1990 - Milk Race to Nationals

Race bible cover with previous year's winner, Canadian Brian Walton

At long last it was the Milk Race, along with the Eastern Bloc Peace Race, the most important amateur stage race of the time. While the Peace Race had given me a hint of dread, the Milk Race instilled a sense of opportunity. The rolling and intense small and mountainous course was well suited to my racing style. Despite a spring marred by illness, I felt like I was as strong and sharp as I had ever been. 

I was under no illusion as to what this meant. The Tour de Trump and other earlier races had led me to feel I was just outside the top level. That meant I would need some luck to break through. It was possible that all my spring racing and training had delivered me here with the form to get there, but that was by no means certain. In my favor was my racing acumen; I was good at reading a race and knew when to burn my matches. I now had plenty of international experience, so I felt ready to take it on.

The route

In all the international races I had been in, it had never been the case that the national team manager directed us to ride for one rider. At the Tour of Belgium, my first international, one rider put up his hand to declare himself leader, but we were never directed to ride for him. I considered putting up my hand as that guy here, but I didn't because I was too timid. As usual, it would have to work itself out on the road.

The field was a strong one. Of course the British were all on point for their home race. Joey McLoughlin headed up the Ever Ready-Halfords team. There were two amateur British teams, many of the members of which I had run across before. There was also the almost sad-sack Crown Printers team, which went bankrupt in the midst of the race. It was the Banana-Falcon team, however, that looked strongest with Australian Shane Sutton, and most of Britain's then top talent including Chris Lillywhite, Chris Walker, and Rob Holden. 

The 'Eastern Bloc' teams didn't seem as formidable as in the past since the Berlin Wall came down in the summer of '89 and the Soviet Union was beginning to crumble. However, they were not to be discounted. Czechoslovakia had the Peace Race winner, Jan Svorada with a very strong supporting cast. Though he's not listed in the start list, the Soviets brought former junior world road race champion Pavel Tonkov. This would also be the last event a separate East German team would compete. 

Western Europe was represented by West Germany, France and the Netherlands, the South Pacific by Australia and New Zealand. Two small Belgian pro teams rounded out the field. Tulip Computers had classics man Frank Hoste and then current world pursuit champion Colin Sturgess. La Williams-Saltos had sprinter Jan Bogaert and a crew solely dedicated to getting him stage wins. Though he's not in the start list below, our fellow American Joe Parkin was there for Tulip Computers.

The start list

Our team was mash up of domestic based and Euro based riders. 

1990 USA Milk Race Team: From left: DS Chris Carmichael, Steve Larsen, Richard McClung, Scott Fortner, Matt Newberry, Matt Burinda, and Jeff Winkler...that's my Park Pre there.

Scott Fortner, Matt Newberry, and I were the domestic based riders. Steve Larsen was based in France as I believe Matt Burinda also was, and Jeff Winkler in Germany. I knew and had raced often with Steve, Matt, and Scott, but I was meeting (for real at least) Jeff Winkler and Matt Burinda for the first time. We all landed at Gatwick in London at roughly the same time and were picked up by our driver for the race with the race provided van. This was just a sampling of the nice touches that made the Milk Race exceptional. Our manager for the trip was Chris Carmichael, and Charlie Livermore the soigneur. The race organization provided us with a mechanic. 

Pick up at the airport: Charlie Livermore picking up the box. Steve Larsen center. That's Chris Carmichael with his back to the picture. 

Loading up the Van...Scott Fortner looking on

We were taken to an hotel spitting distance from the airport. It was Thursday, May 24th, and we got out for a ride as quickly as we could. There's no better way to rapidly adjust to your jet lag than by activity. We did a nice 40-mile roll 'round to Windsor. The better part of the ride was figuring out how to place ourselves on the road with everything opposite. I found the toughest thing to be choosing the correct side of the road upon turning left. 

To keep ourselves awake for the afternoon we took the underground into London and had a look around. We were all in our red Serac "USA" jackets checking out Piccadilly Square. The next day most of us did two rides and nailed down the road behavior. On Saturday May 26th we flew on a 'puddle jumper' prop plane to Cornwall at Penzance. The van was there to pick us up and whisk us to the hotel. Our bikes were already there for us to give the prologue course a look.

Our hotel was on a hill top overlooking the English Channel. We were starting our ride out to the prologue course and Steve Larsen set out slightly before the rest of us. When we turned on the road we saw Steve bombing down the hill on the wrong side of the road. We yelled as loud as we could to warn him, as there was a sharp right hand bend he was approaching. Sure enough a car was coming up the other way. Steve narrowly avoided colliding head-on.

"That was a close one!" was all he said when we caught up to him on the coastal road. 

We rode up the coast and got a nice look at St. Michael's Mount. We paused briefly in Penzance where the start line would be.

St. Michael's Mount

Penzance Harbor

 The course went south along the coast on a flat road to Newlyn where it deviated to a smaller coastal road to Mousehole. There was a little fast downhill leading into a series of three narrow sharp turns in Mousehole followed by a testing hill up past the Church of Paul. It rolled on past that and turning onto the B3315 fast downhill back to Newlyn. It was then the same flat road we came out on back to Penzance.

The first left hander in Mousehole...note the welcoming artwork above the door.

Highest Point on the prologue and headed back downhill

Back into Newlyn

My numbers

The next morning we went for a nice roll 'round along the coast for an hour and a half, and readied for the prologue that afternoon. 

It was a pretty fun prologue TT I thought. The turns in Mousehole took some amount of fine judgement, the hill required pacing. The descent back into Newlyn was fast. Scott Fortner posted the best early time at 12:36 which held up to about half way through the order. Cayn Theakston, of Tulip Computers bested Scott's time with a 12:01. Many others filled in the space between Scott's early effort and what would be Theakston's winning time, including Matt Newberry and me. Matt had our top result in 16th at 12:30. I followed in 20th at 12:35. Scott wound up 24th.

