On Monday July 30th I flew out of Albany to Minneapolis/St. Paul and my good friend Bjorn Carlson fetched me from the airport. The next day we rode across the river to revisit my favorite roads in Pierce County Wisconsin, a nice hilly 75 miles. Apparently, I didn't realize how tired I was because the next three days I slept most of the days away and had fun carousing around St. Paul at night with Bjorn and his pals.
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| A visit back wouldn't be complete without a look at the ol' farm |
We then hit up a local Minnesota race, the French Lake Road Race. It was a rolling and crosswind affected. With every crosswind stretch Bjorn and I pinned it and reduced the lead group until it was just Bjorn, Rod Raymond, and me. We sprinted it out and I won.
I followed that up with some great rides on some of my favorite roads. First was a very hilly 70-miles in the Southeast corner of Pierce County with my old pal Karl Stang from Red Wing. Then we got a crew together to tackle a long, hilly 90-miles in Buffalo County, my favorite place to ride in Wisconsin.
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| Riding with Karl Stang among the farm fields and river valley hills of Pierce County WI. |
My visit back 'home' was fun and relaxing, but now I had to get back at it. Officially I still had races I was obliged to attend, and I was still hoping to bring in some results. The calendar included the Morgul-Bismarck stage race in Boulder, the Washington Trust Classic in Spokane, The Killington Stage Race in Vermont, the Retailer's Classic in Oklahoma City, and finally, I was granted one more appearance at the Vuelta a Guatemala. There would also be some local races in between, and one surprise addition at the end.
Between racing and traveling throughout the year I might have been close to running on fumes at this point. Nonetheless, to me everything felt natural. My enthusiasm for racing hadn't diminished in the least. I was thoroughly enjoying the life I had, mostly. The frustrating thing was building form only to get sick. But it didn't feel like I was ever run down; I recovered well almost every time. August ended up feeling like a slack month though and would end being the month with my second lowest mileage at 1103 miles. It freshened me up a bit.
After flying back to Albuquerque I got in one ride before driving up to Boulder for the Morgul Bismarck stage race, the overall based on points between the famous Morgul-Bismarck RR circuit and a criterium by the Celestial Seasonings headquarters. I had won on the Morgul Bismarck stage and had won the overall here the previous year. This year however on Morgul Bismarck I felt like I was being dragged around. I hung on and managed 14th up the "Wall" at the end. I rode somewhat trancelike through the crit and somehow advanced a place in the overall. I then promptly caught a cold and had to sit around the house for four days waiting for it to go away.
I got in two slow, long rides before getting on a plane for Spokane. I wasn't looking forward to this. I had done The Washington Trust Classic several times before, and I knew how tough it could be. Coming into it at low ebb having just recovered from being sick didn't help things. I was pretty pleased when the prologue was canceled due to high winds.
Now the first stage was a 40km Team Time Trial, which is a real kick in the teeth when you're not feeling up for it. I took my kicking from Karl Maxon who dragged us to the finish line in 44 minutes. It was then straight into the Wild Rose Prairie RR stage, the famous 7-hills circuit on the north side of Spokane. I suffered mightily throughout the race but gradually warmed into it, managing 7th place.
This was followed by a tough circuit race that ran up and down the north side of the butte just south of downtown. The pace was blistering, and it was all I could do to sit in. Next stage was more or less a rest day: the Manitou Park criterium. I got tangled up in a crash on the last lap though and hurt my shoulder. That prompted me to pull out of the final stage after 70-miles, electing not to go up Mount Spokane.
It was an up and down race for me that was ultimately unsatisfying. I only had two days at home before I had to fly out for Killington. I had hit a milestone in Spokane though. The Manitou Park Crit was my 100th trip to the start line that year.
I arrived in Burlington, Vermont on Monday, August 27th and had two days to heal up before the prologue on Thursday. There followed 4 stages the best of which for me was the circuit RR Stage 1 where I got 8th in a mass dash. From there I faded into mediocrity all the while thinking how great the roads were. At the end of the race, it was suddenly September, and I was a bit dazed that the year seemed to be coming to a close. It was far from over.
