtL) became my high—a substitute for my l'Abitibi lust. But they are two very different drugs. l’Abitibi is a UCI stage race. RtL is an unsanctioned citizen race. l'Abitibi has the world’s best junior cyclists. RtL has the world's worst tri-tards and recreational cyclists.

Despite their difference, they share two things in coming: Speed and insanity.

The Start

In bike racing, you receive a bib number to race with. In triathlon, your body is marked with black marker. Tri-tards are notoriously poor bike handlers and crash with frightening regularity. Despite the slow speeds of their crashes, limbs are often lost or mutilated. Because of body markings, medical can piece together the bodies post race.

I am a bike racer. But at RtL, we are all wankers. So I surrendered my dignity and was body marked.

The Atmosphere

In the moment, there is too much happening to enjoy anything. Each idiot and every wanktastic happening drips over into the next. Through the fog of walkability, individual idiots are nearly impossible to discern.

At RtL, this concept is magnified. Tri-tards running into cones and flipping over. Wankers breaking away in the last meters only to take a wrong turn and forfeit large sums of money. Carbon wheels exploding. Behind the seat bottles ejecting.

The Race

While Kenda and Aerocat were menacing, we had our hopes. Josh (IsCorp) can sprint with the best and Brian Rach (IsCorp) can steamroll anyone. As we rolled out of town, we situated ourselves at the front. Brian led Josh, and I followed—ready to surrender a wheel, bottle or bar.

Quickly, I found myself near The Man Who is Fall (Steve Tilford). Riding his wheel was an experience–so smooth, so sad and so right. At 32 mph we cruised. Occasionally, he would tell me a story. Not a word was spoken without smile.

Occasionally, a recumbent would come past and crash. Or a tandem would shoot up and veer into the wrong lane of traffic. But we continued at our pace until the halfway point and the start of the "big hill".

Hills

Readers of my blog know this—I really dislike racing hills. Well, we hit the climb and the only thing I can think about is my eight bottles weighing me down. Until the false flat, I stay on. But as the road tips up for the final crest, I lose ground.

But a descent looms. With a small group or riders, I manage to latch back on. Crisis averted, I go to Josh and quickly give him a bottle.

The Finish

Trying to organize a train at the front of a 1400 man strong race is insane. It’s even crazier when half the team is on one side of the road and the other half is missing. With a break up the road, we needed to organize. But time began slipping, and there was nothing we could do. Coming into the finish, Brach managed to up the pace and Josh was given a small lead-out. Flying into the finish, he takes second in the field sprint.

Additional thoughts:

Pro Wanker: Thompson Remo (IsCorp) rides up to me in the closing miles. “Scott, do you have any food I can eat?” Before he even finishes the sentence, he begins to crack a smile. No duh, I have food.

Wanker: You’re 40+ and you have a hairy ass. For some reason, you wear shorts that explode on you. For 90 miles, people have to stare at your hairy ass.

Pro Wanker: We’re racing at 30 mph. Some wanker on a moto pulls up next to me and starts honking. For a moment, I am dumbstruck. Then I realize: This is Swamp Monster. And the chick on the back—it doesn’t even matter who she is. It’s just perfect.

Wanker: The wind is coming from the right. On open roads, we move into the left lane. Oncoming traffic is forced to drive in the wrong lane.

Pro Wanker: An Aerocat rider throws his timing chip across the line in the sprint.

Wanker: Heagney rides with tri-up-the-ass-spokes and a camelback.

Pro Wanker: You break away and are sitting in 5th place coming into the final Ks. You take a wrong turn and disappear in shame.

Wanker: You are a triathlete. Surprisingly, you don’t brake after the finish and ram into the guard rails.

Pro Wanker: You’re not parked in the race lot. Your lot is barricaded and swarming with finishing riders. You need to leave. You take down the fencing and drive your sedan on the sidewalk. Yep. That was me.

Wanker: You ride a tri bike, wear compression socks and an aero helmet, use race wheels and finish at 13mph average.

Pro Wanker: Your longest ride of the year has been 2:30 at active recovery pace. Your saddle is broken. You are riding super fragile Mavic Carboners with carbon spokes. Your race is over three hours long at a high pace and requires durable equipment. Yep. That was me.

Wanker: You wake up at 3:45 am to race.

Pro Wanker: You eat chocolate chip and banana pancakes for breakfast at 3:45 am. (Me again.)

Wanker: You are riding next to Spider Monkey. You blurt out, “I’m too old for this shit.” He says, “You’re too smart for this shit.” The Man Who is Fall turns his head and laughs.

Pro Wanker: Adam Bergman (Roadhouse) using an iPhone as a bike computer.

As much as I love RtL, I don't know if I can return for another year. Yes, the money is great. And yes, the people are fun to laugh at. But the odds of dying are pretty damn high. If I race again, I will have to fully embrace the situation. Perhaps an armored tandem is in order.