I put about all I had into my prologue. Given that I was usually at best a slightly above average time trial rider, and Colin Sturgess himself declared "This isn't a prologue, it's a bloody time trial", I was pleased with my effort. I rolled to our van where our driver, a man a just bit older than we all were, was leaning against the driver side door. I came to a stop and he says what sounded to me like "eee say a po ay'a tray?" He was from Blackpool which is just to the north of Liverpool and Manchester. From earlier contact with British racers through the years, I knew that people from this area were often particularly difficult to understand. 

"What?" I responded. I was out of breath and fairly whipped from my effort. He repeated more or less the same thing and after asking him to repeat himself four or five times, I finally told him I just couldn't understand what he was saying.

He sighed, and persisted, "Ay Po" he enunciated. There was a slight hint of a 'wl' at the end. I shook my head. He said it again a little more slowly and I ventured, "A Pole?, like, a Polish guy?" He excitedly indicated I was at last getting it, and immediately launched into what sounded to me like "E a'ya tray. eya sayat?" I put my hands up as I was helpless to understand him. 

He sighed again impatiently and started barking at me, "a tray!" over and over again until it occurred to me: "Oh, a tree". He lit up a little and says, "Yeh, a po it a tray". And finally I got it: did I see the Pole that hit a tree. I repeated it back to him and he nodded in the affirmative. I responded, "No, I didn't see that", because indeed I had not. This was the first I'd heard of it.

Prologue results

In the morning, we had a short transfer westward to Land's End, the westernmost point on the British island. Stage one was 114 miles to Plymouth. 

Stage one: Land's End - Plymouth

The climbs on the course weren't terribly daunting, and no one was in a particular hurry to kick things off straight away. Jeff Winkler eventually popped off the front before the 2nd KOM, and picked that up, as well as the Farmhouse Cheese Sprint for the stage. He was reeled in shortly after that. The field rolled along until we approached Plymouth. Chris Walker of the Banana-Falcon team attacked with East German Hardy Groeger glued to his wheel. I was reasonably close to the front, and thought this to be a good opportunity. I had to fight a bit to get in position to try a bridge, and began my effort on a long straight wide stretch of road going slightly downhill but would soon tilt upward. I would have hoped to make my move earlier, but having to fight for the front to get in position had wasted some precious time. As it was now, it looked to me right on the edge of a bridge too far. 

The field was at that moment 'rolling over' and spreading across the road. I got a big gap very quickly, and closed half the gap in just over a minute. Now came the hard part. The road was turning slightly uphill, and I had to dig in and close the last bit. They were now about 100 meters ahead, but I was still closing. I got to the point where I thought just one more minute or so would get me there. I could see them clearly, and had noticed the East German wasn't taking very many or very good pulls. Then, with what I thought to be maybe 30-seconds more, and still closing, Chris Walker looked back and saw me. He immediately redoubled his effort. I tried to match him but could only manage that for a short time. I began to lose ground and finally had to give up and go back to the slow moving bunch. 

Walker pulled their lead eventually to four and a half minutes, popping Groeger off his wheel. The field finally started riding and shaved the lead to a minute and five seconds by the finish. It was a fairly tough finish circuit, and four riders clipped off the front to steal a few seconds from the field led in by Jan Bogaert. I arrived buried in the bunch but moved up two spots on GC. Matt Burinda had arrived at the race with a dodgy knee, and didn't finish.

Stage 2 Plymouth - Weston-Super-Mare

Stage two began with Chris Walker in the leader's jersey, and our Jeff Winkler in the black Farmhouse Cheese Sprint leader's jersey. The stage had a lumpy start with a flat to downhill trend finish. 

Our driver Jon before Stage 2

Scene ahead of Stage 2. Our mechanic's car there. Steve Larsen is having a chat with Frank Groendahl

The skies were a bit foreboding at the start and it started raining shortly after we started. Shane Sutton of Banana-Falcon and Czech Pavel Padrnos attacked over the first KOM and stretched out a seven minute lead. The chase was eventually started by the Soviets who picked up their feed early in the feed zone, and immediately put the hammer down. The Soviets cut the gap in half but now with the hills done, La Williams and Tulip took over the chase and ran the two leaders down. Jan Bogaert won; we had Jeff Winker in 7th. The big news of the day was that Jan Svorada had stopped, apparently due to injuries from a crash. I had a fairly easy day of it, sitting in and staying out of trouble, because the first really big day of the race was coming up next.

Stage 3 Cardiff - Aberystwyth 

After the finish of stage 2 we had transferred from Weston-Super-Mare to Cardiff for the start of stage 3 from Cardiff to Aberystwyth. The weather was cloudy but dry, thankfully, as we faced a tough 108-mile day on narrow farm roads and some very steep climbs. Most notable of these were the Devil's Staircase, the steep bit just short of a mile long at 20%, and the longer but bit less steep Gamallt immediately following. After the Gamallt it was 25 rolling miles to the finish.

The stage started off fast and the competition was on for the first two KOMs. Despite this, the field was together when we started the long slog up the uncategorized Upper Chapel. There were a lot of attacks, and I managed to get in a few moves but got brought back before Shane Sutton again stole away, this time with New Zealand's Tom Bamford. The field shut down and their lead ballooned. 

The ten miles leading into the Devil's staircase were on rolling, narrow, twisting roads lined by ivy covered stone walls. There were sheep standing all around adding to the nervous temperament of the bunch fighting for position. I was in the top third of the bunch looking for every opportunity to move up, but was mired in my spot, gaining a spot here, losing a spot there. We hit the Devil's Staircase with me in exactly the same position as when we had entered the narrow roads. The climb was my only opportunity to move up. I put everything into doing so. 

