Well, where did we leave off? It’s been a crazy couple of days of travel, packing the bikes, unpacking the bikes, on the train, off the train, back on another train (and as we say in Staten Island — that’s a whole other thing), back off the train. Another rental car, snafu’d by Google Maps, the backward parking garage, my new 8 legged roommate, and a whole bunch of whole other things. But I digress. We are here to talk about the race. As we wrapped up in the last go-round, I was stuffing my jersey pockets (MacGeiser style), for the 161km, and 2200 meters of climbing that lay ahead. Outside of time trials, this was my first real road race back on the bike since going ass over tea kettle in April, in Upstate New York. I really wasn’t sure what to expect.

At our dinner, Clarence asked about my time goals for the race. I went with a “would be delighted with 6:30, but 6:45 would be completely acceptable”. Really anything under 7 would have been nice. And anything between 6:42 and 7:09 would rival my best GFNY races to date. But I was sheepish. I didn’t know how my training would add up. I felt good, but would I stick to my strategy. There were a lot of factors in play, and I was lining up (thank you Kenny), in the elite VIP corral sporting bib number 24. Jack and I rolled over to the start line, and got ourselves in position about 30 minutes early. I hadn’t had any coffee — which for a race day for me, was unheard of.

Rolled to the start line early. Before the corrals filled we took the opportunity to introduce ourselves to some new friends, and reacquaint with some old ones.

The VIP Corral

I must admit that I felt a little bit like George Plimpton, in Paper Lion being in the front corral. Elite athletes, like our friend Clarence, Felipe Castro, the national champion of Costa Rica in his category (both of whom will be in the GFNY Portugal race as well), and a host of others. We made some new friends, and saw the racers that I would have perceived just by looking would be in the top ranks at days end. As folks talked to me there was a little bit of “how did you get in here” in the introductions. But I quickly got over it. As the corrals filled, the music got louder, the announcements started, and the race directors car moved into position to get the neutral start underway. Something of a festival atmosphere in the center of Hameln, the race directors car, being the Pied Piper, leading us all to the course. Once out past the neutral start, we would be on our own. Photographers took pictures, more announcements were made, and then finally there was a palpable hush.

In the last seconds before the starters clock hit 07:00:00, the chill in the air, the slight hint of dewy moisture, and the amazing hush, made this an almost startling moment in its silence. It screamed that something great was about to happen.

The Race Directors car getting into position as the corrals started to fill.

And We Were Off…

Chasing through the twists and turns of Hameln heading out to the country side with the race directors car out in front. The race was not neutralized for very long, and the speeds out of the gate bordered on the ridiculous. At one point I looked down, I was spinning at over 100rpm, in the 53 chain ring, and my heart rate was in the 170’s. We were less than 2 kilometers into the race, and I was already revved to the red line just to try and keep the 42–45 kilometers per hour pace that the leading groups were producing. I could feel myself being shot out the back like a potato that was jammed in a muffler pipe, and jetisoned out when the car started. I was being passed left and right, and as we hit the country roads was now surrounded by Medio course riders. This was a predicament. My new friends were keeping me to their right side, and so I had a tough time creating anything close to a chase speed that could reconnect me with the front groups. Jack, and Aleksandra were off and running, and I would not see them again until the finish line. With my heart still racing, I found my way out to the left, and spun my way out to the front of one of the medio groups. I would try and drive from their until the climbs and then see what happened.

As we hit the Daspe-Heyen climb outside of one of the first towns we rolled through, I began to get into my strategy. The Daspe-Heyen, was not what I would refer to as a categorized climb, but it was a punchy little kicker (sounds more like a kangaroo), that reminded you what lay ahead. Usually this is the type of place where I would throw everything into trying to get to the top fast and not lose any time. But, today was different. Instead, I used it to allow me to peel back my effort, and recognize that the length of the course required a sound strategy. A strategy that I had worked out, but just hadn’t followed in the first 15 kilometers. This is one of my more common problems in time trialing, but this was no 40km affair that would be over in an hour. This required settling in, being disciplined, and following the plan.

The Daspe-Heyen — in the grand scheme of things, not a categorized climb, but kicks enough to remind you what is coming.

The Daspe-Heyen succeeded in calming me down, and allowing me to make a little space between myself and some of my Medio friends. Between here and the next set of climbs, I would leap-frog with several groups, but was mostly having a series of blind dates with folks jumping on my wheel for the flats, passing me on the downhills, and watching me take back the front on the climbs. The plan was working.