No sooner was I back in Albuquerque than I was with John Frey and Rod Bush driving to Oklahoma City for the Retailer's Classic. I really enjoyed racing in Oklahoma and was fairly motivated for this. The race was three stages in two days, a TT and RR on Saturday and a crit on Sunday.
The time trial was only 3.5 miles, and I got eleventh, 12 seconds down on the winner. The road race was held on rolling roads with a lot of wind. I made all of the initial splits and started probing for the final move. After a lot of fighting for position in the crosswinds and quite a few attacks, I ended up making the final break with two ex-pat Polish guys, Andrzej Mierzejewski and Krzysztof Wiatr, and Jamie Paolinetti from the small McNall Sports pro team.
This was the first time I had raced with the two Polish riders. I would later learn that they left Poland in the wake of the fall of the Berlin Wall and emigrated to Chicago where they took up construction jobs to pay the bills. On weekends they raced. At this event they were both in simple 'Oschner' jerseys. While I indeed knew nothing about them, there was no mistaking they knew what they were doing.
We were all taking our pulls and our lead grew. Before we finished the lap, however, Paolinetti wasn't there anymore. It occurred to me that he wasn't pulling through anymore and I looked back; he wasn't anywhere in sight. On the backside of the course (it was basically a big rectangle) on the following lap, suddenly, miraculously, Paolinetti was back with us, sitting on. Not long after that an official's motorcycle came up and started yelling at Paolinetti to "get out", which, after some arguing, quickly clarified to "you're disqualified". Just as suddenly he wasn't with us anymore. Later on, we found out the accusation was that he cut the course and waited for us to come back around.
On the last lap, I knew I was in trouble. In order to give myself any kind of chance, I had been feathering my pulls, which was something I knew did not escape their attention. I was able to offer up some resistance to them attacking me in turn but eventually I was left alone out in the wind. I took third place, and with only the crit stage to go, my 3rd overall.
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| Velo News was there to witness the Poles beat the crap out of me. |
We were back in the car to drive to Salina, Kansas for another weekend of racing, another wind-swept road race and criterium. Somewhat strangely, this one was essentially us versus Coors Light. Very few of the many plains states 'superstars' turned up, nor did any other major teams despite the healthy prize list. While I don't remember which Coors rider won, perhaps Chris Huber, we had a battle royale with Coors Light. I got tenth in the road race and nineteenth in the criterium.
The only thing I really remember from the weekend was in the crit. I was off the front when a large cash prime was offered up, and I poured it on in an effort to stay out for it. Roberto Gaggioli came flying past me just before the line. The bell rang for another large cash prime. I was only a few lengths off Gaggioli and with him looking back at me, we both went all in to go for it. Gaggioli was trying to break me and not let me catch his wheel. We were moving very fast into the quick left-right combo turn midway down the front stretch. Just before leaning in for the turn, and about two seconds behind Gaggioli, I thought to myself that we were going too fast. I feathered my brakes and watched Gaggioli make the left but then not have enough room to set up for the following right turn and stack it on the curb. I sailed past him and gunned it for the prime. The bunch swept me up 100 meters from the line.
We pulled an all-night drive back to Albuquerque and I began pouring on the miles and climbs to ready myself for Guatemala. Frey, Bush, and I drove down to Alamogordo for a circuit race. We continued down to Fort Davis, Texas for a hard, windy, rainy and cold road race where I was second to Frey.
It was now only a few days before leaving for Guatemala. I have in my training diary that I did an easy ride where I nonetheless did one of the hardest climbs within Albuquerque city limits. I followed that up with a 76-mile day of riding and the Tuesday evening Crit. Then 87 miles in two rides: A nice easy morning spin with Desi Brown and Chann McRae. McRae drove up from Texas to continue on with me to Colorado Springs where we would fly down to Guatemala. The second ride was the regular Wednesday ride, this time up to Jemez Dam.