That's me furthest right, just getting to the front of the 2nd split. Photo from Cycling Weekly

 

My smallest gear was a 39x24. I ground that gear past many in the bunch from which 15 had moved clear about half way up the hill. Close to the top I was near the front of the 2nd split, and the front 15 had moved away. My alarm bells were going off and I jumped away crossing the summit alone. I bombed down the other side, putting away my fears. The road was no wider than a common city bike path, and was of the type where there's a hump in the middle with two depressed tire tracks on either side, with either road edge rising from there. Grass often poked through the gravelly crest of the hump in the middle. There were no stone walls here and sheep were grazing on the hillside and a few of them were warily watching us fly by on the road. The idea of one of them running into the road terrified me.

The group of 15 were within reach by the bottom however, and with a bit of effort across the valley, I reached them just as the Gamallt started. I survived the climb and we were moving fast down the other side. Joey McLoughlin punctured and after Tony Doyle gave him his wheel another large group of nearly 40 riders swept up McLoughlin. Eveready's chase linked the large group up with our group.

Sutton and Bamford had a five or so minute lead and running them down wasn't likely. There were a lot of attacks and I was active in most of them. Each time however, Chris Lillywhite or Chris Walker dragged us back. I started initiating moves and again the two Banana-Falcon riders ran us down. The miles were ticking down and I was getting frustrated. I tried two solo moves but again got snuffed out. Then a Czech, Miloslav Vasicek attacked with Jim Van de Laer from Tulip and French rider Didier Thueux. I tried to bridge but was shut down again. Rob Holden countered and bridged across.

I was furious. I complained to Lillywhite, "You chase me down seven times and let the Czech go up the road? Why am I so special?". I was left to roll in with the bunch, in 33rd place 4:58 behind Sutton and Bamford. The group of three that had jumped away finished 2:58 down, and Rob Holden of the Banana team jumped away late to finish 3:56 down. Shane Sutton won the stage and moved into the race lead. I moved a spot down overall to 19th as Bamford moved up to 2nd. I was the only one of our team to make the main bunch. 

Stage 3 results. 

GC after stage 3

I had put a lot of energy into the stage for little tangible reward, and the next day was another day of steep climbing with a hill-top finish. I tried to relax and reframe my focus forward. It helped that Aberystwyth was a pleasant sea-side town, and made for a nice calming short walk in the streets after dinner. 

Stage 4 - Aberystwyth - Llandudno

Stage four moved farther north into Wales from Aberystwyth to a hill top finish at the Grand Orme in Llandudno. The main feature of the day was the Bwlch-y-Groes, a 2.2 mile long slog averaging 11% and maxing at 25%. The finish climb on the Grand Orme was not so bad. It was a longish fairly gentle grade, bordering on a big ring effort. That it was the finish, however, was what made it hard.

Paul Curran of the Crown Printers team took an early flier and built a solid lead while the bunch rolled along. Ruud Poels of Holland took up a solo chase but couldn't close the gap. The roads were flat to the foot of the Bwlch-y-Groes, and as we got closer the roads narrowed and the fight to be up front was fierce. I again got caught too far back, and had to use the climb to move up. I was doing a fair job of that, and could see the front split just in front of me. On climbs so steep as this though, gaps that seem so small are actually quite large in time. Nonetheless, I was closing the gap up, but got caught behind a big Dutch rider who started zig-zagging across the narrow road, trying to in effect lessen the grade. I was looking for a way past, but there was no place where the road widened. I tried next to time a move past him. I moved to the far right of the road, and as soon as he moved left, I tried to move past. He zagged back right before I could get by however, and he knocked me over. I swore and rolled over on my back. An old spectator with a pipe in his mouth picked me up and pushed me back into action. By the top I passed back by the Dutch guy (the grade had lessened) who had knocked me over, and closed to a few seconds behind the front bunch. 

The descent was very fast and there were splits. There was a bit of a cross wind at the bottom and as I was at the back, was in a fast moving single file line of riders. Stopped traffic was lined up on the right side of the road and riders were darting in and out of gaps between cars. I was nearly on the verge of cracking and my head dropped. In that moment of inattention, I almost collided head on with a parked car, the driver flashing it's headlights at me. I just managed to swerve left, and clipped the car's side mirror with my right forearm. Magically the pressure lifted. The road turned, or some shelter from the wind came up. The bunch relaxed and I recovered, now safely in the bunch. I was again our team's only representative here and there was a tepid chase. KOM leader Gary Baker and French rider Laurent Mazaud had bridged over to Poels over the Bwlch-y-Groes, but they never caught Curran. Poels took 2nd, Mazaud 3rd, with Baker holding off the bunch for 4th. There was the usual fight for position to the bottom of the climb, and I had to be lucky to get in the right cycle of the field. I was not lucky, and didn't have much snap in the finale. I could only just stay on the wheel in front of me. There were gaps here and there, and I lost a bit of time, falling to 25th overall.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KrslvcHvbSU&t=215s

Stage 4 summary I stumbled upon: Jeff Winkler appears at :24 sprinting for Farmhouse Cheese Sprint points. Steve Larsen can be seen at 2:44 on the Bwlch-y-Groes, and  I'm at 3:11 as Shane Sutton goes by.

I had hoped for much more out of the last two stages. I knew I needed some luck for things to go my way, but I never got that luck. Oftentimes, it was the case that if I tried too hard, in effect trying to make my own luck, the opposite happened. After two stages of putting in a good amount of effort, things were slowly slipping away from me in spite of that effort. I felt I was strong enough and fit enough to race among the best here, but I just was never in the right place at the right time. I had before had success racing with a more Zen approach, but I couldn't see that helping me in this situation. I was missing something; which for lack of a better word I'd call presence. I didn't have the combination of strength, comfort, knowledge and confidence to just let things happen and end up in the right place. I felt like I was close, but not close enough. I had been seeing the moves that worked go, and knew they were going to work, but hadn't been in position to do anything about it, or had to work too hard to try to correct it. It's easy to say now that I needed the team to get me there, but that wasn't really my call. It also isn't so clear that would have helped anyway.

