5 Years of Competitive Cycling
Looking back on half a decade of tearing up the road
by Benjamin Christopher
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I remember my first race very well, April 20th, 2009. I had just moved to midtown Sacramento from the dreaded Arden area. At the time I was riding a Bianchi Brava, converted to a fixed gear. It was loud as fuck orange, and all things badass in my opinion. As a result, people noticed me on it, and it wasn’t long before someone taped a note to my top tube inviting me to come play bike polo. I knew what polo was, but having never played it, I had no idea what I was in for. After a few weeks of getting around to it, I finally decided to give this polo thing a shot. The meet up was at Pieces Pizza at noon.(Pieces for the record had some dope vegan pizza) As I rolled up there was the now normal vagabond of dirtbag messengers and fixie kids. To my surprise they were quite friendly and super stoked that someone else wanted to come out and play. After a few blood orange ciders we rolled to the polo spot and started a few games. After I thought I had the gist of it, I grabbed a mallet and saddled up. Sweet jesus I was terrible at this, but man was it fun. I was hooked. After a few weeks I started getting better, and this kid Charles approached me. “Hey” he said “you’re pretty fast on that bike, you should do my race on the 20th” At the time I was commuting around 16/20 miles a day, and since getting up at 5 am was generally difficult for me in my early twenties, I had to pretty much ride till I puked to make it to work on time everyday. I guess 4 months strait of day in day out hammering got me in some kind of “good” shape. Huh, who knew!?!
It was the 420 alley cat, and after about a week of goading from my polo friends, I finally decided to give it a go. Now, me being nervous was an understatement. Anyone who has ever raced in an alley cat knows that they’re unsanctioned, definitely not legal, and the closer you get to the podium the more dangerous they become. Not being experienced in traditional racing let alone an alley cat, was one hell of an introduction to racing. I showed up on the day, having just bought a $40 helmet an hour before; because well, I figured that was a good time to start wearing one. After paying my $5 and getting my manifest, the race was on. They said GO and everyone scattered in a different direction. Not really having a clue what to do, I just followed two dudes I knew from polo. We arrived at the first checkpoint, locked our bikes, had our manifests stamped and proceeded on to the next one. Once we had hit 2/3 more, my lungs and legs started to burn like hell. Okay, I thought, maybe I’m not as fast as Charles thinks I am. It surely can’t be this hard? Words I didn’t fully understand at the time. Hahaha.
At some point the three of us got separated and I was on my own. I pressed on and eventually finished the race, completely spent, and under the impression that I had placed dead fucking last. I rolled up and handed Charles my completed manifest, he pats me on the back and says “Good job, Benny. You got 12th.” [Interesting side note: That was the first time anyone had ever called me Benny. And for some reason it stuck. If you didn’t know me from the time I lived in North Dakota, at this point, you only know me as Benny.] Needless to say I was pretty ecstatic that I not only survived this wild odyssey, but finished rather respectively for my first race ever. The next day I was a complete wreck. I didn’t know what was worse, the pain in my body from racing or the hangover. Either way, I was pretty miserable, and proclaimed on both accounts that I wouldn’t be doing either again. Famous last words. Once I had healed up from my first race weekend, I got the muster to go on a long bike ride with some friends. Nothing out of the ordinary, just a chill 26 mile ride to Davis and back. But, something was different. I was sprinting from every light, and hammering on the pedals every chance I got. It was at this point that I realized how hooked on racing I actually was. I couldn’t believe it. I had to race again. As more alley cats came and went, placing better and better, I finally reached the podium. Having placed 3rd then 2nd, I wanted to keep going.
Once upon a time there was this guy named Jake. We had become friends through bikes someway or another. We had just finished polo and decided that we needed to ride our bikes through the Jimboy’s tacos drive through, and order 13 chicken tacos and watch Point Break. Over the course of our grease filled meal, we chased pretty much every chicken taco with a PBR, and soon found ourselves talking about Bill Dance fishing shows, and eventually bike racing. He had just built up this sweet GT road bike with Campy Centaur and was planning on doing some local crits later in the summer. 'Awe, man’ I thought, ‘I gotta build me one of those’. So I did what any poor bike dork would do, and I took a loan out on my 401k to buy bike parts. Seemed reasonable enough at the time. There was this Cannondale Caad7 frame that had been floating around from messenger to messenger. It somehow would change hands then invariably just sit there never being built. After negotiating with its last owner, Eric, we struck a deal for $250 and a 12 pack of PBR; it was mine. It didn’t take long to get the all of the parts together. Having to buy tools as I went, and learning to build it along the way, I gave my self a crash corse in bike building. But, man was she sexy when she was done.