There were several punchy climbs that took us to the Roter Fuchs (the Red Fox), where we twisted and turned up a beautiful Ardennes like climb that had a little bit of a bite in the middle. With several double digit grade sections, the average grade reported on the course map was a little deceptive. At the top, at the Roter Fuchs tavern, was the first aid station. I chose to keep going. I made it up the climb in fairly good order, and was starting to realize that my efforts to stay disciplined were paying dividends in time. With the descents being sharp, but not terribly technical, I was able to take some time back, and gain some momentum as we rolled through the towns.

Have I mentioned that the course, at this point, was completely closed to automobile traffic? When descending, using the entire right side of the road affords you an incredible amount of control at higher speeds, and allows you to make up some of that time that you give back on the climbs. It was an amazing way to “Be a Pro for a Day” (the GFNY motto), racing through the streets of the towns with closed intersections, highly visible markings, and volunteers cheering you on.

40KM to Go! Really?

Given that the GFNY Deutschland Gran Fondo route is a double loop (hey double), the Medio Fondo route is shared through the first loop. With 40KM to go in the Medio route, I wondered if I had missed a turn. I asked the gent next to me “Ist der medio?” I got back a very fast answer in German that I couldn’t process. “Kein Deutsch, Anglisch bitte!” I asked. My answer came with a very thick British accent “you’re alright mate, we are sharing the road to the turn, but we have a little way to go, and a couple of climbs. You will see what I mean when we hit the split, but we have two climbs yet to go”.

I thanked him and kept pedaling. As I got to the first of the two climbs he was referncing, I measured it out (Thank you Tom Niccum), and kept my match burning damage low. As me and several others descended into the next round of straightaways, another rider said to me “I think that is the end of the race car behind us, is that car the end of the race car?” I looked back but saw no car. But it was certainly conceivable that the broom wagon was nearly upon us as I was completely owning that I was at the back of the Gran Fondo field. As I turned down the next main street, there was a sharp left, that went up a very steep grade for a short kick, there were a number of riders who had missed a shift, or dropped a chain that were off and walking, I was determined not to join them. With all of my weight leaned forward, I just kept spinning the cranks as hard as I could until I was on the flatter section of the road. This 100 meter section was the only section of “bad road” I saw on the entire course. But let’s qualify that. While perhaps a “bad road for Germany” it was a completely “standard and acceptable paved surface by the standards of the NYC Department of Transportation”. So, as Jack would say “we had that going for us”. The transplanted section of Staten Island street, led out onto the Lauenstein Kehrenspaß, the last of the categorized climbs for this loop. I kept checking my time versus my distance to see if the strategy was still working, and it was, so I maintained my discipline. On the way up I saw two familiar signs from the GFNY NYC Championship route.

53/17 (as I passed this sign, I went to shift my cassette, but my right hand slipped, and I accidentally extended my middle finger at the sign)

What would Eddy do?

These two laugh riot signs seemed to have made there way across the Atlantic, in what was obviously an attempt by race organizers and race founders to make me feel more at home. Yes, that must be it.

As I continued up, there was a camper van at the top, with a Tour de France Polka Dot baseball cap hanging from the mirror. A perfect accompaniment, as I got a lovely hello from the woman occupying the camper, I readied myself to start making time back toward the cutoff. As I emerged from the forests of the descent, I saw the familiar stacks of the nuclear plant marking my way back toward Börry — where I knew a nasty climb awaited on the second lap. There were great discussions with riders from all over the globe along the way. The U.K., Sicily, and many others that made the day so enjoyable. But I was about to lose all my friends for the rest of the day. I had been so embedded in the Medio pack, that when we hit the cutoff, I went left, and they went right. I was now on my own. It was now an 80km time trial to the end, as I rounded away from the cutoff, and back out onto the seemingly deserted roads back to the Daspe-Heyen. But while I wondered how far in back of the field I was, I never stopped racing.

My thoughts on camera as I made my way to the second half.

I was through the cutoff in less than three hours. 2:58 to be exact. I decided I needed to memorialize not only my pace for the first half, but also my sense of being DFL (Dead Effing Last for the uninitiated), as I got through a small town and out to the first little climb. I was pacing well, and having a great ride, and maybe even a great race, but the field was now very spread out on the course, I had the course to myself.