Stage 5A Chester - Stoke-on-Trent

The efforts of the last two days and lack of results for it had left me feeling tired and a little despondent. A double-stage day followed. First up was a 55-mile stage from Chester to Stoke-on-Trent that should have been a formality, but ended up being one of the hardest stages for me. It was a cold day with on and off rain and blustery winds. An acceleration for what seemed to be only about the KOM points at the top of the almost non consequential Kelsall By-Pass turned into a big split of 30 that we had missed entirely. Carmichael came up in the car and told us to start chasing. He was disappointed and frustrated with us, likely mostly with me, for missing the split. Indeed, I had let my attention wander because I was tired and disappointed with how things were going. If I really had designs on turning things around, I needed to be alert. We got to the front and put up a chase. I was suffering but doing my turns well enough. Matt Newberry told me stop pulling since I was our GC leader. Because I was tired, I took this suggestion. Really though, my GC position wasn't worth defending. 

The guys weren't making a dent in the lead, only holding it even. Carmichael came up in the car again and yelled at me to get up there. I didn't protest that I had been 'kicked out'. After a while it was apparent that my help wasn't making any more of a difference. We would gain a little time back, then lose it on next check. Fortunately for us, the French GC leader had also missed the split, and when they realized we weren't going to be able to do it on our own, his teammates came up to help. 

With the French we slowly began to chip into the front group's lead. Two of the French team were in the front split, and when it became apparent that we were closing in, began disrupting the lead group's paceline. This pissed off Rob Holden, who grabbed onto one the French riders, bringing them both down with several others. Since Holden was 3rd on GC, the Banana-Falcon guys had to let off. We caught them back shortly after Holden regained the front, just on the beginning of the Mow Cop. Fortunately for us, everyone was tired and the only aggression on the climb was for the KOM points. I had another foreboding problem: my breathing had turned stiff during the chase.

In the midst of all this, Steve Farrell of the Great Britain national team and Jim Van De Laer of Tulip took advantage of the lull in the front group to go off for the stage win. Apparently it was Farrell's home region, and he took a popular win, though Van De Laer complained of foul play in the sprint. 

Stage 5B Birmingham Criterium

There was still the second stage of the day to come, a 29-mile criterium in Birmingham. It was dumping rain at the 6:00 pm start, and there were calls to make the stage not count towards GC. The commissaires refused even though it was pointed out that by UCI rules, the circuit was too short (I forget what the actual rule was, but in International stage races, circuits had a minimum lap distance...3 or 5 km or something like that). The Pro teams took matters into their own hands and the deal was that we would parade until 5-laps to go. The truce held, and Jan Bogaert won in front of Joey McLoughlin. Jeff Winkler snuck into the top 10 with 9th.

Overnight, it was clear to me that I was coming down with bronchitis again. The race doctor came by after breakfast, checked me out, and gave me a course of antibiotics. I was completely devastated. In the past two months I had been in the biggest races I had ever been in, with great form, only to fall sick. In the Peace Race, I was taken out by two crashes and a broken collar bone. At Trump and here at the Milk Race, it was my own frailty that had let me down. After the doctor had left, Carmichael struck up a conciliatory tone, and said, "Rich, the only way you're going to get anything out of this is if you finish." 

I had been thinking that there was no way I could even force myself to continue. My despondent state and health were reasons enough to stop. With this however, I now felt like I had two choices, quit and be faulted for quitting, or potentially ruining myself by going on. I elected to finish out of spite.

Stage 6 Coventry - Nottingham

Stage 6 was fairly innocuous but it was also a windy, cold, rainy day. There were cross winds that caused splits through the day, but it always came back together. My breathing was terribly labored and it took quite a bit of effort for me just to stay in the wheels. Late on in the stage, Pavel Tonkov got away and stayed out for the win. Banana-Falcon put up a chase but only got to just within a minute. The steady pace of the chase helped me stay in the bunch.

Stage 7 Chesterfield - Hull

 A mostly nondescript stage from Chesterfield to Hull, was pushed by a raging southerly wind that made for a pretty easy day. For me that was good because I was still having a lot of trouble breathing. There was at least one rider who had a worse day than I: 2nd overall Tom Bamford. He punctured after about 10 miles and then had to stop again as the quick release broke. He had two teammates with him but the field, pushed by the tailwind was just moving too fast. They ended up losing 28 minutes. There were some hairy crashes coming into Hull which I managed to avoid. There were only 50 or so riders left on the finish circuits and the pace was very high. I got popped off the back. East German Frank Augustin edged out Joey McLoughlin for the win.

Monday, June 4th was the rest day. We went out for a gentle 40 miler. I sat on the back of the rest of the guys while they did a 10-minute effort. 

Stage 8 Bridlington - Middlesbrough (Cleveland)

The rain came back for a really tough stage with loads of steep climbs on narrow roads. While I was still healthy I was looking forward to this stage, now I wondered if I would survive it. I managed to stay in the bunch until the 2nd KOM at Nettledale where I was dropped gasping for air. I went over the top alone on a barren hill top infested with sheep. I soldiered on and eventually got caught up by a group of five, three of which were on the Crown Printers team. The broom wagon was our follow car. Every 20 miles or so, the driver would lean out the window and call out, "C'mon lads, climb off!". The same Crown Printers guy would look back and shout, "Fuck off!". After a long while of riding we came into an expansive barren valley colored by a patchwork of earth tones. I asked the Crown Printers guys if this was the Moors. "Yeah, it's bloody American Werewolf in London territory 'ere." one of them called back. I got talking with these guys and found out their team was disbanding after the race. "It's back on the dole for me" one them said. I found myself counting my blessings.

