This week could change my career. A big result at US Pro Nationals could lead to a pro contract. A Top 10 would give us a chance. A podium would nearly guarantee it. A win…well, winning Pro Nats is just a dream. For now.
Realistically, my team – Project Echelon – and I were shooting for the Top 10. We all knew were capable. Matt and I, especially, were on flying form. I was just coming off of 7th in the TT and 5th in the RR at Elite Nationals the previous week. Matt was coming off the best month of his life, winning the Overall GC at the GP Charlevoix, earning multiple podiums at the UCI GP de Saguenay, and finishing 8th Overall at the Tour de Beauce, the biggest UCI stage race in Canada. We all knew that this was a big week for us. After all, it is Nationals.
Thursday – 35 km US Pro Nats Time Trial
We enjoyed a relaxed start to the morning, and headed out to the TT course around 10:30AM. It was a unique course, a curvy T-looking shape that included two U-turns, and a steep climb through a neighborhood followed by a two-part, warp-speed descent back towards the finish. At just 11.6 km each, the laps would go by fast. But with three laps on tap for the Pro Men, it was still going to be a ~45-minute effort.
We had reconed the course the day before, which was beautiful but quite dangerous on open roads. The main section of the course followed a busy two-lane road, and it was impossible to safely practice the U-turns with all the traffic. Nevertheless, it was a beautiful course in an amazing setting – team parking was directly adjacent the most placid lake I’ve ever seen, and we watched four boats of rowers glide across the water’s surface as we prepared for our warm-up on race day.
With it being such a short course, the officials split the 50-some riders up into four waves separated by almost an hour each, so that riders, team cars, and police motorcycles would not be lapping each other at over 50 kph. I was to go off in the third wave; Ricky was in the first, Tim and Eric in the second, and Matt in the fourth. It was gonna be a long, hot day.
Heat was the biggest factor of the day. Temperatures reached 91 degrees, but it was the humidity that turned it up a notch. Sitting in the port-a-potty was like being in a sauna; and sitting outside wasn’t much better. We found a patch of shade under a tree and set up camp: tent, folding chairs, table, cooler, trainers, bike stand, and tool bag. This would be our home base for the next few hours.
Ricky was the first Project Echelon rider off, and he started nearly two hours before me. As he slowly melted into his TT saddle while pouring sweat on the trainer, I sat shirtless in a lawn chair, eating bread and chugging water. The glamorous life of an amateur bike racer.
With 90 minutes to go, it was time for me to get ready. It is a TT after all, and between the Amp Human PR Lotion, tight skinsuit, and Velotoze, getting ready is no easy task. With 50 minutes to go, I started spinning on the trainer, eventually building into a three-minute threshold effort, followed by five minutes rest, and then two minutes at threshold. Because of the heat and humidity, as well as the length of the course, I was worried that my warm-up might be a little overkill, and that I would pay for it in the second half. We would have to wait to find out…
I sat in the start house with five pounds of ice on my back. My spine was cold, but I knew that wouldn’t last long. When I clipped in with 30 seconds to go, I noticed water dripping out of the bottom of my shoes. And I hadn’t even really sweated yet.
I rolled down the start ramp and settled into the aero bars, but then, 90 seconds into my time trial, I stopped pedaling. The first U-turn was less than a mile into the course, and I braked hard before turning my bike around and heading the back towards the start. Despite the long nature of this time trial, it felt incredibly punchy. Every 3-4 minutes you were forced out of the aero bars, hands on the bull horns, cadence down to zero, coasting into a U-turn or sharp corner. I actually liked it – the punchiness – as opposed to a long, steady grind like Elite Nats. The U-turns and corners allowed me to take a break, mentally and physically. For whatever reason, taking my foot off the gas for just a second, helps me stay focused, motivated, and ready to get back on top of my effort.
15 minutes in, I crossed the finish line for the first time. Two laps to go. I’m feeling good, but I’m also measuring my effort. I haven’t gone too deep yet, knowing that I still have a half hour of suffering ahead of me. I’m a few seconds down on the fastest time of the day so far, but I know that most of the heavy hitters go off in the last wave anyway.
I go a little bit deeper on Lap 2, but still holding back just a bit so that I can maintain my effort all the way to the finish. Suddenly, I notice something: I’m gaining on the rider in front of me, and pulling away from the rider behind me. Before the start, I had been expecting to get caught, and to watch my minute-man ride off into the distance. These guys are two of the best time trialists in the country, top-tier pros who have been racing in Europe for most of the season. But now in my head, all I keep repeating is I can do this. I can do this. I can do this!
I complete the second lap in just over 15 minutes, and now, I know, is when the real suffering begins. One lap to go – this is what matters. This is when guys blow up, but also when national championships are won. I pedaled hard in the aero bars, 340 W feeling a lot more difficult than it did 30 minutes ago. I made it through the first U-turn, and then was moving towards the second when I saw my minute-man’s team car pull off the side of the road in front of me. I’m about to catch my minute-man! If I needed an extra boost, this was it. And two minutes later, when I hit the steep climb for the third and final time, I was urged on by my teammates – David and Evan – who yelled at me to push on, and ran alongside as I gritted my teeth at 430 W.
