About Maltreated Sobbing Bodies I Wander...

Words by the indefatigable, moustached necro-wizard - Jamesy... 

Following our nightly training ride, wherein no training was done, but a lot of shit talking was, it has come to our attention that crit season is approaching.

Some know that criteriums are around the corner from the delicate blossom on the still Winter strangled trees, others know it when they find a hole in the shammy of their longs.  Most of us, on the other hand, can tell the circuit racing we love so much is fast on the way by the reappearance of that strange and elusive creature: the crit specialist.

The crit specialist in truly a sight to behold.  Here you are, having buried yourself on the cold, dead roads that is the road season all winter, when suddenly, these loud and chipper fellows appear, as if from nowhere.  Conversation's between crit specialist range from choice of deep section wheels this season, to what beer they are currently sinking (crit specialists are always sinking beers).  Please note that if you ask a crit specialist what racing they did over winter, you will receive a blank look.  This is not because the crit specialist is embarrassed he did not race over winter, it is because he is not aware that there is any racing over winter.  To the crit specialist, bike racing consists of criteriums, and criteriums only.  The only other racing he will accept is sinking beers, but that happens in the arvo, after criteriums.

As a skinny, gutless roadie, who happens to like crits, I have made it my duty to come to recognise the criterium specialist from afar, so that I can suck his wheel and then win.  Please note that I never win, because I am a skinny, gutless roadie.  It is with pleasure, then, that I put to you the most recognisable characteristics of our beloved crit specialist.  Long may you hold his wheel.

1. Size. Crit specialists are always, how should we put this, of the larger variety.  They tend to hold to the old training moniker of 'saturated fat for saturated power'.  Witnessing a crit specialist come out of hibernation is akin to witnessing a bear stagger out of an all-you-can-eat diner.  Only they are wearing lycra.  Of course, the crit specialist will get down to 'race weight' by the middle of the season, but don't be fooled.  If he takes you down, you won't get back up.

2.  Cankles. Crit specialists always have cankles.  This is related, it is assumed by this author/journalist/hack, to the girth issue discussed above.  The crit specialist will attempt to hide the cankle issue by either adhering to the track fashion of very short socks, thereby signalling a distinct fashion faux pas, or the roadie fashion of very high socks, which is perhaps even more obscene, given the total lack of roadie ribs showing through the jersey.

3. Bike creaks. The crit specialist puts down some serious watts.  This is the guy that, when he inevitably attacks three laps in, you are chewing bar tape just to hold this suckers wheel.  As you manage to sit in, you will hear that rhythmic creak, as this strange specimen lays it all out on the road.  That is his carbon frame/un-torqued crank bolts/bar-stem combo literally groaning under the force of this animal.  As you sit there, wondering how this functioning booze hound is thumping you so hard, despite you training all winter when he was literally knee deep in pies, you will have that creaking to keep you company.  It will haunt you.

4. Can't stop/don't wanna attitude. The crit specialist stops for no one.  Barely even the finish line.  When in a race, this guy will be the bloke who is yelling from the back of the bunch to 'close that gap' even though you are on the front, literally puking up a lung to get that U17 prodigy to please, you know please, come back.  He is also, it should be noted, the only kind of cyclist who can take on the Beach Road Clam (note:   the Beach Road Clam is a driver who swings their car door open, gets out of their car, realises a bunch is coming at them flat chat, and attempts to fit themselves back into their car, closing the car door, without actually sitting back down in their seat).  Such is the power and girth of the crit specialist, they would knock clear through this car door, then curse the headwind which is, 'arking up a bit at the moment'.  Meanwhile, you the roadie, will be sitting on his wheel, wondering which fucking planet this guy was born on.

5. Laughing in the face of danger. Face it.  Most of the time in crits, you're shitting yourself.  Nothing says shitstorm more than a scenario where a bunch of amateurs race very fast in tight s trying to cross a line before everyone else.  If you are a normal, sane, human being, each crit race will have at least one moment where you are sure, nay convinced, that you are about to die.  It's just racing.  If you are normal, you will probably yell something like 'woah, hold your line mate!' then discreetly shit yourself. The crit specialist, on the other hand, will merely snort, then tell the offending person to 'pull a fucking turn you cvnt', before he dives into a corner on the inside of the bunch, proverbial, or literal, moustache, billowing in the breeze.

6. Not winning. The crit specialist rarely wins.  This is not because, as you the roadies suspect, because of his lifestyle habits off the bike, bur rather because 'all these young kids don't know how to race or show respect'  That is in fact true.  All these young kids are very, very fast, and don't give a shit if some fat bloke with cankles is demanding they respect their elders.

Love or hate them, the re-emergence of the crit specialist signals one thing for sure: crits are coming!  And really, what else are crits, other than a celebration of summer, and riding in the good weather.

Bring on the cankles (and post-crit burritos).

Blokes You Can Trust - 2013 Sam Miranda Road Race - C Grade

Words by Dingus Dave and Duggan...

Dingus Dave:

C Grade Masters Race Report. 

No idea what happened, cause I missed the start. Too busy waiting for fellow Saint Clouders to drink their Ethiopian coffee in Beechworth. I fkn told you we’d miss the start! Good see HCC Crit regular Mark Bailey get up for a place.

C Grade Elite Race Report

So anyways, I rolled out a few minutes after the C Grade Masters bunch on my own. No chance in hell I was starting a 100km road race by chasing down a 4 minute gap on my own, so I dawdled along for half an hour waiting for the C Grade bunch behind me, with Duggan and Mitch in there, to catch up. A couple of magpie swoops got the heart rate going. Nothing like sprinting seated whilst trying to look up/behind you, whilst screaming like a bitch.

