It feels good to go hard, and even though I know the consequences of that action, I somehow always believe that my body has become stronger and can handle it. I don’t know if it’s the endorphins or what, but I am exceptionally skilled in the destructive art of pushing my body beyond its capabilities. Doing this while recovering from injury, however, seems like the work of a master nincompoop.

I know full well what happens when I do this. One season, I pulled, tore, and strained muscles left and right all season long. Just as I would reach peak racing fitness, I’d strain a muscle. During one team time trial, I could not get off the bike after the finish because I had torn both hamstrings. I didn’t feel it at all when it happened during the race. Instead, I was treated to copious amounts of pain every time I had to walk during the next four weeks.

My old coach used to get incredibly frustrated with me because I strained muscles so often. Just when he was about to see the fruits of his labor, I wound up injured. Darn near every time.

I went to see my PT, Erik Moen, a week ago because my wracked neck muscles were prohibiting normal sleep. I couldn’t ride because of the pain, which also made it harder for me to sleep. His new PT, Jason Steere, did some amazing work on my neck muscles which shepherded me to a blissful twelve hours of sleep, and nine more the next night. Erik told me to ride 45 minutes per day. 45 minutes, no more, for the next couple of weeks.

I did as he said, churning out 45 minutes the next day, and another 45 the day after. It felt great, and I got tired enough to sleep well both days. A couple days later, I was feeling pretty good, and I met a friend for a ride. I knew I needed to turn around after about 20 minutes, but just like every year for the past 24 years, I thought, ‘Ahh, I can go a little further today.’ I wound up riding for eighty minutes, and I felt great the entire ride, but by the time night rolled around, my sad neck muscles were stiff and sore. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since. My chiropractor just straightened me out, so I am once again ready to ride.

45 minutes, no more, for two weeks.

My good friend Jerry Baker has always said it’s better to go shorter today so that I have the energy to ride tomorrow. He says it’s better for the body to ride every day and slowly build endurance than to ride long one day and spend the next four days recovering. Makes good sense.

Tomorrow’s ride? 45 minutes, easy. Maybe one of these days I will figure out why my brain goes numb on the bike, and then follow the advice of wise friends.

One thing I have learned over the years is that cyclocross is so hard that it is the perfect discipline of cycling for me. It’s the only one where I am physically unable to push myself to the point of injury. Gotta love ‘cross.

Hope JP gets to race World’s.

The last time I saw a rider throw his bike down in disgust was in the 1997 Tour de France. It was ’96 winner, Bjarne Riis, who threw his bike into a ditch halfway through his time trial. It did not help his time.

Saturday night, under the stars and just past the beer corral, cyclocross superstar Ryan Trebon at least waited until he crossed the finish line to throw his bike down in total disgust, after claiming second place. It’s tough being one of the fastest riders in the country, especially when you are overtaking slower riders right near the end of your race, and they take you out. I was positioned about fifteen feet from him when he lost his temper, but I didn’t snap the shot. It just didn’t feel right. His ride was much more impressive, and he later apologized (to someone), so all is swell again. I was glad to see him laughing on the podium later.

I came to Starcrossed to see the best cross riders in the country duke it out at the velodrome under the night sky. Muddy legs never looked so fast, as the venue and the riders did not disappoint.

A veritable army of cowbell-wielding spectators were out in full force, often drowning out the announcer. They were so loud, in fact, that race winner Jeremy Powers did not know he had won until he was nearly a quarter mile into his “extra credit” lap. I’m not sure if that was due to the quiet P.A. system, a small lap board, or the mud in his eye, but he pulled away from everyone quite quickly once they stopped pedaling.

I was shooting photos for the first time in twenty years, and being a little rusty, didn’t quite get my settings right. 180 mostly blurry shots was a bit frustrating, but I didn’t throw my camera down. I had a blast watching these guys carving corners, mashing the mud, and powering the long slippery straights.

The women had a tight race at the front, with Portland rider Sue Butler coming out on top over Canadian national champion Wendy Simms.

The men’s race was animated by the worst course conditions of the day, with even the best bike handlers sliding out around the tight corners and braking far more than usual. At least the rain had let up.

What left probably the biggest impression on me was Adam Craig’s surges and last lap bunny hops. After crashing and coming through the start/finish about 200 meters back, he powered his way up to an attacking Trebon and Jeremy Powers in the short span of about half a lap to briefly join the two leaders before another untimely mishap. On the last lap, he bunny hopped two barriers in succession to loud cheers from the happy crowd. National champion Tim Johnson seemed like his usual hard-working, gritty self on his way to third place, while Barry Wicks and Russell Stevenson also had impressive rides to finish fifth and sixth respectively.

Good crowds, a good Seattle drizzle, slick mud, good beer and sausages, old friends, and great riding. What more could I hope for in a night of cyclocross? Well, maybe some clearer photos. Next time.

Cross gives me a good reason to clean my bike every week and to keep riding as the weather gets bad. If I could give cyclocross a hug, I would.

Cyclocross is like a mostly healthy recreational drug (not that I would know about such things). The slipping of wheels, slamming of hips and faces in mud, gritting of teeth, and the sheer pain of it all feels oddly good.

A cross race is the perfect place to wring every ounce of energy out of your body for an hour, all for the unique feeling of total physical and mental elation for having finished.

Cross is great to watch too. Most bike races are not terribly spectator-friendly because you don’t get to see the racers very often, or the races are a long drive from anywhere, but cross is different. Spectators get to see the racers pass by every few minutes, often from multiple vantage points, and the races frequently take place at venues that are reasonably close to metropolitan areas. Bad weather is often a factor, but it never causes race cancellation. I’ve raced cross in heavy hail storms, snow, 10-inch deep mud, and below freezing temperatures.

I can recall my best placing at the district championships was fourteenth in the senior category B race, and I was happy with that. Why would any competitive person be happy with that? Cross is just so damn hard that sometimes finishing is a great reward in and of itself. A lot of people set the goal of not getting lapped.

One of the best things about cyclocross is the attitude. Gone is the testosterone-induced yelling and uber-competitiveness. Everyone seems to respect each other, no matter how talented or strong or skilled they are. Everyone cheers for everyone.

I will never forget my first cross race. It was back in the early 1990s before Seattle had enough racers to field more than one race each for men and women. I was about forty-five minutes into a sixty minute race when I heard a friend who was near the lead of the race, coming up behind to lap me. “Uh, Kelly?” he calmly asked. “Yeah?” I replied in between gasps of air. “When there’s room on the trail,” he said, “Could you please move to the right a little?” I said, “Sure,” and I moved to the right about ten yards up the trail.

That kind of understanding, laid-back attitude simply does not exist in any other aspect of bicycle racing. It’s as if each rider out there understands that everyone is going through the same grueling hell of an effort, and because of that awareness, there is a strong sense of empathy, and believe it or not, manners. As uncivilized as cyclocross can appear to be through all of the mud, sweat and rain, it is perhaps the most civilized form of bicycle racing. It’s definitely the most fun.