With 2k to go I was in full blackout mode. I had just enough energy to keep my bike in a straight line, but I was gasping for air and twitching my muscles as I tried to squeeze out every last bit of energy from my legs. I crossed the line in 44:41, the second-best time of the day at that moment.
Thank goodness the ride to the team car was flat and downhill, because I couldn’t pedal for the next five minutes. I collapsed into a lawn chair and chugged some water while my teammates congratulated me on an awesome ride. We didn’t know where I’d end up by the end of the day, but we knew it’d be good.
In the end, I finished 9th place, just a few seconds behind my teammate Matt who finished 7th. For Project Echelon – an amateur team – to have two riders in the Top 10 at US Pro Nats, was really something special.
Sunday – 181km US Pro Nationals Road Race
This race could change my life, I thought to myself. But when I looked around on the start line – surrounded by WorldTour pros, thousands of spectators, and hundreds of American flags flapping in the wind – I realized that every other rider was thinking the same thing.
For any domestic pro, winning Nationals is a lifetime achievement. Some of the best riders of all-time have tried and failed, some for decades, to earn their National stripes. Nearly every professional dreams of winning their National Championships – like riding in the Tour de France, or wearing the rainbow jersey.
But for us amateurs, it’s hard to put it into perspective. A Top 20 at Pro Nats would be great, as in the past few years, usually only one or no amateurs have achieved that feat. A Top 10 would be incredible, and could lead to a pro contract. A podium would be a dream; winning, just a fantasy…
***
We lined up at 1:15PM in downtown Knoxville, baking under the afternoon sun, and sweating through our skinsuits even before the gun went off. As we removed our helmets for the playing of the National anthem, it all felt a bit…different.
Nationals is special. Everyone cares more about Nationals than any other race. No one comes to Nationals for a hard workout or training ride – they come here to win. Riders travel from all over the country – many of the top pros even flew in from Europe – to take on the nation’s best. There’s less chit-chat on the start line than normal. A lot more shaky legs and high heart rates. Everyone is nervous. We smile and wave, putting on a brave face to the crowds. But on the inside – at least for me – I was shaking.
The gun went off and we descended down onto the bridge across the river, only 1k away from the course’s major climb: Sherrod Road. This climb is the crux of the course, 650 meters at an average of 11%; but three short sections of flat/downhill on the climb mean that the majority 15+%. The climb is only a ~2-minute effort, but after 15 laps and over four hours of the hardest racing of your life…it sucks.
Attacks flew the first time up the climb. I was nowhere near the front, something that I would struggle with all day. I made it up the climb though, comfortably in the group, and headed onto the descent. After the crest of the climb, the road immediately turns down, winding through a neighborhood before blasting you across a bridge and then turning onto the highway. The descent was fast, and we reached speed of 55+ mph every single lap. The scariest part for me was that every time we hit the descent, my heart rate was pinned at 180 bpm, and the gaps that had formed on the climb were now beginning to grow. This meant that braking on the descent leads to you getting dropped. I had never felt the need to bomb a descent in a race before, but this was the National freaking Championships, and so every lap I puckered up and just bloody sent it.
The first few laps I was constantly bouncing between the front and rear of the peloton. I struggled with positioning when the pace slowed and the peloton spread wide, twelve riders across the road at times. Staying at the front, in that circumstance, meant bumping bars and rubbing shoulders. That’s not one of my strengths. But when the pace was high, and the peloton was only single or double-file, I was comfortable staying at the front because I could use my legs to stay there instead of my elbows.
My original job for the team was to be aggressive, look for early moves, and follow strong breakaways. I did a fair bit of work in the first hour, hoping it wouldn’t catch up with me during the next three, but when Matt pulled off on Lap 4, my role immediately changed. Matt was coming off of four weeks of racing and travel in Canada, earning career-best results and riding on the form of his life. But during the Pro Nats road race, it all caught up with him. It sucked to see him getting dropped, because I knew that at his best, he could finish in the Top 10. But there was no time for thinking now – Our team’s focus switched over to me. The guys told me to sit-in and save my energy, and that they would help guide me to position at the bottom of the climb every lap.
My teammates delivered, and for the next two hours, I came flying across the bridge on a teammate’s wheel, and into the bottom of the climb in perfect position. Ricky, David, Evan, and Monk especially were lifesavers. (Eric and Tim were there too, and would help from the feedzone later on, offering me water, ice, and much-needed motivation). Without them, I probably would’ve gotten dropped a lot sooner. Every single lap, I was going all-out up the climb. I wasn’t responding to attacks or even thinking about it. I didn’t have that extra pop in my legs, and I knew that going too deep at this point in the race would only lead to me getting dropped.