Up ahead the field stayed largely together despite the weather and terrain. Joe Parkin, Nigel Bishop of the GB national team, and Danny Neskins from La Williams were making a go of it, and Tom Bamford tried bridging over the last KOM, but it all came to naught for a bunch sprint into Middlesbrough. The East Germans won again with Uwe Preissler. 

Stage 9 Sunderland - Carlisle

Somehow I felt better during the 9th stage from Sunderland to Carlisle across northern England. While it took some effort, I managed to stay in the bunch. It was a pretty uneventful day really, except that a Polish rider hit a sheep while trying to bridge a gap over the top of Hedley Hill. It was truly remarkable there weren't more sheep collisions. The day started dry with some rain into the finish. Though it was a pretty tough stage, it again came down to a bunch gallop. Great Britain's Matt Stephens had jumped away on the Bollihope Common, and while Dutch rider Frank Groenendall and France's Andre Urbanek tried to bridge they got only as close as 20 seconds. Stephens got swept up in the finish circuits, and Jan Bogaert won his third stage.

Stage 10 Penrith - Morecambe

The race turned south for stage 10 from Penrith to Morecambe. The profile made the stage look harder than it was, but my condition turned sour again. It was another cold rainy day with a strong headwind. 2nd from last on GC, Soviet Sergei Zaroubine went solo early on and by mid stage at the Seat, had 15-minutes. French rider Bruno Huger had made an attempt to go after Zaroubine, but only got to 2-minutes off and cracked on the Seat. I also cracked on the Seat, and found myself back with the Broom Wagon and the Crown Printers guys. Zaroubine forged on, but was caught just 2-miles from the finish. Bogaert won again. 

Stage 11 Lancaster - Salford

The end was in sight. The second to last stage from Lancaster to Salford was not terribly imposing, and only 73 miles. The only problem for me was that there was a heated competition for the KOM jersey between British pro Gary Baker and Czechoslovakia's Miloslav Vasicek. Again gasping for air, I was dropped almost straight away. I fought back with a small group before getting pitched off at the 2nd KOM, back to the broom wagon and some familiar faces. 

Baker got the better of Vasicek for the KOM jersey, and the field rumbled into Salford en masse for another bunch gallop. East German Frank Augustin outdid Bogaert and McLoughlin for his 2nd stage win. 

Stage 12 Manchester - Liverpool

The final flat stage from Manchester to Liverpool was exactly what I had hoped for, a nice spin with racing beginning only in the final hour or so. Unfortunately it was also pouring rain and cold. Despite the easy pace, it was hard for me in the cold weather which tightened up my lungs and gave me coughing fits. I made it to the finish circuits though and rolled in the with the field, which despite attacks from Frank Augustin and Joe Parkin, came in together for a bunch sprint. The winner for the fifth time was Jan Bogaert, and 2nd for the 5th time, was Joey McLoughlin. 

The Milk Race was so classy

We attended the race end reception in Liverpool, and flew home the next day. 

I have alluded to but not explicitly spoken about what a first class operation the Milk Race was. At this point I had been to international stage races in Belgium, Italy, Poland and East Germany, Guatemala, Mexico, Argentina, and Costa Rica. All of these events put us up in everything from very nice to downright terrible accommodations. Food provided had the same range. The Milk race ranged from very nice to excellent on all counts. The race operation, the transportation, anything one needed was taken care of promptly and completely. Tour de Trump perhaps came close to matching the Milk Race for an overall excellent race experience, but the Milk Race was a level above. 

My mental state coming out the race was somber. I wanted so much more out of it. I put a lot into it and got little reward. But I was far from completely sunk into an emotional morass. Chris Carmichael had a couple of very frank discussions with me about my future with the national team after I got sick and it wasn't favorable. I knew that I had been given opportunities and hadn't delivered. Whether it was because I was unable or the victim of circumstances was immaterial. There was a lot of younger talent coming up behind me (even if I was only 24) and I had had my chances. I wasn't one to cry over spilt milk (no pun intended). 

There was still quite a bit of the race season left. I had to get healthy again and go about business. If the national team was looking to write me off, I could always try to prove them wrong.

************

My Park Pre, freshly reassembled from the Milk Race, back in Paul Sery's house in Albuquerque. The particulars I remember: Dura-Ace group (8-speed days I think) 53x39. Tange Prestige steel tubing. Cinelli 64/42 bars, Cinelli 1A stem 12. 54cm frame w/ 56 Top tube. These are likely my training wheels, probably 32h Dura Ace hubs w/Mavic MA40s. Saddle Avocet Racing II which was basically a Selle Italia Turbo. Bottle cages American Classic.

I arrived back in Albuquerque on Sunday June 10. I went out for an easy hour with friends the next morning. The Tour of the Gila was starting the next Wednesday and there were a lot of racers in town stopped over before pushing on to Silver City. I planned on doing Gila, but needed to rest and clear my lungs. The antibiotics had done their work and I was mostly clear, I had just a little cough. I was headed down to Silver City anyway as I got a call from Velo News to cover the race for them. I caught a ride with my teammate Dave Anthes, who came through from Boulder.

I had a good time down there and went for easy rides in dry, warm weather around Silver City. The little cough I had got worse however, and after getting back home to Albuquerque, took the next five days off to clear it up. To keep myself from eating too much I spent hours shooting baskets on neighborhood playgrounds. On June 22nd the Watermelon Classic, a crit and RR around Sandia mountain was on, and I didn't want to miss it. I came into them cold and finished in the bunch in the crit. In the RR my breathing acted up again near the top of the dirt climb and I backed off and coasted back to town. I took three more days off and left for the Casper Classic on Tuesday June 26th. 