As I pushed on through several little towns, thinking I was DFL, I yelled out to the volunteers “ich bin der langsammer” (I am the slow one) — hey if you achieve that status, the black jersey, the lanterne rouge, why not celebrate it. As I hit the Dasper-Heyen for the second time, I realized that the race had not actually been lost yet. From a distance, I saw a lone green jersey, standing up on the steepest part of the climb. “DO NOT TRY TO CATCH HIM ON THE CLIMB”, my professor brain shouted at me (Thanks Turkish). I stuck to the plan, and knew that I would and could reel him back in. Knowing that the next bit of climbing was more my cup of tea, I did what I could over the short and punchy last bits, descended to the turn, and begin roleuring up the next phase. There would be a technical descent at the end of it, that may be my chance. It wasn’t. Not until I hit the more open roads did I begin to really make back time. We played cat and mouse for 2–3 km and finally I was able to overtake him. We were locked in a battle to not be last. But, suddenly, we had more and more friends that we could depend on to help us in this fight. Up a steep bit that ran to the next section of flats, I saw the ambulance and broom wagon making there way. I realized then that, here in Europe, the race pace, and broom wagon follows at a higher pace. So I began racing with the intent of not fighting the broom wagon’s pace, but fighting the pace of every other rider I could.

Creeky Bottom Brackets

My bottom bracket had been making some awful noises over the past few days. But it was nothing in comparison to the Cervelo rider that I played leap frog with several times. I not match for him on the climbs, he no match for me on the flats. I knew two dislikes of his, the first the sound of his bottom bracket, the second, the sound of mine passing him. As we hit Roter Fuchs for the second time, he spun away from me, but we would rekindle our friendship several times before the finish line.

At roughly 50km to go, and at the top of Roter Fuchs, I made my first stop. I filled my water bottle and dropped an SIS caffeine tablet in. I hit the head, talked briefly to one or two other riders, and was off. I didn’t want to lose time, and with all that I had told Clarence about my goal time, I kept running the number 6:19 through my head. Could it be 6:19. Why 6:19? Well, why not I guess. I periodically checked the time to see if I was making the grade. It would be close.

The climbs went slower the second time around, as you might expect. It was getting hotter, and significant energy had been spent to get back to Börry. This was where the final climb, and for my money (while short), the toughest climb on the course. It would precede a screaming fast run in to the finish line that I would take full advantage of. But first, I had to say hello to an old friend. As I stayed within earshot of his bottom bracket, we started to climb, with the pitch getting rising to a steepness that matched the intensity of the heat I was feeling from the sun on the back of my neck. This was a tough effort and there was no relenting during this climb for fear of getting started again. Over the last few kilometers, I had also been leapfrogging with another De Rosa rider named Marco (or so his bib said). He had caught us on the climb and was now matching climbing capabilities with my friend on the Cervelo. I was encouraged that I was able to stay as close as I did.

The climb out of Borry was brutal.

This was the last climb and I had to leave something for the run into the finish. It was a good 10km to the finish line, and I had to assume that being a little conservative here would mean a better chance of having a tiger in my tank for the run in. As I got over the top, I passed my new friends and began to use the last of what I had. And I didn’t stop. I kept pedaling, and for the first time since the morning was back in the 53 to give it all I had at a high RPM. If my heart rate got away here — so what. But the difference between the time I wanted and the time I would get, would come from here, those last couple of minutes where, had I played the role of survivor instead of aggressor, would have left me back several more places in the standings.

As the finish line crew finished providing me with my medal, my new friends arrived at the finish line. Dropped is a relative thing. If you are trying to place above someone, you can’t turn your back on them for a second without pedaling like you stole it. Had I relented, I realized that they were close enough to have caught me. Not that it mattered, the placement, but surely that would have made a demoralizing difference in the time.

6:23 — Clock Time, 6:20 Garmin Moving Time

With a finish of 6:23, and a moving time showing 6:20, I couldn’t help but think that my 6:19 instincts were pretty close to spot on. I had beaten 6:30. I had beaten my best GFNY NYC time from 2014. It gave me the feeling of rounding into a better rider, a different kind of fitness, and full of confidence for the week that lay ahead in our epic adventure.
As I write this, I am in Provence, and packed for Portugal. GFNY Portugal will be up next on Sunday, and I am feeling like there is nothing I can’t handle. The inspiration of racing the GFNY Double-Double provided the motivation and measurement required to kick my cycling up a notch. We won’t stop now!

Up next, Abbott and Costello meet the TGV