After 15km, Duggan came smashing past me, solo off the front of the bunch. I put the hammer down to catch up, had a quick chat, then dropped back to the C Grade bunch. Given this wasn’t my race, I couldn’t really stay out there with him to help.

With Duggan out front sweeping up all the sprint and KOM points, Mitch knew the deal and went after remaining sprint points going head-to-head with Coburg’s Ben Pascall. Coming up to the second sprint, about 1km out, I could see Pascall at mid pack. I looked round for Mitch, and there he was, a hundred metres off the front on his own. Great tactic, I thought, hitting them early to discourage anyone to chase. Turns out he thought the 500m to go sign was the finish. Fkn. But he’s a mad dog, so he held on for the points.

Mitch rode like a boss.

After 40km out front solo, Duggan was brought back to the group not far before the little KOM (before the dirt climb). As we hit the climb, someone touched wheels mid-pack, right in front of Duggan and down he went. He was alright, and I waited at the top of the climb for him. I wasn’t going to help him when he was solo off the front, but if some muppet is gonna bring him down in the bunch you can be damn sure I’m gonna help my mate get back into the race. Of course, me (65kg whippet) helping Duggan (99% choc Big M) on a descent is kinda ridiculous.

At the bottom of the descent was a sharp right-hand corner. A dude 50m ahead of us took the corner too hot and went straight into the ditch. “Easy! Easy!” I slowed down and took the corner carefully, looking across to see the guy crawling out of the ditch a little dazed. Duggan had no idea, and had ripped up the inside and put 30m into me in a flash. Fuck, I’m trying to help you here mate! I gassed it back to him, got on the front, and drilled it as hard as I could for the next few kms till we hit the bottom of the dirt climb.

Look at that boo boo. Luckily avoided amputation.

Duggan then went about making up ground on the leaders. At this stage, Pascall, Slingsby and Cotterell got a gap off the front and were never seen again. I had Duggan pegged on the climb about 30m ahead of me. Then we hit the descent and he disappeared, bombing down like a madman.

Duggan:

Not. Fucking. Happy. Jan.

Nothing like getting up the road, scoring some points, feeling good when caught, then having someone shove a Giant TCR through your front spokes.

Bombing down the hill I could think of one thing - catching those fkn skinny climbers. I started descending my way through the bigger blokes who'd been shelled on the climb, politely informing them that this was a "race" and we weren't out of it yet. CARN. FULL FKN GAS, CUNCE.

Ended up with a reasonably strong group of 6 or so working well together. Bit slower than I'd like, but the group was working smoothly. We eventually rounded up Mitch and two partners in crime. As we passed the group the following exhange occurred and lols were had.

"YEOOOOOW - HEY MITCH! I'M FKN BACK CAAAAAAAARRRNNNTT!"
"FUCK YEAH!"
*air punching*

Our group of about 10 worked solidly to the very finish with Mitch sending some hang-ers on packing with some polite words at the back of the bunch. More lols at Mitch's persuasiveness were had.

With what we figured must be less than 10 up the road, we knew we had a shot to bring 'em back. We caught 5 riders with about 3 km to go, and to the tune of "OH MAAAN, WHAT THE FUCK!?" in response to Mitch's "FUCKING SMACK IT!" as we made the catch, the attacks started flying.

Mitch and I stayed out of trouble and even managed to have a squirt to finish 7th and 9th respectively about a minute behind Pascall, Slingsby and Cottrell who managed to stay away for a well deserved podium. I had managed to sew up the sprint jersey through my early breakaway shenanigans, so it was a pretty fun day out*.

Fuck it. Have a squirt. 

*sans the TCR in the front spokes

Back next year.

The lack of sympathy during treatment was astounding.

Dirt climbs and Dirtbags: 2013 Sam Miranda Road Race - B Grade

Words by Mat Gray...

I was certain that for the first 50kms had missed that B grade start and hooked onto the GrandFondo. Even the sprints were halfhearted attempts for points, but then again who really wants a subscription to some shit bike magazine?

The leisurely pace did give me a chance to finally find out what ZoomVideo is all about. Unfortunately, its not a place specialising in 80's movies that where only released on VCR, like Toy Soldiers. Its basically a Big Brother security system, that would protect your building/assets from graffiti hacks and underage no good drinking riffraff.

I miss videos.

Pre-race security footage provided by ZoomVideo

The 2nd Grand Fondo event of the day aka B Grade was travelling behind schedule, so it was decided to pull them over and let the Masters A take the road (an interesting thing I heard this week is in order to master a task you need to practice it for 10,000 hours, or 20hrs every week for ten years).

Our humble narrator stomping up the climb

We reached the bottom of the main 6km climb and the group having fresh legs smashed it up the dirt road. Jez got on the front and made it clear that the race was ready to start. Ransom (My Mountain) was chasing points and put in a solid effort wheeling over for second in KOM. There was a splintered peloton cresting the top.

There's a prize for anyone getting a photo of the Cross Boss not smiling whilst racing.

Hanging it out on the descent sounds like it was a banger in all grades, even the Grand Fondo got some strava records. At the bottom the race had split into an eight lead group and a 15-20 chase. Both groups worked well together on the 40km flat drag home. The eight held out to make a sprint out of the finish, with the main bunch pulling in two minutes later.

Sam Miranda is a banger of a race. Great venue and an awesome course. It be great if next year they ditch the handicap and run another RR and make a three day tour out of it.