We piled into the van and headed east, bound for Hagerstown, Maryland and the USA Cycling Elite National Championships. It was just David, Henry, and I for now, but the trailer was full of wheels, bikes, bags, food, chain lube, and bungee cords; anything that a cyclist would need for a two-week racing trip. Our TT bikes were lined up on the lower racks, so that their long aero bars would fit under the roof of the trailer. There was plenty of room to spare in the van – enough that we could lie across the backseat for a nap – but we would soon end up with seven riders, a few more bikes, and a lot less room.
We arrived in Hagerstown after a two-day drive, and unpacked everything but our TT bikes as we headed out to recon the course. The Elite Men (our racing category for the entire week, bar Henry who’d be racing the U23s) would race 30 kilometers in the time trial. It was the same course as the previous year, and I had done very well, placing 4th in the U23s. I was aiming for the Top 5 again this year, the “American podium” at Nationals.
For weeks, I had been visualizing the course. I had it memorized in my head – the climbs and descents, which ones were short and which ones were long, and which ones to punch it over and which ones to settle in. I had my entire performance all mapped out; the only thing left to do was to execute.
Thursday – 30 km Nationals Time Trial
It was an early morning – the first of many in the week – with a 5:15AM wake-up and a groggy 30-minute drive to the course. As we pinned up our numbers in the morning sun, the humidity was already becoming a factor. I poured more sweat onto the trainer than I think I ever have during my warm-up, perched under the hot sun. I toweled off as best I could before the start, and headed to the line with 12 minutes until my start. As I waited in line in front of the start house, I chugged a half-bottle of water, as I wouldn’t be taking any with me for this ~40-minute TT.
The last few moments before a TT are very calm – everything goes quiet, just like in the movies. I focus only on the road ahead of me. I try to breathe, remember to breathe. I hear nothing but my heart beating in my head, and the metronomic beep of the timer counting down. The official’s fingers wag in my face, telling me that I go off in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…
I rolled down the start ramp and settled into the aero bars, preparing myself mentally for the long effort ahead. In the first few minutes, 350 W felt easy. I would try to hold it, as my training and racing history said that, at my best, I could hold 350 W for 40 minutes. Maybe. It would take something special. But maybe today was that day.
It turned out to be a little overly-ambitious, holding 350 Watts, as my power kept falling until, at the end, I was absolutely killing myself and doing just 335 W. BUT, it is important to remember that power is not everything. Time trials are all about speed, and speed is determined by power, but also aerodynamics, pacing, and motivation. On the day, I didn’t quite nail my power target, but I did go faster than I ever have, and placed well in a National-caliber field on a course that doesn’t necessarily suit me.
I finished the TT in 7th place, a minute and twenty seconds off the win, and 23 seconds off the American podium. Close, but not what I had been dreaming of. I gave it everything during the TT – I collapsed on the ground for five minutes afterwards; I didn’t even notice the hot tarmac searing my sweat-soaked back – and I know I could not have gone any faster. In a TT, that’s all that I ask for, and I am happy with my effort no matter the outcome.
Project Echelon came away with a Top-10 on the first day of Elite Nationals, but we were far from satisfied. We all looked forward to the road race, where we’d be aiming for the top step of the podium.
Friday – 180 km Nationals Road Race
7:00AM start. The earliest I’ve ever raced. Also the second-longest I’d ever raced at 180 km (114 miles). And as a bonus, the winds were 15-25 mph out of the Northwest from the start. We forced down inhumane amounts of oatmeal, toast, and eggs before 6AM, and were kitted up and ready to go at 6:45AM. We filled our pockets with CLIF Bars, energy chews, and caffeinated gels, preparing ourselves as best we could for a long day ahead. I even had a cup of coffee in the morning, and if you know me, you know that I’m still in the single digits for ‘number of coffee cups consumed in a lifetime.’
