FLCC> Green Mountain Stage Race....

Thu Sep 20 18:01:37 EDT 2007

(sorry this took so long to get out...)

Hey All,

Let me start by saying sorry for the length, but then how often do I get
to write a report like this! Also forgive any arrogance. I will do my
best to tell it as I remember it, and offer my commentary through what
others said...

Labor Day weekend saw me back in Vermont for my favourite race of the
year... Green Mountain. Four days of climbing mountains and sharing a
condo with good friends. What more could you ask for. After a crazy year
of racing, I had two firsts with this race. One was I actually had two
and a half weeks at home (without travel or racing) to train properly.
The other first was that I didn't have to bury myself for the team at a
local BC race two days beforehand. I actually showed up to Green
Mountain rested and prepared...

Green Mountain comes at the time of year when everyone is looking to
sign contracts. The truly top tier teams like HealthNet don't show up,
so it's an opportunity for smaller professional squads and top amateur
teams to get a result at an important time. That isn't to say that some
top Pros like National champions Dominique Perras and Andrew Randall
don't make a showing. Green Mountain is a four day points race. Meaning
you get points for how you place each day and the rider with the most
points at the end wins. The points system is complicated. Check out
www.gmsr.info  if you want the full explanation.

Day 1 Prologue

The prologue was an 8 mile mass start hill climb. The first four miles
are flat (and neutralized,) followed by four miles of climbing that will
make a mountain goat gasp. If you don't start the climb in the top 20,
you're done, so the fighting to move forward during the neutral stretch
is intense. I started at the front and stayed there. As the real race
began, Fiordifruitta (the top amateur team in the country) got to the
front and drove a fast pace. I was the first to jump on their wheels and
began fighting as riders came up on my left and pushed me into the
gravel to take my spot. I elbowed my way just as the steep pitch began.
The field broke up quickly and I was in a good position. The pace was
hard but I felt like I had another gear in reserve. Half way up, three
riders including Mathieu Toulouse (EVA DaVinci) and Dustin McBurnie
(Team RACE) broke away. I thought about going with them but then decided
against it. My plan was to stay tempo until 500 meters to go and then
see what I could do. At 3K, I moved to the front and made a half-hearted
effort to catch the leaders. It was a bad move. Hard enough to soften my
legs and drop everyone but the 15 riders who counted. After a kilometer
and a half I dropped back into the field to catch my breath. At 500
meters it was all or nothing.... and the other riders showed me what
that meant. Andrew Randall (Symmetrics) sprinted up the road nearly
catching the leaders. The rest of my group chased around me, leaving me
to finish a very unhappy 19th.

I left the race fuming... After a year of riding big NRC stage races or
riding support for my team I had forgotten how to win a race. At the
NRCs, the chances of my riding away from powerhouse teams like
Toyota-United on a climb like that were... well they simply weren't. My
strategy at an NRC was always to conserve, hang in, and finish with the
leaders. It was the dead wrong strategy at a race where I stood a chance
of winning. I raced to my weakness - my jump. That ability to push a
huge wattage for a few minutes that's so critical in the last few
minutes of a race. My strength is my stamina. I can push a hard pace for
a long time. It's not that impressive over five minutes, but over 20+
minutes I can break a lot of legs. If I had played to my strengths, I
would have gone with Dustin. Instead I climbed below my max and waited
until the point in the race when it came down to who had the best jump.
The outcome was inevitable... I left the race assuming that my chance
for a podium was all but out of reach. Fortunately when I checked the
results, I saw that ten of us finished together and all got the points
for 9th place (41 points.) The winner got 50. I was lucky.

Stage 1

The second day consisted of three and a half laps of a 20 mile "flat"
loop... at least flat for Vermont. Meaning there was one 500 foot climb
per lap with rollers over the rest of the course. In 2004 I broke away
solo to win the Cat 3 race. Unfortunately, a solo attempt in the Pro
field didn't seem very smart, but a group of 6 or 7 was a different
story. I was still angry from the previous day and come hell or high
water I was getting into one of those breakaways today. 

There were no lack of opportunities. The moment our neutral rollout
ended riders started attacking fast and furious. I waited. I was happy
to sit in the field for the first lap and find my race legs. I hadn't
raced in 3 weeks and the pace hurt. There were KOM (king of the
mountain) points each lap up the one 500 foot hill and I wanted to use
them to practice "winning." The first time around I got to the front too
early and led the field, only to get passed in the final 100 meters.
Have to do better. On the second lap I started getting into the attacks
and noticed that Toulouse (the current race leader) was too. We got into
several breakaways but none survived. This time up the climb I started
too far back. I sprinted hard to the top but had way too large a gap to
bridge. Better, but not good enough. Continued attacks drove a fast pace
around to the start of the final lap...