Rosey

Racing for Negative Time

2010-08-19T13:22:00.000-07:00

Their faces have long ago lost expression. Decayed by heat and exhaustion, muscle droops. Flesh once taught and lean is oblong and atrophied. Sweat is everywhere and the hot van is bathed in heavy metal music.

Kentucky recedes into memory. Canada awaits.

Against failure, dark humor becomes the final respite. Each has his dream. All share a common joke: What sport could a flabby fellow excel in?

Luge is considered, but this fellow cannot turn. Competitive eating is a candidate, but he can only eat kosher hot dogs. And sadly, at the peak of the sport, such meat is not served. Diving sounds promising, but the flab would prevent spry movements.

Time trialling is his strength, but he is simply not strong enough. Decent results are doable. Anything more is unachievable.

So dejected and without answer, they continue on.

Canada recedes into memory; each goes his own way. One flees to the forests of Wisconsin to train for another sport. Another reaches into the near professional ranks of cycling. One returns to conquer the beast. Another is beset by injury. The wisest heads to Arizona for school.

The final fellow—the fellow of the flab—retreats into mediocrity, enjoying every moment. But his happiness is tinged with an unpalatable sadness. Something goes unaccomplished.

He searches for fulfillment—the old quest resumed. But nowhere can it be found. That is, until he happens upon a race—The Tour de Donut, scheduled for September 18th.

His eyes water in joy: A 30 mile TT punctuated by two donut stops where each donut consumed counts for a five minute reduction in time.

The master of mediocrity may have just found his niche of excellence.

Wanker of the Year Award Nominee

2010-08-12T18:24:00.000-07:00

Every year, summer seems to expire the same way. I tell my mom I’m heading out for a ride and head to the local candy store for some ice cream. On the radio, I hear a back to school advertisement.

In years past, a shiver would descend my spine sending tears into my cookie dough ice cream.

These days, I weep for my siblings, not myself. College is not high school, thankfully. And sadly.

Anyway, it’s time for a midweek update.

1) Captain Higgins is my favorite parasitic flatworm. (Trust me, this link is worth the click. Please, trust me.)

2) Team Pro Wanker will be working on Wanker of the Year Awards (WOTY). An early nominee: John Tomlinson. He’s in Italy for WORLDS. He’s trained his ass—not just this year, but ever since I’ve known him for this opportunity. He’s focused mentally and physically on the races ahead of him. Years of dedication, sacrifice and pain are on the line. Except one thing has gone awry. He’s missing his bike. Yeah, thank you airlines. Thanks a metric ton.

3) The Doping Chicken will be “Dancing with the Stars” this year. Don’t believe me? Well, click the link and hit Google Translate!

4) Using footage from the Tour of Elk Grove, I am working on a Leibo video profile. Think Shark Week. Except better. Why better? Do sharks eat donuts and win track races? I think not.

Now, time for things a bit more serious:

1) The Glencoe Crit is this weekend. While I hate bike racing and find crits to be an utter waste of time, I’m excited for this event. Glencoe is a cool suburb, it’s fun to watch the pros race and the 1/2 purse is solid. While I’m excited to race (I mean, participate), part of me will be missing Downers Grove. Here’s to hoping we can get that race running again next year.

2) Junior racing isn’t doing too well locally. While the Memorial Day Weekend Iowa/IL series draws some serious racers, local junior racing is pathetic. This is depressing. Juniors are the key to the future of this sport. I don’t know how to solve the problem, but we need to get working on it. Pro Wanker wants to do its part. Next year, look for one local crit and track race to receive Pro Wanker funding for a sizable junior purse. Yeah, it’s still just an idea. But we have to start somewhere, right?

Until the weekend—

Rosey

Two Too Many

2010-08-09T13:38:00.000-07:00

For a long time, people have questioned me. Maybe it’s my flamboyant, pink Snuggie or the white Pro Wanker bibs. It might even be my weekend wardrobe. Regardless of origin, a rumour persists. While I may often mislead, I rarely lie. So it’s about time I come out of the closet: I time my posts to get linked to on Chicagobikeracing.com. Yes, a blogger blogging to gain the attention of another blogger. How cool.

Two-a-days are terrible. But just how terrible?

Imagine eating a slice of pie. Let’s pretend it’s key lime pie. But not just any key lime pie, this is Joe Stone Crab’s Key Lime Pie. For the unacquainted, with each bite, there is an explosion of tart tempered by the buttery crumbling of graham cracker crust. A single sliver equal an addiction.

(Trust me; I’m fat.)

One slice is very good. For when you finish the last fork-full, the taste is amplified by a desire for more. You are not full. Your belly yearns for more. And this desire mingles with the residual taste. You find yourself in love.