The next two days were travel. We drove to Colorado Springs and flew to Guatemala.
*********
La Vuelta a Guatemala 1990
After the Milk Race, Chris Carmichael was ready to write me off. At nationals he told me that I was being taken off consideration for the national team. Of course, I thought him wrong but understood the decision. Even if I was only 24, there were a lot of younger talents to choose from, and I didn't have a significant breakout international result. Giving me more time to do that wasn't in the cards. He offered me a parting gift though and asked me where I wanted to go for a 'last' foreign trip. I asked for another go at Guatemala. This was probably an easy assignment for him to make, so he may have been relieved.
This was my third trip to La Vuelta a Guatemala. I had a little star power there since the previous year I won a stage and had a day in the leader's jersey. I was looking forward to this and hoped to have similar if not better success.
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| My 1990 number |
My teammates were Chann McRea (for the second time), Donnie Powell, and junior climbing hotshot Roger Marr from Ruidoso NM. Bill Woodul was our team manager, and our excellent and experienced mechanic was again Robert Gregario.
The competition was the regular lot I'd come to expect. It was a bit different in that the Costa Rican team was the El Globo squad rather than Bideca, and included last year's Vuelta a Costa Rica winner Raul Montero. The Soviets came to win with Witaji Werewko. The Swiss squad was much the same as the previous year, with Adrian Beattig hoping for a better showing. The Guatemalan set of teams and riders was little changed from the previous two years. It was the Colombian team though that, as usual, was really the one to be feared. Adolfo Rico was on hand, with strong help from Luciano Bonilla, Raul Gomez, and last but not least, Dineal Vargas.
The race was structured much the same as the last two years but this year we would be going a bit farther north to Huehuetenango and its impressive Mayan ruins. There was also a short team time trial, and an even shorter individual time trial. The total number of stages was listed as twelve, but there were two double stage days for a total of fourteen.
This year there was a prologue time trial, run pursuit style. It was three laps on a cinder running track at the Guatemala City municipal stadium where they also had the team introductions and other various opening ceremonies. It was an interesting exercise, trying to maintain speed on the curves without crashing. The winner was Axel Santiago with the Guatemalan Racan club 'B'. I was a mere 3 seconds adrift in sixth.
It was much more serious the next day for Stage 1, even if it was mostly downhill from Guatemala City to Zacapa. The Colombian Adolfo Rico got away solo in the last 20km and showed impressive strength, putting 1:17 into a vigorous chase from both the Guatemalan Racan teams. I finished sixth in the stage and took the lead in the Metas Volantes classification.
Stage 2, Zacapa-Esquipulas-Chiquimula was the same as it had been in the two previous editions. The stage runs south out of Zacapa over a medium sized climb and descends down to Esquipulas on the Honduran border. The route then U-turns back over the mountain. It went back the same way we came but turned left before Zacapa to climb up to Chiquimula. The prior year I had a good stage except for cracking a bit on the final climb. I fought for the Meta Volante sprints but just didn't have it on the climb back out of Esquipulas and shipped quite a bit of time. Adolfo Rico won the stage beating home Werewko and Costa Rican Mario Fallas by 22 seconds. I also surrendered the Meta Volates jersey to the Soviet, Peter Elizarow.
Teculutan to Guatemala City was the mostly uphill Stage 3, much the same stage as I had won the previous year. Despite the climbing, it was a fairly sedate stage until the end, when Colombian Raul Gomez escaped for the win. I hung in for seventh on the stage, same time as the bulk of the main riders. This improved my GC position a bit up to nineteenth.
Stage 4 ran through Antigua which typically started and finished in Guatemala City. In the two previous editions this stage had two big but not particularly steep climbs, and punchy rolling terrain in between. This year the stage finished in Antigua so there was only one big climb, and more of the punchy rolling terrain. Roger Marr and I made it over the climb out of Guatemala City with the bunch, while Donny Powell and Chann McRae caught back on the descent. There were crosswinds in the valley so we decided to see if we could do some damage. We guttered the field but ultimately hurt only the Costa Ricans. In the end, the Soviets took advantage on the somewhat frightening bumpy descent into Antigua. Werewko, Elizarow, and Ponomarevko took the top three spots. I arrived safely in the bunch with the leaders.