Having completed the bike, I was anxious to hit Jake up for a ride. After a few texts, it was clear that I didn’t have any spandex and should probably get some. This was a crucial moment in my cycling career, mind you. After purchasing the cheapest shorts and jersey that I could find, having tried them on, I almost didn’t leave the house. Jake rolls up for the ride, looks at me walking outside in my spandex and says: “You feel ridiculous?” “Yeah, I do.” “Good, cause you look ridiculous. Lets go.” So ridiculous in fact, that my girlfriend at the time said, as she was about to leave for work. “hey, don’t get dressed yet. Wait till I leave, I’m not sure I’m prepared to see in that state yet.” Not many votes for my confidence, but I reluctantly left the house regardless. Some time later, after I had gotten the hang of this road riding thing. Jake introduced me to, as he called them, some fast dudes who race. These three dudes, were Willy Meyers, Byron Anson, and Rober Lander. Now I use their full names, because if you’ve raced in the NCNCA, you’ve probably had your legs ripped off by them at some point. Look for these names in the future, because you will most definitely see them. And rip my legs off they did. I had been laboring under the delusion that I was getting pretty fast on my bike, with all this riding. But, what I realized very soon into riding with these monsters, was that I was not fast at all. No, what I was, was quick. Theres a huge difference between a quick rider, a fast rider, and a strong rider. These guys were strong, really strong. Fortunately, they were all really rad guys who didn’t mind waiting at the top of climbs for me to catch up. And in no time at all I was starting to be able to keep up on their “chill” rides. One day Willy turns to me and asks if I had registered for the 4th of July crit in Davis? A real race? Who me? No, no, no, I wasn’t ready for that. After some reassuring, some coaching, and some off the cuff advice, I signed up, and rest as they say, was history.
Its now been 5 years since I competed in my first race. I’ve gotten to meet some really rad people along the way. Race some really cool places, travel, sleep in cars, shave my legs in strangers bathrooms. I had an amazing coach, and a team that I was really proud to be a part of. But, something was wrong. I didn’t feel right on my bike anymore. How could this be? Bikes, the most amazing thing to happen to me in my life and I wasn’t stoked on it anymore. I’ve come to the realization that it had become a job. Working 40 hrs a week, and training for 20-30 hrs a week, racing weekends, 10 months out of the year, and now racing cyclocross in-between, had taken its toll. Having sat down to write this, I knew that I wanted to write this. But, it wasn’t until that last sentence that I’m starting to realize that I need to write this. See, bike racing has been such a big part of my life, that I suppose some closure is needed. And I suppose that I just need to say it.
I’m now done with competitive road cycling.
Sounds weird to say, and even more weird to type it out. Those who know me as a road cyclist will be surprised. I think I began to realize that I was approaching the “burn out” stage when I started racing cyclocross this year. I was excited to be on a bike again. I thought initially that it was because, it was something different and that I just needed a change. Come to realize that it was more than that. There was no pressure at cross races. The people were different, it was so much more relaxed, more you vs the course instead of you vs 40 guys and their power meters. For some reason, this is what I needed. I’m not walking away from racing all together. I plan on a full season of cross racing this year. It's 3 to 4 months of commitment and a ton of fun along the way.
Ultimately, I want to preserve what road racing has done for me, leave it on a positive note. Instead of continuing to grind it out until I’m to bitter to even look at my road bike anymore. Nothing that I have ever done in my life has been more challenging and rewarding. I have never pushed myself as far as I have on a bike, been so miserable and so stoked at the same time. Willy once told me “It never gets easier, you only get faster. It always hurts, if you’re hurting, so are the other guys.” These are words to live by on a bike. No statement could be more true about the bike. I look foreword to jumping on my road bike in the morning and being able to look at the scenery and not just stare at my garmin. Looking tediously at my heart rate and my cadence, and what my power numbers are looking like. Did I get stronger last training block, whats my weekly calorie intake like? Just me on a bike, sitting in, and enjoying the other side of road riding for a change. Not that I didn’t enjoy the competitive side, but, I think I’m going to be much happier on the other side of the barriers here on out.
In closing of this lengthy bit of self reflection. I want to say thanks for reading. I wasn’t really sure if I was going to be able to write anything personal for this site. And this being my first attempt at it, I have chosen probably the most personal thing I could write about. Thanks again.
Post Script:
I would also like to personally thank the following people for being a part of my competitive cycling in some way or another. If you ever read this you’ll know why.
Ashley Knights Jr. - The Force Training
Michael Roeklein - Stage 17/BMW Development Team
Willy
Byron
Bob
Pat
Nick
Jake
Charles
Eric
And anyone else who drove me to a race, let me crash on their floor, said good job, or dude, your tan lines are not pro. Thanks again!
© 2015 by Taylor Hruby