Each time we crossed the finish line there was a sprint for points. The
sprint left the field disorganized and in 2004 I used that confusion to
slip away and hammer out a 20 mile solo time trial to win the Cat 3
race... just barely. The Pro field was a lot faster and smarter. My
friend said it was a suicide move in the 3s. I'm not sure what you'd
call it in this field. But I was still angry. Time to see if lightning
strikes twice. The field sprinted for the line, crossed and sat up. Then
I sprinted. I flew off the front and only one other rider went with me.
I was thankful I'd have some help. We got out of sight quickly. With any
luck we'd have two minutes before the field even realized we were gone.
My partner wasn't nearly strong enough. I had to do most of the work,
but he gave me the periodic break I needed to catch a drink and my
breath. After 6 miles we hit the climb and an official's car came up
alongside us to tell us our lead. "55 seconds -" damn it, not nearly
enough "- on a group of 6." That's better. "2 minutes on the field."
Perfect! Energized, I stormed up the climb. I heard my companion say
"I'm popped." Don't go solo, I thought, the smart thing is to wait and
work with the group of six. But I was still angry. No holding back. This
time I won the KOM. 

After the descent there was 8 miles/13km of rolling terrain to the
finish with frequent headwinds. The field could ride this stretch at
close to 27-28 mph/46 kph. I had to do something really special and pray
they were tired. I got down low on the bike and made sure I never saw
anything below 44 kph on my computer. The car came up alongside me
again... "35 seconds to the group of six." "And the field?" I asked. "We
don't know." Doesn't matter now. At four miles to go I hit a short climb
and sneaked a peak back as I crested. There were the chasers 30 seconds
back. And they saw me. Damn. I took the downhill corner with no brakes
and passed the 5 km sign. Quick math. Only 7 minutes of pure pain. I can
do that. 3km - I looked back and decided not to do that again. Way too
close... maybe 20 seconds. I willed my power meter to stay over 400
watts and started rocking to get every last watt. 2km - a climb, thank
god. 1km - I started listening for the inevitable sound of heavy
breathing and clicking gears. 500 meters - I heard nothing. 200 meters -
this was for real. Then the finish! I threw my hand in the air and
nearly screamed. I didn't have to, my friends on the sidelines were
doing it for me. I won. I tapped my brakes and that's all it took for
the group of six and the entire field to pass me... 200 meters too late.

After the points were tallied, I had the race lead by 46 points (I had
166 points total.) That group of six had stolen a lot of points from my
chief rivals who had remained in the field. I rode back to parking lot
excited to call my family. I put my bike down and got in my car... Now
those of you who read my reports know I like to poke fun at myself and
emphasize my mistakes. Admittedly this one's a little too embarrassing,
so let's just say you don't put your bike down in the parking lot after
a race. My bike didn't get out alive, and instead of spending that
evening celebrating, I spent it trying to borrow and set up a another
bike.

Stage 2

While preparing for Green Mountain, this stage had been my goal. Two
years ago, I had broken away on the final climbing, but not believing I
was strong enough, I didn't give it everything I had and got caught in
the last 3 kilometers. I wanted a second chance at that breakaway, but
it wasn't going to happen in the leader's jersey. There was no way the
field would let me get away. I'd have to ride with them to the top and
try to finish high in last kilometer... riding to my weaknesses again.
And if Toulouse won, I'd have to finish 7th to keep the lead. He beat me
by 19 spots in the prologue climb. 

At 104 miles with 3 mountain passes, it would be hard day even without
the leader's jersey. But by now, all of my rivals knew I had no
teammates to protect me. I guessed they'd do everything to isolate and
crack me. I guessed right. Within the first three miles large groups
started attacking and the field looked to me to chase them down. I
couldn't respond to everyone so my strategy was to mark what I felt were
the 4 strongest riders: Toulouse with EVA daVinci, Dustin McBurnie with
Team RACE, Andrew Randall with Symmetrics, and Dominique Perras with
Kelly Benefits. They had strong teams and I knew they'd be the
contenders for the win. Team RACE made it clear they were out to crack
me. Dustin kept me close, and attacked every time he saw me boxed in
(surrounded by other riders.) Then I'd have to get on the front and
chase while friends on other teams apologized that they couldn't help.
After 20 miles of this the field finally relaxed to prepare for the
first climb. We rode the base at tempo and all of the big contenders
moved to the front. Toulouse and Perras drove the pace watching to see
how the rest of us were fairing. Being early in the race (I get stronger
as it goes) and having a water bottle in my pocket, I gave them all the
signs I was hurting. I was. About 15 of us crested in the lead, only to
be caught by the field on the descent. Toulouse and Perras had the
evidence they needed - they could wait for the final climb and crack the
rest of us there.