Heck, one whole pie can be good. You may be full, but you want more. You think you can handle the load.

Unfortunately though, after so many bites, pleasure turns to pain. Two pies in a single day may just be too much.

Likewise, two races in a single day can be just too much. Especially when one race is a 40k TT.

A 40K First

Coming into the WI State TT Championship, my expectations were low. The previous week of training was double my regular volume. (8 v.s. 4 hrs=tired.) Additionally, I had skipped breakfast while looking for my TT bike, car keys and wheels.

Thankfully, my good luck did not end on the driveway. With my exit closed, I embarked on a risky detour leaving me with just enough time to register, kit-up and ride to the start-line. As usual, there would be no warmup.

And as usual, there would be nothing but jeering at the start-line. While I managed to stay upright, the acceleration was painfully slow and labored. But as they say of trains, once up to speed, I was not stopping.

(That is, for anything but turns. They require super slow speed on my aero or die setup.)

Slowly and determinedly, I passed my minute-man and his minute-man. Naturally, I dropped my chain on a course that required no shifting from big to little ring. But the bumps were not mountains and I crossed the line in 53:04, enough for second place in the 1/2s.

Not surprisingly, the jeers turned into quizzical stares when the crowd paired the bike with the boy.

(Another kid who had a great ride: Jordan Cullen as pictured right. He killed the 20k.)

Next Up: Critification

From Wisconsin, I made the drive home to wash and pickup my road bike for the Grayslake Crit.

For those who have never raced the event, the course looks something like the Ten Commandments. With that in mind, I donned my Project 69 Pro Wanker booties and skinsuit.

And with IsCorp fielding six riders (including myself), I was fairly certain that we could do some damage.

Our plan was simple: Attack and win. From the gun, we hit the field. Our big guns attacked, James and Chazz hid in the field and I used my girth and height to block all lines of sight and movement.

With Kyle Jacobson and Tristan off the front but within sight, blocking became crucial. The field was having none of it though. Bryan McVey (ReCycling), Death (the Kenda rider), Stathy (Albertos) and Sachs (VQ) traded attacks wearing us thin.

But for 60 minutes we held strong. No man escaped off the front.

Suddenly, Death attacks. Fearing his sprint, I was unwilling to let him escape unescorted—lest he bridge to my teammates. Following my wheel, a xXx racer closed the final meters and joined Death.

As I latched on, I hit the right turn. Sadly, I was having difficulty turning right and braked too much. Quickly, I was dropped.

Upon reintegration with the field, I exploded. My legs and heart were empty. Thankfully, Chazz, Alex and James took up the pace and managed to bring back the small chase.

While Stathy, Otte (unattached) and a xXx rider escaped in the closing minutes of the race, we finished 1,2,6,7 and 10th. It was a successful day.

So yes, two pies may be too much for me. But two races? Maybe not.

A Summer Wanking Update

2010-08-02T21:50:00.000-07:00

At some point, every blogger must chose to create original, interesting content or aggregate, link and regurgitate. Naturally, any self-respecting writer would choose the former option.

But considering that a) the act of blogging strips one of all dignity and b) anyone writing original, interesting content isn’t blogging, most bloggers find themselves pulling a Drudge Report.

Surprisingly then, my regurgitation has been fairly mild until now. Sure, I’ve had a few cross posts, but i’m still fairly clean for a chump without any dignity.

However, my time available for blogging has recently decreased while my small, albeit loyal, readers continue to salivate for new content.

To help bridge the gap, I think a weekly (bi-weekly?) aggregator post is in order. No, this won’t be a bunch of links accompanied by cute captions, but a few solid paragraphs.

(Don’t feel shortchanged, it’s not like you read the full articles anyway.)

Yeah, the race reports will keep coming. And I’ll still do the artsy stuff. But I’ll also be doing these new posts. So in reality, I’ll be posting more frequently? In other news, I make no sense.

Anyway:

1) Have you ever wondered what it’s like to become a doper? Have you fantasized over the sting of the syringe and the corresponding increasing in strength, speed and stamina? Well then, you may be a fan of David Millar and Team Garmin Transitions.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport2/hi/scotland/8785907.stm

(I’m not saying Millar continues to dope or Garmin has any team doping program. I just find it funny how that team finds so many TDF GC talents from nowhere... Hesjedal, CVV, Wiggo. They may even do a better job than Mr. 60% himself, Riis.)

2) Every race promoter and his mother is bitching that he can’t find sponsorship money. If I were them, I’d be more concerned about finding junior racers, but that’s just me. And heaven knows what happens when you do as I say. (Just look at my TT bike.) Anyway, ever wonder what true poverty is? Ever wonder what life really looked like back in the day.

http://blogs.denverpost.com/captured/2010/0

7/26/captured-america-in-color-from-1939-1943/?source=ARK_plog

3) Most candy tastes good. Freezing things tends to make them taste better. Ergo, frozen candy is really, really good. However, frozen 3 Musketeers bars are not good. Trust me on this one. Stick to the Snickers.