We were now back in Guatemala City for Stage 5 - The Circuito Periferico. Neither hilly nor flat, it was a Vuelta a Guatemala staple of 100km on a 14km circuit. I had been up and down so far, but mostly up. I was feeling good going into this stage and was unusually focused.
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| Rolling up to the line for Stage 5 |
Early off the front, there were a few weak moves. I eventually escaped by attacking after a points sprint, one of my standard moves. Prologue winner, Puerto Rican Axel Santiago from the Guatemalan Racan Club 'B' team, astutely took my wheel and we were away with two laps to go. I was pulling full out because I was confident and feeling good. I could tell Axel was straining a bit and was a little surprised when with about a half lap to go, he asked me if I wanted to win. My answer was of course yes, and he told me I could have it. I really didn't think the arrangement was necessary, He was perhaps concerned I might play around enough to put our gap under threat, and he just wanted a smooth ride to the finish. In any case, we continued as before, and Axel dutifully did not contest the sprint. We pulled out a 1:22 gap on the bunch. In the bunch gallop Chann McRae managed fifth and Donny Powell tenth.
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| Axel Santiago and I on the trot |
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| Bill Woodul photo of me on the attack |
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| Bill Woodul photo of the finish |
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| Taking the checkered flag |
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| The sprint for third. Chann McRae is at left looking for fourth |
but ending fifth. Donny Powell is far right
Stage 6 was back to serious racing. Guatemala City to Mazatenango, 153km of mostly flat terrain after a long descent out of Guatemala City. We had a two-year winning streak in Mazatenango to defend. The Colombians were particularly keen to chase us down. Guatemalan sentimental favorite Federico Lechuga got away solo, holding on by a scant 33 seconds.
This was followed by the first of two double stage days. First up was Stage 7A, a 23km TTT. Warming up, we played with how to order ourselves and came up with what we thought was optimal. We put a lot of leg into it and rode flawlessly. Nonetheless, we came second to the Soviets by only two seconds.
Stage 7B was supposed to be an 80km flattish road stage but a bridge, said to have been destroyed by terrorists, was out and was replaced by a 75km hot dog circuit in Retalhuleu. It was held on a very flat four-lane boulevard with a short hedge in the middle. Roger Marr got going early by escaping with Guatemalan Jose Luis Castro of team Ferret Ferromineria. They built up a decent lead, but for reasons I couldn't puzzle out, both Racan teams went to the front and chased. When they brought them back to about 10 seconds I attacked as hard as I could. No one was with me, and as I approached Roger, I called out to warn him I was coming up, hoping he could catch my wheel, but no dice. I kept on.
Much to my surprise, the field completely rolled over. Perhaps everyone expected Racan to keep chasing, and when they didn't, everyone figured they may as well relax before the next day's tough stage. I just kept rolling, checking my gap when the field came into view on the other side of the hedge. My gap kept growing up to three minutes. On the last lap when the bunch was passing the other way, I sat up and waved at them, smiling. A few in the bunch smiled back and laughed. I finished with a gap of 3:33 which bumped me to seventh overall. In the field sprint, the whole Soviet team took places 2-5.
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| Solo in Retalhuleu - Bill Woodul photo used in Velo News |
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| Taking the checkered flag in Retalhuleu |
Stage 8 was another Vuelta a Guatemala staple: Retalhuleu to Quetzaltenango. Starting with flat roads to a false flat for 15km, then straight uphill to about 4km from the line. I fully expected to get shelled as soon as the road went up. There is a Meta Volante sprint just before the grade kicks up, and I chose not to contest it even though I was still in reach of Elizarow. As the climb began, I was near the front of the bunch and eager climbers were swarming around me. I knew what was coming. "Buenos suerte Obisbo, Buenos suerte Nova" I said as I went backwards, but added before I got too far off, "Los Colombianos no necisitan suerte" A group of probably thirty was accelerating away from me, but I fully expected that. I just plodded along at my own pace.