I felt healthy again now, but with all starts and stops, I felt at low ebb. My energy felt good though for the first time since starting the Milk Race. Casper Classic was a tough 5 day stage race with some heavy climbing and crosswinds. I could feel that I was ready to build back up; get back some strength and snap. 

The prologue was only 1k, but very steep up to Rotary Park in Casper. I didn't try too hard, and finished 62nd, 16 seconds off the winner's time. The time back to 62nd should tell you all you need to know about how significant the prologue was. I went with the early attack in the first stage Freemont Canyon RR. The only problem was my break mates were Alexi Grewal and Mike Carter. I figured with such high profile companions the break wouldn't be given much rope, and that much was true. I pulled until I cracked, which happened with about 30-miles to go. I think a reduced group ran Alexi and Mike down. I can't exactly remember though.

There followed a crit, and a mass start hill climb, both for which I didn't try too hard. The Shirley Basin RR was the next stage I hoped to try something. It was flattish course with heavy crosswinds. Most of the crosswinds were coming from the right, so the draft was across the yellow line, and the officials were making a mess of enforcing the yellow line rule; enforcing it selectively after threatening very strict enforcement. They picked off individuals but let big groups get away with it. It was complete bullshit. I complained to the chief ref in the car, then sat up and just rode it in. 

More crosswinds hit the penultimate stage, a rolling circuit race. I was having a tough time of it but hanging in. It was terribly nervous though and there were a lot of crashes. I finally got taken out by one of them. I got back up, briefly gave thought to chasing, but thought there was no value in it. I wasn't going to be able to help my teammates, and the final stage was a crit. I put it in the small ring, turned off the course and rode to our host house. 

The race in Casper ended on July 4th, that year a Wednesday. I had a ride back to Boulder with Dave Anthes, but had to take a bus down to Albuquerque. I had a few days there before I had to go to Bend, OR for the Cascade Classic. I did a few easy rides with friends and there was a training race out in the mountains east of Albuquerque, it just so happened, on my birthday on a Sunday. It was all local riders but all my Shaklee teammates were out of town for other races. I was heavily marked, and the top local guys there were solid racers. It was hard going but I managed to make it to the bottom of "Heartbreak Hill" with the lead four riders. From there it was an easy win. No big deal, but great training.

With the exception of the Santiam-McKenzie Pass stage, the Cascade Classic had always seemed to me a giant motor-pacing session. The race always attracted a top quality field, and results there highly sought after. The pace is always fast there. I started things off by missing my start time in the prologue by 8 minutes. I went with the early break in the Santiam-McKenzie Pass stage, got caught before McKenzie Pass, and got shelled. I rode wheels in the Mount Bachelor stage and sprinted to 7th (4th in the field sprint). 

Next up was the National Championships, and I was feeling pretty good but not great. My girlfriend (of just 3 weeks) dumped me just before I left, because she said I was never around (fair enough, and I was really just her rebound guy anyway). I was a little depressed about that, but was going into Nationals feeling a lot like for me it was just another race. Talk was that we were putting our chips on Nathan Sheafor for the RR, and indeed he had been riding very well. Nobody was putting any pressure on me, least of all myself. Since getting home from the Milk Race, it had taken me longer than I would have liked to get fully healthy, and knew that Casper and Cascade would be about get back some sharpness. I never got to the point where I felt great though, and didn't know where I really was in terms of form. I began to think maybe I was trying too hard.

I had a full day of flying to Albany on Friday, July 20th, made even longer by a wave of thunderstorms that delayed and ultimately diverted my final leg from Chicago to Albany. I got routed through Buffalo and changing to another plane I worried that my bike might not get on the plane. As I took my seat, looking out the window, I saw a baggage train pulling away with my bike box in plain view. 

Finally arriving in Albany in the evening I reported my lost luggage. I called the hotel for our manager who came with the van to take me to our downtown hotel, right on the road course. 

The national championships had a new feature this year: qualifying heats. This happened in response to a change in the qualifying process. Previously, one qualified for the national championships via the various state road championships (each state had an allotment based on membership), or by pre-selection usually by being on the national team. This was changed to a system by which all Category 1s were now eligible, and with that the process for upgrading to Cat 1 was much easier. It used to be the joke that no one was a Cat 1, because to be a Cat 1, you had to at least have international experience. Now it was changed to the same as upgrading from any other category, 6 top 6s, or 3 top 3s. The result was too many Cat 1s, and the need to have qualifying heats to bring the field down to a manageable size.

I was in heat 3, but after breakfast still did not have my bike. I really did not want to have to ride something else and have to fuss about trying to get everything in the right place. I busied myself calling the airline to ask if they knew where my bike was. Eventually they told me it would arrive in Albany at about 10:00, and would I like it delivered. "No" I told them, I will pick it up. I took the team van and drove flat out to the airport and picked up my bike box. I drove flat out back to the hotel and immediately got my bike put together (Shaklee did not have a full time team mechanic, and we didn't have one here). I had packed my bag before leaving, and so changed my clothes in the van and rolled over to the course. I had 15 minutes to spin out my legs before starting. 

The heats were roughly 30 miles long. A few guys slipped away in our heat and the rest of us would sprint for it. I was plenty confident. The sprint was slightly uphill after a more steep lead in. I had no problem and got 2nd in the bunch gallop. 