Until later,

Rosey

Tour of Elk Grove

2010-07-31T20:01:00.000-07:00

Frequently, people ask me how my race went. It’s an innocuous enough of a question. There is no harm meant by it. On the contrary, it is generally said to begin a conversation or foster friendship.

And for most people, the question elicits a decent answer and leads to a familiar enough refrain:

“Hey Timmy Tuesday, how did your race go?”

“Oh, well things were going great until I choked on my gel, accidentally defecated myself, managed to roll my tubular and snap my seat off simultaneously—sending the seatpost into my posterior with the force of a thousand Leibos on a single scale and the carbon Zipp shards into my eye with a velocity equal to that of Lemond’s whining squared. Other than that though, things were rather cheery out there.”

“Well, there’s always tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I mean, I’m blind, have a seatpost stuck up my ass and crashed at the biggest race of the year, but yeah, there is always tomorrow! Just look at GWB’s second term or Speed Two: Cruise Control—a great four, debt free, peaceful years and a wonderful cinematic sequel. Who knows what tomorrow holds then, right?”

“Timmy Tuesday, it’s always a pleasure talking to you.”

In reality, Timmy Tuesday is too meek to regularly tell the unregulated truth. Instead, he says something like:

“Oh, things didn’t go great out there, but I did some work for my teammates and finished to the best of my abilities. And there is always tomorrow!”

Well, I’ll take a book out of Timmy Tuesday’s page. (Yes, you read that right.)

Here is what happened:

I don’t turn well. Sometimes it’s left turns and sometimes it’s right turns. Maybe I’m dyslexic. Maybe I’m just plain stupid. But at every race, I suck at either turning right or left—thankfully, never both.

(Another reason why I love track?)

Anyway, today I couldn’t properly execute a right turn—regardless of speed. Thankfully, the course had only a single right turn.

But I managed to open a huge gap into and out of that turn every lap. The gap necessitated a massive sprint from someone who had just sprinted out of a 180 degree turn and prides himself on never getting out of the seat.

Chapeau Scottie Too Hottie.

(BTW, how the hell did I of all people get that nickname. I pray for the definition of the word that it’s sarcastic or something.)

Beyond the right turning, I couldn’t shift well. Again, this is not an excuse or a mechanical failure but a reality. I have been dealing with this issue all year.

Likely, my inability to shift is directly related to either a) my weight or b) my right hand. Other lighter people ride my bike and it shifts fine. I shift my bike on the stand with my left hand and it shifts well. I get on my bike and try to shift with my right hand and...

Despite all the issues, the race started well enough. Then there was a crash after I was dropped in the right turn and chased back on. I was gapped and out of the race.

To earn a free lap, I rode an additional lap chasing and crashed into neutral support’s tent. Taking pity on me and realizing my inability to affect the outcome of the race, the officials granted me a free lap.

When the pack went past and I was thrown in, I couldn’t figure out how to clip in or shift. Granted, I’ve been racing for five years, but the basics are sometimes impossible to master.

(Ask Maddoff, even the financial wizard didn’t know he was mistakenly running a Ponzi scheme, the most basic of all fraudulent financial business. So yeah, even the pros screw up sometimes.)

Anyway, once I reintegrated with the pack, I actually managed to move up and felt great when Tom Petty (sorry, JoKO) rode my wheel up to the thick underbelly of the peleton. Naturally, I then drifted back.

Secure in my position at the rear of the pack, I noticed a gap beginning to open. Knowing that there was nobody behind me, I wait for the person behind me to close the gap. When I finally realize that nobody is not coming, I close it myself only to watch another gap open ahead of me.

This time, the riders behind me pull forward and we all catch back on. But I never fully latch unto the tail of the pack. Within several laps, I am shelled.

Such, my friends, is bike racing.

(See readers, I do love you all. I called you my friends!)

I'm Stranded and I'm Sorry

2010-07-29T12:50:00.000-07:00

Lance may not regret his comeback 2.0 after PharmaShack won the prestigious team gc award, but Neville Chamberlain probably would like to forget “peace for our time,” the Trib likely wants to skip over “Dewey Defeats Truman,” and you probably regret missing the classes in which the latter two examples were taught.

Regardless of your cultural and historical illiteracy, regrets are a reality. (It’s always a good idea to belittle your audience. The only thing more pathetic than a blogger is his readers, duh!)

Thankfully, I have only three cycling related regrets:

1) That my diet always starts tomorrow rather than today
2) That I essentially raced TTs exclusively for the first years of my “career”
3) That I quit track racing after only two years

The first two regrets are fairly simple to understand. My diet staring tomorrow means I’m fat today. For some reason, I never start my diet today because that means I’ll be carb depleted for a race, training ride, nap or meal.