We rolled away from the start with 180 km to go, the fast-moving clouds shielding us from the sun, and the howling winds bending over the trees. Just 10 km into the race was the first crosswind section, a five-mile stretch of rolling road completely exposed to a nasty 25 mph cross-tailwind. We would be reaching speeds of 40 mph on the flat, creating a long line of suffering riders.
Attacks flew, early splits began to form, and soon, the break of the day went. A well-represented move of (I think) eight riders included every major team except one: Legion of Los Angeles, the team of defending champion Justin Williams. Legion’s 2019 roster was stronger than ever, and they were coming off of national-caliber wins at Tulsa Tough against the top pros as well as us amateurs. So we weren’t surprised to see them take control of the race, riding the front on lap 2 of 5.5, and nearly splitting the field in the crosswinds. My teammate David made the break of the day, executing the team plan to perfection, and allowing my teammates and I to sit-in and save our energy for the final hours of the race.
With 2 laps to go, the early break was caught, but that didn’t stop teams and riders from sending a flurry of attack up the road. I did my best to mark the most dangerous moves, pushing 450 W up the short climbs which played to my strengths. My teammates did a stellar job as well, and the only move we missed was, unfortunately, the winning one. Evan put in a massive ride, covering move after move in the final two hours. Tim, Monk, and Ricky were there as well, always in position at the most critical points of the race.
The winning move went with 1.5 laps to go. Ben Schmutte – one of my good friends and collegiate teammates at Marian – put in a massive dig at the bottom of the feedzone climb. Immediately, I knew that he was dangerous. Ben is a powerhouse, and can do just about anything on the bike. But when he went, the field didn’t react. Only a minute later did a group of two go across, one strong rider and one of Ben’s teammates. In hindsight, I still can’t believe it worked. With 35 miles to go, a small break of three with almost all of the major teams missing got up the road, and they never had over a 90-second gap. How does that work? We underestimated how strong those guys were.
With just the last 22 km lap to go, the gap to the break was one minute. We hit the feedzone climb for the last time, and I was in the perfect position to follow an attack by Chad Hall, another friend of mine and former teammate on Team California. Nearly all the major teams sent a guy into this move, and by the top of the climb, we had a group of six with ~15 seconds on the field. We rotated a bit, but this was four hours into the Nationals road race, Chad had spent three hours in the break of the day, and guys were getting tired. I knew that at the pace we were going, we would surely be caught. So on the rolling uphill section with a roaring cross-headwind, I pulled as hard as I could with just a few other guys, the rest hanging/sitting on. The field was right behind us – like a scary movie, we were sprinting as hard as we could, but couldn’t get away from the monster nipping at your heels.
On the last big roller, Stephen Bassett – whose two teammates were up the road and had already dropped their breakaway companion – made us all look silly, attacking from the back of our breakaway and flying across the 30-second gap to complete the solo bridge. When he attacked, he went so hard that none of us even reacted. We tried to up the pace, but it was useless. He was gone. Cory Lockwood put in the next attack, a diesel-like dig that put a little daylight between him and the rest of our group. One of the other riders took a pull, but I felt strong, and so I put in a dig and bridged across to Cory on my own. I went deep to get across – I was chasing Cory Lockwood after all – but I still felt strong, and with 10k to go, Cory and I believed we could catch the front group, and have a chance to win a National Championship.
I won’t lie, Cory pulled 95% of the last 10k. He pulled and pulled while I sat on his wheel; I was still pushing almost 300 W, but that was nothing compared to his 450+ W. We halved the gap to the three First Internet Bank riders in those last 10k, but we were never really that close, and they walked away with an incredible podium sweep. I thought I would have Cory in the sprint, but he blew my legs off and I settled for 5th. We came home 30 seconds ahead of the chasing pack, and I was both happy and disappointed with my place on the American podium. I was proud to be there, especially as a first-year Elite, and representing Project Echelon, but we always aim for the top step, and that day we came up a little short.