There was a long stretch of flats to the second climb. The attacks
started back up. A breakaway of 6 guys went away... and missed a turn.
Then a pack of 3 guys low on the GC disappeared up the road and the
field slowed to a crawl. Perfect. The best thing that could happen was
for a small group to go away and win the stage. They couldn't take the
jersey from me, but they would steal all of the big points from my chief
rivals. I was happy, but soon the field started grumbling about the
pace. Riders began yelling at me to get it moving again. I didn't have a
team to put on the front, did they honestly wanted me to drive the pace
to the finish on my own? Anything to crack me. Out of spite, I attacked.
They chased me down and then sat up again. I went back to eating my
lunch. After another 20 minutes Dustin finally realized that that group
of 3 wasn't a threat to me, but they were to him and he sent Team RACE
to the front. As we reached the base of the second climb the official's
car told us the gap was 2 minutes. I wished it was more. There was a
feed zone at the bottom of the climb and I needed water. Without a
feeder, I had to ride slow and beg someone to give me a bottle. Someone
did, but I had fallen to the back of the pack by the time I got it. I
would have to climb hard to get to the front and not get dropped with
the slower riders. It didn't help that Toulouse was at the front driving
the pace. Finally with a kilometer to the top I reached Toulouse... and
decided to make a statement. I came around him and drove the field to
the top. My way of saying "it's not going to be that easy guys." By
attacking me all day, my chief rivals were turning this into a stamina
battle... and that played to my strengths.

As we came over the top, an official called out 7 minutes to the leaders
and 1.5 minutes to the chase group. Protests rung out from the field.
When did a group magically get seven minutes up the road?! Personally,
everyone I cared about was in my group, so... great! I led the field on
the descent and then Fiordifruitta and Team RACE set a hard pace on the
flats to swallow up the group at 1.5 minutes. Then the attacks continued
and I had to do more than my fair share of time on the front, but now
riders were starting to think about racing  for the win. At 18 miles to
go, we turned right onto a steep hill. I was on the shoulder of the road
boxed in. Dustin saw this and made his most dangerous attack of the
race. He and a teammate rocketed off the front taking four riders with
them. It was a minute before I could work my way to the front and chase.
We were close enough to the finish that they could stay away, and they
knew it. We turned onto a long dirt stretch and I put my head down. I
knew I'd get no help. Dustin kept looking back, seeing me on the
front... and I was closing the gap. It was all or nothing for both of us
and I caught them. As I passed Dustin, I looked at his face and saw that
his attacks were done. I had caught six by myself. To emphasize the
point, I jumped away on a short climb and forced the field to chase me.
Then I got into a few short-lived breakaways before finally falling back
to the field to prepare for the climb.

As we turned onto the final 9.5 mile climb, there was a group of four
about 20 seconds ahead of us. Pozniak with Team RACE jumped up to them.
I moved to the front of the field to respond, but then rethought.
Conventional wisdom says that the field wouldn't let me get away. The
best thing now was to conserve and wait for the final kilometer. Best to
let them go. But then a voice at the back of my head said "remember the
Prologue... play to your strengths." Oh what the hell! I moved sharply
left to get anyone off my wheel and jumped. To my surprise, no one
responded. Within a minute I was out of sight on the twisty roads. The
group of five looked back, saw the race leader chasing them, and GOT
motivated. They popped one rider instantly. I went around him and kept
chasing. Half way up the climb there was a flat stretch with a short
downhill. I had to catch them before we reached it and I didn't have
much time left. On the final uphill pitch I gave it everything I had and
closed the gap. Then a quick rest. They could lead the descents, but the
climbs were mine. I grabbed a drink on a short downhill and then it was
my turn! No going easy, not this year. A rider exclaimed "ease up
Trevor, you're killing us." That good anger was driving me. Too bad I
still needed them for the descent...

We finished the descent and the official's car told us one minute to the
field. A good lead, but with 5km at 9% left to go, it wasn't time to
start celebrating. No more working together. As we turned onto the
climb, I got to the front and set tempo. At 4k to go I looked back...
only one rider left with me. I drove on. At 2K, I was alone and the car
told me a minute twenty. The final kilometer of this course is nothing
short of brutal. For the past 3 years it had nearly broken me. Today, I
took one last look back, saw my lead, and for the first time enjoyed the
climb to the line. No point in a victory salute, there was still that
group 7 minutes up the road. My friends were there screaming. Then it
came over the PA "and your stage winner for the second day in a row,
Trevor Connor!" There was never a group up the road. I had won. In the
interview to follow, the announcer pointed out that only one other rider
had won both the road stages at this race: Mark McCormick, the year he
won the US Pro championships. I liked the comparison.