I guess I never considered the fact that I should have plenty of fat to burn before I die of starvation...

My TT regret isn’t really a regret, but they taught us to always put things in pairs of three. Haha, pairs of three.

So that leaves the track regret. Why would anyone miss track racing? How can going around in circles for brief two minute spurts be fun? What is so alluring about riding without brakes or shifting? Is it really that fun being an inch away from hipsterdom?

I really don’t know the answer to the above, but track racing is a blast. This Tuesday, I accompanied Kaleb and the IsCorp squad to the Bob Pfarr 150 lap classic in Kenosha.

This Bob guy was apparently a fast mofo. Anyway, there is now a race in his memory and Chad Hartley came out to win it. (Look, I made the newspaper—a medium utterly outdated and headed into irrelevance)

At first, I was fearful. The track is banked and I don’t like steep things—hills and learning curves and such.

But then I started to get a hang of things. While I weigh more than your average Pro Tour team bus + riders and gear, it seems to matter little on the track. Essentially, I pedal a bit and coast for a while. In other words, it obviates the need for a diet. (See pic for proof.)

Additionally, turning really isn’t that difficult like it is on my TT bike without basebars.

While there are these pesky lines you’re supposed to stay between, if you’re fat enough nobody really cares if you leave your lane—you’re too big to push out of the way and it’s like a fat man on an airplane; simply unfair to restrict him to a single seat.

(I mean, come on! it’s his right to have your eat (Oops, seat. Freudian slip) too. It’s not his fault he’s so fat.)

Anyway, I had a blast and Weisnenhoofen got third, which was sweeter than a Krsipy Kreme donut. (But less sweet than a Timmy Ho’s Maple Leaf, for those in the know like Leibo)

So to honor my love of the track, I’ll be racing most every upcoming Thursday and Tuesday. And NU will be putting on a track meet! (Stay tuned for details.)

In the meantime, head over to wearehunted.com for some sweet tunes.

Aero or Die

2010-07-20T20:31:00.000-07:00

Dating her is enthralling. One moment we’re on top of the world—secretly flying to exotic places and doing crazy things. The next moment she’s on top of me with a razor blade dancing at my throat.

In short, she’s the most beautiful and interesting thing I’ve ever mounted, but she’s also dying to kill me.

I guess one could say our relationship has issues.

But as is the case with most relationships, our issues are mutual. She hates me because she thinks I’m unfaithful, and her fears aren't ungrounded.

A trusty P3c she may be, but she’s going up against Shivs, Speed Concepts, and P4s.

So naturally I get excited at the races around all the new bikes. I cannot help but marvel at the all internal cable routing, integrated brakes and bars and waterbottles, and tap the nose-cones.

It’s not her fault; she’s as gorgeous as ever. It’s just that her younger competition has raised the stakes.

But she should know better than to think I've ever gone past looking or inquisitive and innocent touching.

She knows there is no bike quite like her. Yeah, the yougins may have integrated this and aerodynamic that, but they don’t have vintage Hooker SL brakes, Scott 100k TT bars, or user-calibrated SRMs.

They’re cheap plastic. She’s something more. I would never do anything to harm our relationship.

Which is why I really don’t understand her violence. When I’m racing at 30mph, I can hardly afford a seat that becomes detached from the rails. My idea of a fun time doesn't involve a seatpost jammed up the ass.

So it's time she and I get some help. I promise not to look elsewhere if she promises not to kill me. It's no solution, but it's a start.

Crash and Burn

2010-07-14T19:44:00.000-07:00

Something rather white and sticky covers my sheets. It first oozes and then dries into a hard, crusty sap with a slight tackiness and odor. Every night, it magically appears, and every morning my sheets must be cleaned.

To make matters worse, it sticks to my body making me feel all scaly. There is no escaping the white sticky sap—no matter what I do.

To the uninformed, it may sound as if I’m attempting (poorly) to make some raunchy joke. And maybe I am, to

an extent.

But I’m actually talking about something far more disgusting and taboo than white sticky stuff. I’m talking about road rash.

Road rash—like the death tax for every uber wealthy family—is something all racers must endure, but that every racer wishes to avoid.

First off, it’s crazy painful. Imagine your skin suddenly became as inflexible as peanut brittle and that every time you moved the peanut brittle broke. And every broken piece of peanut brittle was food you were forbidden to eat that sent George Washington Carver rolling over in his grave. In essence, the pain can be immobilizing—mentally and physically.

Secondly, the bandages are crazy expensive and impossible to apply. No matter what you do, they end up fusing to your skin—leaving you forced to pull off gauze scabs until you faint.

Once you realize the expensive shit sucks, you end up attaching saran wrap to your arms with duct tape. Everything looks ok for a day, but then the wound fills with fluid, your arm become infected, gangrene spreads, and you die. (Spoken from experience.)