Sunday – 75-minute Criterium
This year Project Echelon added one of the best crit racers in the country to our roster: Monk Feehery. A multi-time Collegiate Crit Champion, stage winner at the Tour of America’s Dairyland and Intelligentsia Cup, and experienced Red Hook Crit rider, Monk knows what how to race a crit. And with such a strong team around him, our goal was to go for the win. It would be a tough task (it is the National freaking Championships after all…), as Legion had been unstoppable in crits all year. Justin Williams was the man to beat if it came down to a sprint, so every team other than Legion was gunning for a breakaway.
After a number of crashes last year across all categories, the race officials decided to change the course’s direction this year, going from clockwise in 2018 to counterclockwise for 2019. The result was a much harder course in my opinion, with a short, sharp uphill being the crux of the course leading up to the finish line. The weather conditions were a major factor as well. While the thermometer read “83 degrees,” my Garmin read 96 degrees at the start thanks to the sticky humidity and beating sun. On top of all that, the wind whipped in our faces as we barreled down the backside of the course, killing breakaways and creating a cluster into Turn 3.
I tried to stay calm before the start, forcing my thoughts away from anything that had to do with crashing. Brakes squealing, carbon crashing, guys yelling, and blood bleeding – anything but that. I missed my clip in at the start and went from 30th call-up to the back, just hanging on for the first few laps, just as I always do. When my legs finally came around, I got myself up to the front and started covering moves. I did my best, following one or two while my teammates covered many, but a crash 20 minutes in left me spooked and at the back of the field, again. It took me a good 15 minutes to get my nerves under control – a wheel slip in Turn 3 didn’t help – but I was soon back at the front just as the race was about to kick off.
I followed a move coming out of Turn 4, and was sitting second wheel in between Turns 1 and 2 when a counterattack went. Evan was on it immediately, and as one other rider went to bridge across, I stood up to sprint when… “NO! Go Zach! No. Go!” It was Monk, yelling a few wheels behind me. I didn’t know whether to coast or sprint. What was he saying? No?? Or Go?? Eventually I sat up, and a break of four rolled away with Evan in it. The field let it go, and that was the break of the day. In hindsight, I did exactly what I was supposed to do: Sit up. Job done, I saved my energy in the field while Evan rolled the break and let Legion do the lion’s share of the work.
For the next 25 minutes, Legion rotated on the front of the field, chasing the break of now three (one guy crashed himself out of the break in Turn 3… How? I wish I knew), but the gap was steadily growing. With 20 minutes to go, the gap was still 30 seconds and it looked like Legion was starting to crack. Half of their riders were gone, but when Cory Lockwood came to the front, the field exploded. Cory chased hard for a few laps, bringing the break’s gap down from 30 seconds to less than 15. And then, Justin Williams bridged across.
In the space of five minutes, the field went from 60 guys to 25. I was hanging onto to 24th wheel, literally. Monk, and Evan who was caught from the break, had made the front group, and with only seven laps left to go, the race was coming down to a *reduced field sprint. I tried as hard as I could to get up there and help Evan and Monk, but I just couldn’t do it. Physically, I was fried. Mentally, I was sliding on ice in every corner – Not really, but if you’ve ever lost your nerve in a crit, you’ll know what I’m talking about.
Every one of those last seven laps, I would get dropped on the uphill out of the last corner and then claw my way back on to the field just in time for the headwind section. I was useless, without a purpose, and unable to help my teammates. Out of pride, I guess, I hung in there, and stayed with the back of the field until the last lap, when a crash forced me to a near-stop, and I let the sprinters ride away to battle for the National Championship.
When I saw Monk after the finish, I could see the frustration written across his face. His gears has slipped in the sprint, and with that he lost his chance to sprint for the win. The margin for error in sprinting at this level is approximately 0%. Despite all that, Monk still finished 4th, our best result of the week and another American podium for Project Echelon. And with that, we celebrated with pizza and *recovery drinks, before packing up the van and setting off for Knoxville, TN.
Next up: US Pro National Championships