Stage 3

The final stage was a Crit. And there's no other way to say it... I was
terrified. I had a large 66 point lead, but it only took one crash or
finishing 30th with the rider in 29th letting a 2 second gap open at the
finish to lose the lead. Crits are critical in a points race. Teams are
critical in Crits. I'm not a Crit rider and I had no team. Even my
borrowed bike was against me with a shifting system I didn't know. I
spent the night before putting a sheet on my handlebars with all of the
top 10 in the GC and what place I'd have to finish if they won. 7th, if
the second place rider won... down from there.

I got to the race course on time to watch my friends Glenn Swan and
Ernie Bayles dominate the Master's Crit, winning the overall and the
sprinter's jersey. I was in awe and prayed that since we were on the
same team, some of their skill would rub off on me. Ernie gave me one
warning - start at the front, you can't move up on this course.

Fortunately being the race leader I got to start at the very front, and
I made sure I stayed there. The first 7 of 50 laps went well. Then the
eighth. The field took a turn too hard and 20 riders piled into the hay
bales. I stopped on time, but the rider behind me launched me onto the
tangled up pile of bikes and riders. After a minute of "pick-up sticks"
we ran to the pit and took our neutral lap. I sprinted out of the pit
hoping to get into the top 60 riders. Then as our group of 20 merged
with the field on the same corner, another huge crash went down.
Unfortunately, I dodged it and put myself dead last in the field. I was
about 80th, but then as we completed the lap, the riders from the second
crash were all allowed back in... ahead of me. What did Ernie say about
being able to move up? 

There was one critical downhill corner on the course that turned onto an
uphill. There were large potholes on the best line through the corner,
so the field tended to go wide. It was an opening. I risked the inside
line through the holes, sprinted the hill and moved up three spots. Not
enough. The next time around I took a page out of Glenn's book. I
sprinted the downhill and rocketed through the potholes. My rear wheel
bounced in the air, veered sideways, landed hard, skidded and then got
back in line. 6 or 7 spots. This would work... just keep the wheel on
the ground. I noticed the field was going faster than I'd ever seen on
this course. Did the leaders know I was on the back? After 10 laps I got
myself back in the top 60. Dustin was there. He saw me. Whether
intentionally or because he didn't like the corner, he started making
things hard. Each time we came into the corner, he'd get in front of me,
hit his brakes forcing me to hit mine harder and then sprint the hill
opening a gap that I'd have to close. He may have been testing me. If he
was he saw that I was tired. 

Slowly we worked our way to the front. Then as I took a quick drink
Dustin broke away and I had to get to the front to real him in. Attacks
continued. I wasn't going to get a rest. Finally, angry, I launched my
own attack. Three of us stayed away for a lap. There were 15 laps left
and I wanted to field to know I was ready. Finally we slowed for two
laps. Three riders from Toulouse's EVA squad came up on either side of
me... and squeezed in forcing me to hit my brakes. It shot me twenty
spots back into the middle of the field. Then Toulouse attacked taking 9
riders with him. Toulouse was third overall. I looked at my bouncing
handlebars and read that I'd need 7th if he won. There were ten riders
up the road. Damn it! I worked my way to the front and started
chasing... hard. For six laps. At one point a rider tried to help me and
the field yelled at him "it's the GC leader's responsibility, don't
help!" And I couldn't beat 9 guys alone. I was matching their speed but
killing myself to do it. Then I remembered that I only needed 7th IF
Toulouse won... but he was a climber and his chances of winning were
slim. However, if I cracked and another breakaway got away he wouldn't
need to win the stage. So, at 6 laps to go I sat up and let them go. I
got two laps of rest and then the attacks started and I had to cover
every one. Finally with two corners left, no one else had escaped and
now it would be a sprint. I finished a tired 29th. Enough to keep my
lead by 25 points. Going slower I could read my handlebars and realized
I had seen the wrong number for Toulouse. His breakaway was never a
danger...

After the race, a lot of people came and spoke with me. Three things
really stuck out. The first was the number of teams that admitted their
main goal for the last two stages was to crack me. In fact, the team
with the rider in second overall going into the Crit was so intent on
hurting me, they forgot that they needed to defend their spot. They paid
a hard price not helping me to chase... their rider got knocked off the
podium. Later, another rider anxiously walked up to me wanting to talk.
He commented that a lot of riders had said after stage 2 that I was
lucky. That I would be tired and they'd drop me in stage 3. "But I said
no way. I told them there`s only one or two riders in this field strong
enough to do that. And he`s not going to be tired the next day..."
Finally I was shocked by the number of people who knew how I'd broken my
bike... don't do dumb things when you win.

At the podium presentation the announcer asked me "what is this Chris
Cookies team and why do you race for such a small squad." I gave him my
best stern look and said "the important part of the name is
ChrisCookies/SWAN CYCLES. You just saw Glenn win the Masters race and I
couldn't have been prouder to win this race for any other team."

Thanks for reading,

Trevor

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