Honestly, there is no good way of dealing with road rash. Between the pain, cost, and white sticky residue, I just plain hate crashing.

But it might not have to be this way. Already, there is clothing sewn with Kevlar that can stop shrapnel and gunshots.

At Pro Wanker Industries, we reckon that if Kevlar can stop a bullet, it can handle some asphat. So I say it's about time we weave some damn Kevlar into our spandex shorts.

White stuff be damned. (And it's not like the Steinbrenner's estate is getting taxed.)

King Tut

2010-07-12T13:18:00.000-07:00

With Lance crashing three times in a single TdF stage and Interpol hot on his case, it’s easy to get caught up in the negativity. Between the doping, cancelled races, folding teams, bickering riders, and charisma-less stars, the sport has certainly seen better days. The “Clinic” section of Cyclingnews.com Forums may be thriving, but cycling isn’t—not when Riccardo Ricco is still winning stage races.

Add to that my declining form and a crash rate that has smashed my Wankability Index to 56, and it’s easy to become disillusioned.

But then, cycling surprises. Like Lance in 1999, it comes smashing out of memory and into our hearts.

I may vomit when an unabashed doper receives a call-up at ToAD, but I also cannot help but thanking people like Chad Briggs and Gary Dahmer for their generous support.

As an Abitibi veteran, I’m used to sleeping in weird places with strange things. I’ve fallen off of desks and on to aero helmets, insisted on hugging handlebars to sleep, and have shared a bed with more than three people.

Naturally then, waking up on a race weekend to a breakfast of peach covered cinnamon french toast in bed was startling.

But the most startling part of the entire weekend was just how things came together. A great race promoter—Chad Briggs—made life easy for me and my cycling friends from Lindenwood.

First offering us his floor and then arranging accommodations at the Davie School Bed and Breakfast through Gary, he made sure we were more than well taken care of.

And then he found some of the coolest roads to race on in Illinois. Between sharp rollers, long climbs, smooth and safe descents, and winding roads, he put together one of the most enjoyable road racing courses I’ve ever ridden. In addition, he put on a painfully tough and technical TT and a genuine downtown crit.

Yes, the fields were small, the drive was long, and the payout was not SuperWeek sized. But in years to come, I hope to see more people make the drive. Between the great courses and dedication of the promoters and sponsors, the Great Egyptian will only grow and continue to impress.

I know I'll be back.

Secondhand Smoke Kills

2010-07-06T18:51:00.000-07:00

Please note: The following may read as a man crush. And to a certain extent, it is. However, that should not detract from the content of the post—SpiderMonkey is a dangerous and fast man. Approach with extreme caution; he will ride your legs off.

A legend is coming to Ohio. And three days from now, they will know his name.

But for now, he spins his web discretely and anonymously—quietly borrowing a TT bike, choosing his wheels, and gluing his tires.

This week is just like any other. He does not bother with peaking or carb loading. For him, they are unncessary distractions, affectations at best. At dinner, he eats raw meat and uncooked roughage. The more blood, the better. For training, he races and then heads out for more riding—be it raining or not. Intervals are for the gentically handicapped, he says.

And right now, his competition knows nothing of him. They are sleeping or eating or riding. But whatever they are doing, they are alive and without the fear. They prepare for their race thinking victory is possible. They have hope

But not for long.

For this Friday, a legend is coming to Ohio. And three days from now, they will know his name—it will be adorning his borrowed TT bike.

He is the SpiderMonkey. And yes, he will rape and pillage your village without remorse.

A Taste of Chicago

2010-07-04T15:35:00.001-07:00

Note: The scene described in the first four paragraphs is not fiction. Additionally, the writer does not condone the throwing of D batteries through windshields, the use of bike bells on Bora shod Colnagos, or the presence of more than one powermeter per bike per unit of time.

The paceline runs smoothly. The eight riders trade pulls, accounting for the wind and undulating terrain. At the front, a rider uses his handlebar mounted bell to warn of an approaching pothole. At the rear, another rider checks his Powertap Cervo head-unit and Joule simultaneously—looking for a discrepancy, perhaps—and decides to increase his power output by a tenth of a watt in order to pull through optimally.

To his left, a PACT Team (Polish American Cycling Team Team [no, that’s not a typo]) rider checks his Zipps. His rear wheel appears to be rubbing. He, like most of the other riders, is running tubular race wheels on a training ride. In front of the PACT Team rider, an IsCorp Espoir stops pedaling. Determining that the creaking emanates from his split seat and not some other source, he continues pulling through.

As the ride slows to a double paceline, two riders discuss their thresholds. (FTP in Coggan terminology.) One has determined his to be 360 watts by doing a lone 30 second test.