At 5 laps to go, the WorldTour guys decided it was time to drop everybody. They blitzed the climb 20 seconds faster than all the previous laps (remember, it’s only a 2-minute effort), and blew the what was left of the peloton to pieces in one fell swoop. I did 460 W on the climb that lap, but by the time we got to the feedzone, I was in the fourth group on the road, floundering 30 seconds back. *The WorldTour riders who attacked that lap, who are the same size as me at 5’11” and 145 lbs. (65 kg), did 560 W for 1:38 that lap up the climb. Even at my best, with full freshness in my legs, I still wouldn’t have been able to keep up with them…
And that was it. At 4 laps to go, my group of ~15 riders was off the back, never to see the front of the race again. The groups in front of us were filled with WorldTour pros and guys who’ve been racing in Europe for the past half-decade. My goal is to be there one day, but this year, it wasn’t meant to be. I wasn’t quite strong enough.
It’s funny – and cruel – that at 4 laps to go, we were basically the groupetto (60+ riders behind us had already been dropped and would not finish), yet with an hour and twenty minutes to go, we were still racing for 16th place. A Top 20 at Pro Nats is a huge achievement – as I alluded to earlier – and I wasn’t about to let that opportunity slip by. So I settled in for another four laps of suffering – although ‘settling in’ is pretty much impossible after you’ve been pinned, riding at 300 W and 160 bpm for the last three and a half hours…
At two laps to go, a group of four accelerated away from our group on the climb. The race for the win was long-gone at this point, but we were still going to fight for every place in the Top 20. As the group of four crested the climb with a few seconds gap, I got nervous, because I wasn’t sure if we’d ever see them again. Thankfully, the majority of the ‘groupetto’ was still strong and motivated, so we reeled those four riders in in the next 5km. With 1 lap to go, we came through the finish line all together, the ‘real race’ still five minutes up the road, but our mini-battle about the unfold on the final climb.
I came into the climb sitting in third wheel, well-prepared for the inevitable attack. But as soon as we hit the 15+% grade, my legs said No. I had nothing left, but I was still going to fight on with everything I had. So I turned the climb into a two-minute time trial. I stared only at the road two feet in front of me, focusing my mind on accepting the pain in my legs, pushing myself as hard as I could, and getting to the top of the climb as fast as possible. As I rounded the corner with the screaming fans – where my teammates had grabbed beers and dollar hand-ups hours before – I felt one final boost of energy.
There were five riders ahead of me as we approached the final hundred meters of the climb, but I was slowly getting gapped as we neared the summit – I wasn’t going to give up. I sprinted over the top and railed down the descent as fast as I could. Nearly 60 mph. No brakes. Sorry Mom.
I put in one final dig to latch onto the group just before the feedzone, and when I looked over my shoulder, there was no one in sight. Our group of six settled into team time trial mode, as we had less than 10k to go of mostly flat roads to the finish. I was killing myself just to stay on, and I skipped a few pulls so that I wouldn’t get dropped. The other riders in the group were stronger than me at this point. *For whatever reason, I wasn’t on my best day. After my coach and I reviewed my training, racing, and recovery leading up to the race, we think I might’ve been a little too fresh. That would explain my abnormally high average heart rate. It’s weird to say that I should’ve trained more before a 118-mile road race, but I think I came in a bit undercooked.
We came into the final kilometer, and prepared for the uphill sprint to the line. As we rounded the corner and hit the 15% grade, I stood up to sprint. But my legs had nothing. The other riders slowly pulled away from me, and the experienced pro in our group sat up – probably because he was 2nd last year at Nationals, so he definitely does not care about 16th.
I came across the line in 20th place, hot, sweaty, covered in salt, and fully cracked. I could barely pedal anymore. Everything hurt. My hands hurt. My left pectoral hurt. The balls of my feet hurt. Oh yeah, and my legs too. I crawled around the parking lot in search of my teammates, and also food. But mostly food. I found some water and people, and blurrily asked if they had any food. All the vendors were closed, so the only food available was what I still had in my pockets: sugary gels and energy bars. No. Thank you.
I came back to life a few hours later when I had some fried chicken and ice cream. Everyone else said the food at the restaurant was terrible, but I thought the chicken tenders were the best I’ve ever had – But after a hard, hot five-hour road race, anything you put in your mouth will be the best you’ve ever had.
***
And with that, the majority of my season comes to an end. We still have the Intelligentsia Cup and Green Mountain on the schedule, but that is really it. For the past six months, I’ve trained, traveled, and raced more than I ever have before, and now it’s time for a break. So I took one day off, and now I’m back to riding 20 hours a week.
Joking aside, the season isn’t over yet, and I’m determined to come into Intelligentsia and Green Mountain fitter and faster than ever. And at Intelligentsia in particular, I’m looking forward to racing in support of the team’s goals. We have a lot of options, a number of super strong breakaway riders, and few of the country’s best sprinters. While missing out on ToAD was a huge bummer (USA Cycling and Tour of America’s Dairyland, please fix this next year so Project Echelon Racing and I can do both), I’m excited to get back to racing at the Intelligentsia Cup.