The course was on the hillside that sloped up out of the Hudson River valley away from downtown. I don't remember exactly the streets used, but the top of the course ran through Washington Park and SUNY Albany. The S/F was right by the state capitol building. The roads through the park were curvy and fun to ride and eventually turned back downhill towards the river. The rest of the course was on straight, wide streets. The roads were steeper closer to the river and while flatter up by the park never totally flat. It was a deceptively tough course, the hill never enough to make you shift to the wee ring, but enough to make you want to pace yourself. The rise to the finish line was at about a 2% grade. The lap was about 4 miles.

Shot of the Women's RR headed for the S/F from the hotel room window

The Women's RR preceded our race in the morning. I got a shot of the field rolling by from my room window. Ruthie Mathis and Marion Clignet escaped the bunch with 40 miles to go. Ruthie dropped Clignet at two laps to go and soloed in. Karen Bliss got away from the bunch late and soloed in for 3rd.

It was hot, approaching 90 degrees, and very humid as we took the line. They announced the national team, calling us to the line first. It was a little weird for me to hear the announcement, "from Albuquerque, New Mexico" and then my name. I had only recently changed my official address with the USCF from Wisconsin to New Mexico. I had been there off and on for three years and was just beginning to feel completely at home there. As they called riders to the line, it was almost annoying how much the national team lived in Boulder. The next biggest allotment were those of us from Albuquerque at four. A casual bystander might have thought it a lopsided battle of New Mexico vs. Colorado. 

It was not of course. Eddy B's Subaru-Montgomery team was the big favorite to pull off the win, but we of Team Shaklee, and Len Pettyjohn's Crest team would be standing in their way along with a big variety of very strong riders on smaller regional teams. 

The race started fast with a lot of attacks. A group started forming and we didn't have anyone there. I jumped across and we were off. It was a group of 10 with Subaru's Jim Copeland and I the biggest names in there. Everyone was working smoothly. I didn't put much into it because I was sure the move wouldn't last. That Copeland and I were in here would spark a chase. Others in our move were putting a lot effort into it so I could relax as much as I could and just roll through. 

The field pulled us back after about 40 miles. Copeland asked me to attack again with him just as we were getting caught. We got a decent gap but the chase was furious and we got brought back pretty quickly. Copeland attacked again and was given some rope. 

My focus now went to trying to help Nathan Sheafor. If a split happened without him, we chased. If Nathan made a split, we sat up. For some reason though, everyone seemed to think Nathan was the golden ticket. Every split he made provoked a prompt and furious chase. This battle raged on for several laps. In the midst of this, coming up to the line about half way through the race, I suddenly got nauseous, and vomited. What came up was just water. No bile at all, just water. I had been pounding water all day because of the heat, but now I had to just pour most of it over me instead of drink it. Vomiting didn't make me feel better, but it also didn't make me feel worse. Copeland eventually got reeled in.

Cover of 'Cycling USA'. I'm pretty sure that's me on the front there, Mark Waite just behind.

Things had come to a stalemate where we insisted on Nathan making the final move, and everyone else running down every move Nathan made. Finally, with about 35 miles to go, on the curvy roads in Washington Park, a small move countered one of Nate's attempts. I was attached at the back just to cover it. I looked back and the field was rolling over, everyone looking at each other. 

There were six of us, Paul Willerton with Gatorade-Dihatsu, Frank McCormack from the good ol' Mass Bay Road Club, Matt Newberry for Crest, Skip Hyde (don't recall his team), my fellow Albuquerque resident Bart Bowen for Subaru-Montgomery, and me. Paul Willerton came from California, a product of the Plymouth/Reebok junior program. I didn't know much about young Frank McCormack, since he didn't race away from the East Coast much (and I didn't too often race east of the Mississippi). Matt Newberry from Reno I knew very well. Skip Hyde was a skinny climber type from Colorado with surprising power from Colorado.

I didn't contribute to the group. I had quickly accessed that I wasn't our team's best option here. I had been active the entire race and now I was up against much fresher opponents. Normally, I would consider myself roughly equal to everyone in the move, but I didn't have much left. Though I didn't know much about him, I did know Frank McCormack had a good sprint. I considered Bart Bowen the biggest danger though. I thought him capable of dropping us all. In any case, I wasn't pulling. If I were to have any chance if we stayed away, I needed to conserve.

At first no one seemed to care. The complaints eventually came though, but I refused to pull. They complained some more so I pulled weakly, slowing the group down. After that, they let me sit on in peace. 

With about 12-miles to go the situation worsened. Three riders bridged across, Steve Larsen, Craig Undem, and most notably, Bob Mionske. Obviously I knew Steve Larsen quite well. Craig Undem, from Seattle, I knew little about. I'd seen him a few times the last couple of years, but never had the chance to really access his qualities. Mionske, however, was a very well known quantity for me. My now former fellow Wisconsinite, Bob had a formidable sprint especially at the end of a hard event.

As soon as Bob saw I was sitting on, he came back to nag me. I protested that I had been off the front all day. He kept coming back to complain, but I steadfastly refused to pull. This continued all the way into the last lap. We were on the slightly downhill part of the course past Washington Park. There had been a few attacks that got covered immediately, and now the group was putting on the brakes and looking around. There were now less than two miles to go.

Nearly every fiber of my being was screaming at me to attack. It really was a perfect moment. The only part of my being that wasn't screaming at me to go was my musculature. I just didn't have the muscle left to make a sharp move. So I adjusted my tactics and tried a soft attack.

While everyone was braking and looking around, I just coasted past everyone in the left gutter looking straight ahead. For a soft attack to work, you first need to appear to not be even aware you're off the front. You continue at the same speed just long enough so that no one takes the move seriously. You must not look back. The next step is to very gradually pick up the pace, so gradually that they can't really tell you're moving faster. So far so good. I couldn't hear any action behind me, and I was getting far enough away now that I had hope. 