"Instead of breaking a sweat and riding hard for an hour, I just did a 30 second sprint and then divided that number by .4 or something. It's science, man."

The other congratulates him on his brilliance and strength. But as the pace increases, they are—again—both dropped.

Such is the modern day Mafia Ride.

Many years ago, the Mafia Ride was the fastest, hardest and most legitimate North Shore group ride. Visiting pros, local strongmen, headstrong juniors, and mystery men would meet at the West Lake Forest train station and head north. The roughly 3hr ride had only two sprints, but they were fiercely contested and the pace was always held high.

In this nostalgic and somewhat facetious portrayal, riders were real men—they rode 32 spoke wheels, shunned heart rate monitors, threw D batteries rather than ringing bells at passing cars, and spoke about race wins and sensations, not thresholds.

To history’s student and antiquity’s survivor, the past may seem glorious and the present a hollow farce. And so it may be. But so long as you are willing to chuckle and nod disapprovingly, the present has something going for it— it's pretty damn Pro Wanker.

Le Tour de Dopage, a Preview

2010-07-02T19:38:00.000-07:00

Note: This post is writ for your amusement. So any accusations of doping are simply 1) For you to laugh at 2) A matter of you misreading the text. I do not want to get blocked from Lance's Twitter feed. (Note to self: Do not piss Lance off.) So keep it classy and remember—Guilty until proven innocent is for Europe, not America.

The biggest pharmaceutical show on Earth is set to start tomorrow. And already, things are heating up. The Wall Street Journal—owned by Rupert Murdoch, who also owns SKY—has published an article rehashing Landis’ accusations that Lance doped en route to his Tour victories. Never one to be excluded from the finger pointing, Greg Lemond predicts on his Cyclingnews blog that Lance will either not start the Tour or will pull out before the race enters France.

In other news:

1) Greg Lemond is a fool. He is also the biggest whining wanker I’ve ever noticed. In a recent blog post, he writes that doping cleary began in 1991/1992 because people started beating him. Since nobody can beat Lemond, the competition must be doping. Solid logic, Lemond—it’s not like getting older ever slowed anyone down. I mean, look how much faster Lance is now since coming back from retirement.

2) Contador is terribly annoying. Bert, you’re probably a doper; you were implicated in Puerto. And you don't have to show us the Pistolero after every victory. We clearly already know you're a wanker. Moreover, I can’t wait until Cancellara and Lance rape your Spanish ass on the pave. Enjoy being able to control your bowel movements...it likely won’t last for long.

3) Evans, you’re as dumb as they come. Either start doping or get on a good team. It’s not that complicated, man.

4) Di Luca, I miss your doping ass. You had style and panache. Plus, unlike Floyd, you didn’t rat others out. You were a quality doper. I wish the rest of the peloton were like you.

5) Ullrich, come back. You were such a wanker—losing the Tour to eat more German red meat and drink more beer. We all miss you.

6) Robbie McEwen, it's been a good run, but it's time to retire already. Heck, you're about as old as Lance. Win a stage and call it wraps.

New Flash: Cross...

2010-07-01T10:15:00.001-07:00

The temperature hovers in the mid 70s, road nationals have just concluded, track nationals are soon to begin, and l’abitibi is on the horizon.

Summer is in full force.

Logically then, it’s time to start thinking about cross—cycling’s beloved bastard. Other than collegiate cycling, cross epitomizes the Pro Wanker attitude. People race their bikes hard. They crash. They laugh. They dress up. They have fun doing stupid things with friends and bikes and (chain) lube.

So for the 2010 season, Team Pro Wanker p/b Project 69 Racing is looking to take cross by storm with custom pink kits, Chicago Cross Cup sponsorship, wicked wankerfests and more. With Gaiety's (JT from xXX) cross guidance, there are no limits.

If you’re looking for a non-USA Cycling licensed team to race cross with, and if you have zero expectations regarding sponsorship or emotional support, you know who to contact.

Vignettes from Dairyland

2010-06-30T11:01:00.000-07:00

Hunger Pains—Summerfest

Note: This post is best understood while listening to "The Reeling" by Passion Pit.

“I need to pee,” he cries. “I’m about to piss my pants.”

“Well, look around. Do you see any bathrooms?” he says sarcastically while tugging at his V neck.

“No,” begging now, “but you’ve got to find me one, Two Finger.”

As easy lyrics from Everythings Gonna Be Alright glide through the air, the four find a bathroom. Ten urinals line the wall and each row of drunken and bladder-bursting men agitates forward in step. As the cycling shirt nears his destination, he exits. Too many people, he thinks. To the stall!

But the stalls are occupied and will be for long. In one, two womenfolk disappear to the great chagrin of the crowd. Into the next, a wheelchair-bound man rolls.

So the cycling shirt returns to the rows, relieves himself and begins his walk out. Slowly, a warm and rank breeze rouses trash from the ground as he exits. Its source is baffling, but its heat grows near.

With the force and gravity of an astronomical event, the cycling shirt is smashed into the brick wall. Mounds of flesh collide and snap his neck back. In his ears, “Don’t worry about a thing/Cause every little thing gonna be all right” sounds. But against an open mouth and wart-ridden wandering hands, it rings hollow.

On U.S. Cellular stadium, The Reeling is played. Against the brick and her gelatinous form, he feels the madness inch by inch. He tries to run, but he cannot resist. So he prays, he sings, “Now I’m dreaming somebody/Would simply come and kidnap me, oh no, oh no.”

Vignettes from Dairyland

2010-06-29T09:44:00.000-07:00

Caution! These somewhat fictional sketches require a bit of imagination—each is an impression from Fairyland 2010 and no single scene provides enough context for understanding. Regardless of the many lies and unavoidable confusion, each provides the emotional reality that was Dairyland for Tim, Scott, Brad, and Weston.

The Tip of My Index Finger—Summerfest

“Do you know where U.S. Cellular stadium is?”

Quickly, her nearly legal blue eyes scan past his beer and black V neck to the face. The look of puzzlement breaks as she pins the accent.

“You’re from Australia?’

“Yep,” he says. His head has cocked, eyes flashing green, a mischievous smile breaking.

“I think it’s that way,” she says twisting her torso, pointing her slender arm.

“You should join us then,” he says as his arm hooks hers.

Her friends want to see the Wailers. But with a drink now in hand, a circle of jerks around her, and Passion Pit only a song away, the decision had been ordained.

In Memory of a Champion

2010-06-29T09:00:00.000-07:00

Everyone who dreams of upgrading from the 3s has his own reasoning. Some aspire to avoid the two-headed Burnham and xXx hydra. Others upgrade to brag. And others yet upgrade to kickstart the long and tumultuous road to the professional ranks

My reasoning was a bit different. I wanted to be a 2 so I could race USCF with Will Nowak (Verizon u25 p/b ABD). Three denials later, I’m here. And now he’s gone.

Racing with a champion—a Will—is an experience. In racing and the storm that surounds competition, you realize people are unique. Each reacts in his own way. Some under pressure crack, others become diamonds.

Will never cracked. But he wouldn’t want to be called a diamond. Simply, he was a racer who cared about his team more than himself and raced with a ferocity and hunger that only the SpiderMonkey (Ben Damhoff) could rival.

But he has gone and left us—something I learned Sunday when I failed to be him.

Following a painful and informative Dairyland series, I ventured home with a partial Pro Wanker North hit squad to Peoria for the IL Crit Championships. With the high-speed racing in my legs and Chazz (IsCorp/Pro Wanker) on my wheel, I was confident that victory was possible.

So I entered the race with some hubris, but I had teammates and intended to play my cards well—test the field with an early break, cover some moves, try to get into the break and leadout Chazz if the field remained together.

That was the plan. The reality was rather different. Will would not have been proud.

When I would ask him—after each collegiate race—why he went with every move, was always on the front, and raced so darn dumb, he’d say, “I don’t ever want to miss the break.” I never understood his logic. Clearly, one can distinguish dangerous from non-threatening breaks!

Alas, I was wrong. When the move went in Peoria, I didn’t react. In fact, I didn’t know when or

how it went. All I remember is following Hogan Sills’ (Verizon u25 p/b ABD) wheel one moment

and the next not knowing where he was.

Yeah, we mopped up the primes and sorta won the bunch kick, but we lost the race. In my first race as a 2 on IL soil, I thought I’d do Will’s legacy well. I didn’t.

But there is a season to finish and a man in Connecticut to make proud. It’s time I get to it and show GH what’s what.

Genesis

2010-06-28T18:48:00.000-07:00

Normally, blogs start something like this: “Hey... My name is Bob. And you probably should know that if you’re following this here blog. Really, I don’t know what to start with. So, I’ll just dive in! I’m forty and thin, incredibly successful, have a wife, a mistress, and volunteer at the fire department.”

Translation: I’m around 49-years-old, have never made it past Second Base, and am licking stale donut crumbs off my left pectoral “muscle” (Yep, they've been there for a while). I like a good wank, am addicted to Asian Internet porn and have a really cool hobby—creeping on the 12-year-old living in the trailer next to me.”

Well, my name is Scott and I won’t bother you with such blatant pretension... And you probably should know that if you’re following this blog post. Really though, I don’t know what to start with. So, I’ll just dive in! I’m 19 and of robust build, am incredibly independent (I attend university a whole 40 minutes from home) and know everything about pretty much everything.

So if you’re interesting in reading up on Chicagoland bike racing, the exploits of a Pro Wanker, and what it takes to earn a degree at NU... keep visiting.