Next step in the soft attack is the realization in the group behind that you're now far enough away to require a reaction. The key now is that there is indecisiveness behind, that no one wants to be the one to make the effort to close down the gap. If you get that hesitation, that is the moment to go all in with your attack. I figured I needed about 5-10 seconds of hesitation for me to have a chance; to give me enough rope to make it to the line. I didn't get it. 

Mionske and I had sparred in a lot of races back in the upper mid west through the years. We knew each other's strengths and weaknesses, what the other was capable of and all each other tricks. He wasn't about to give me a chance to spoil his and closed me down. 

They caught me just as the road was getting steeper downhill. No one was going to attack there. What was left of the course was a fast left hander to a short flattish stretch and about 400 meters uphill to the finish. Everyone was on pins and needles; it was coming down to a sprint.

To win an uphill sprint you need a lot of muscle and good timing. While that's true of any sprint, it's especially refined in an uphill sprint. You have to begin your sprint later than a regular sprint, just like a headwind sprint. For me to win I needed everyone to make colossal mistakes, and the likelihood of that was so minimal as to be non existent. The best I could hope for was for someone to start too early, draw out the guys that were going to sprint to win, so I could get a steady run at the crumbs. I partly got that wish, and was in position to snag 5th from Steve Larsen, but my quads and hamstrings cramped just as I was coming around. I had to stop pedaling to dampen the cramp, and tried again putting the power on only to cramp again. I crossed the line in 6th place behind Steve.

Mionske, riding without teammates in the jersey of the Yellow Jersey bike shop in Madison, was the winner ahead of Paul Willerton with Mark McCormack in 3rd. Bart Bowen was the unlucky 4th. The order behind me was Newberry, Undem, and Hyde.

1990 US National Championships Men's Road Race Results (This 'Velo Project' team of Mionske and Hyde is I believe inaccurate).

And for posterity, the Women's RR Results, plus Crit TT and TTT

Two days later we were all back out there for the Time Trial. I did a ride in the morning to try to get a grip on how I was feeling, and the feedback wasn't good. My muscles felt dead, which wasn't an unusual reaction for me two days after an overreaching effort. I nonetheless really tried in my TT, but it felt like I was flogging myself out there for no result. It was another humid day, and besides not feeling good, it was also highly uncomfortable. With about 5km left I gave up and shifted down to the small ring and just rode it in. 

Shortly after my TT, Rod Bush tries to cheer me up...Rod did at least a decent ride.

 

TT Results - top two

TT results -Bruce's time and the rest

This was also the time trial where I concluded that calling time trials "The race of truth" was far from the truth. There were over a hundred riders in this TT with light winds to start the day and a stiff gale to conclude it. While I don't mean at all to diminish Steve Hegg's ride, he did get much lighter winds than did second place Bruce Reid who was only 2 seconds slower. I happened to be standing there right next to Hegg, already changed to street clothes, watch anxiously as Reid approached the line. Hegg knew he'd won then because there wasn't anyone else still out on course that could possibly ride faster. An advantageous start time due to weather is as much a part of time trialing than anything. Pretty much the same thing would happen to me the next year.

Two more days later we were back out on the same roads for the team time trial. In this era, TTT meant four riders, time taken on the third, for 100 kilometers. It was a hard event. No one enters a TTT for fun, especially at nationals. You're there to ride as fast as you can with your team. If you're doing it right, that means in the second half it's all you can do to latch on to the back after your pull, and you don't recover until its time to pull again. 

The only other reason you ride the TTT at nationals is because you have to, and I was in that boat. I had been briefly considered for our 'A' team and I had made every effort to get out of that. While I had in the past had success at TTTs, I didn't really enjoy them. I foresaw that I didn't have the heart for it even if it meant a very probable win. The Shaklee A team was John Frey, Kent Bostick, Nathan Sheafor, and Mark Waite. It seems remarkable to me now that I was even considered against that lineup. 

Which meant I instead had to ride with our 'B' team, with Rod Bush, Jack Van der Veen, and Erik Zaltas, and it ended up being the most fun I'd ever had riding a TTT. I felt reasonably good, and the guys really wanted to do a good ride so I put my legs into it. We ended up 4th, basically best of the rest behind the teams everyone expected to go well. The Shaklee A team won by 19 seconds over Suburu-Montgomery.

TTT results - 3rd place 'Team Red Snapper' only has 3 guys listed...I think maybe Bruce Reid was their 3rd.

The rest of the results - TTT

Shaklee Publicity photo with our extended podium 4th place medals. From left: Erik Zaltas, Jack Van der Veen, Rod Bush, me.

All that was left of nationals was the criterium which was in an uninspiring industrial park somewhere between Albany and Schenectady. Like the road race, there were heats to qualify for the final. We rode out to the course and waited for our heats. Unlike the road race heats, I wasn't about to sit in the bunch and be patient. An uphill sprint on a wide boulevard is a totally different prospect than fighting for wheels with a bunch of fresh legs. I was looking for a move off the front and accomplished that getting away with Mike Horner and Andy Lawson, both good strong guys that I got along well with. We easily stayed away. I didn't contest the sprint. As soon as we were done with the heats, we rode back.

I don't recall much about the championship race the next day. We missed the break and chased but couldn't bring it all back. Jim Copeland won it apparently by destroying the break and riding in solo. Craig Undem hung on for 2nd, with Lloyd Tabing winning the subsequent field sprint. 

Crit nationals results

  It was a bit of a disappointing end to nationals for us but I didn't care about the crit...I didn't think there should be a crit nationals anyway. But now I was tired, deeply tired. I had a hole in my schedule in early August and arranged to visit my old friend Bjorn Carlson, the best teammate I ever had, (back in '86 and '87) back in St. Paul. We would do some rides on my old roads just across the river in western Wisconsin. I also planned on taking it easy and having some fun. It would turn out I had a lot of racing left in 1990.