Suddenly I felt just really, really good. I upped my tempo and set in. I began passing all the riders who went with the fastest climbers and blew up. Ultimately, I settled in with the chasing group going for fifth place which included Edin Roberto Nova, the winner of the '88 Vuelta a Guatemala. I was over the moon, as I hadn't expected it. I finished in eighth, far better than the previous two years. Adofo Rico dominated the stage, 3:07 ahead of Lenardo Obispo Garcia and 3:12 to Dineal Vargas. Costa Rican Mario Fallas was 5:46 back with Oscar Chacon. I finished with Nova, Montero, the Vuelta a Costa Rica winner, Gomez, Beattig, Guatemalan Axel Santiago and Werewko at 7:21. In spite of my happy ride, I fell to eighth in GC as Vargas moved over me.
Stage 9, the Quetzaltenango circuit, was very short at 60km. It was another hot-dog circuit on a wide boulevard separated by a median. McRae attacked early with Elazarow and much like the circuit in Retalhuleu, the bunch rolled over. It was a nice roll 'round in the bunch for us while McCrae and Elazarow put three minutes into us. Elazarow outsprinted McRae for the win, Swiss rider Daniel Galli escaped the bunch late for third at 1:52 and Werewko won the bunch sprint with me on his heels at 3:01. After the stage, I learned that one of the top Guatemalan riders, Leonardo Obisbo Garcia, had crashed and hit his head. He was out of the race with a severe concussion.
The rest day came next. In prior years the rest day had been near the Pacific coast, and we rode over and had a swim. At altitude, Quetzaltenango was relatively cold so we toured the city market and took in a religious festival and parade. Bill Woodul walked the hills above the city and took pictures.
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| Quetzaltenango Rest Day |
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| Bill Woodul got this picture on his hill walk |
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| And this one |
Stage 10A was another short stage. Though only 90km from Quetzaltenango to Huehuetenango, it was fast and aggressive. The Colombians were particularly active, but the Costa Ricans rode well to protect Mario Fallas's second place overall. The stage ground to a stalemate. Oscar Chacon of Racan Club 'B' escaping with Colombian Raul Gomez. I managed third by jumping away late from a reduced peloton 10 seconds back.
the 10km TT Stage 10B followed almost immediately. I think we didn't even have time to change into fresh clothes. Despite my optimism, I could only manage eighth. Andrei Ponomarevko took first 3 seconds ahead of Nova. Beattig, fairly anonymous since a top finish on Stage 3, was starting to come around by netting fifth at 16 seconds. Fallas crashed and lost 2:01, falling to fifth overall from second. Werewko was now second, 8:20 down on Rico.
We had some time in the late afternoon for a trip out to the archeological park to see the Mayan ruins. Bill, Chann, Robert, and I made the trip. Bill took some pictures.
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| Huehuetenango Mayan ruins |
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| Sitting with Robert and Chann with the pyramid background |
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| Another example of the famous Mayan ball court |
There were now two stages remaining. First up was Stage 11: Ciquival-Solola. While only 106km, it consisted of two huge 30km climbs. The second of which was the Alaska climb, so called because it is just shy of 10,000 feet and usually quite cold. The Colombians were determined to dislodge Werewko from second, so they drilled it on the first climb. Werewko hung in but couldn't stay with the onslaught on the Alaska climb. It was mission accomplished for the Colombians, with Gomez moving over Werewko to second. Nova also profited, taking second in the stage and moving to third overall. The stage was won by the hard-working Colombian Luciano Bonilla.
Meanwhile, I was going through my own set of dramas. Detached with many others on the first climb, I found myself in a group with Beattig and three of the Costa Ricans. Two of them were madly chasing for Fallas. The chasers eventually cracked, leaving Fallas alone with Beattig and me. We began forcing the pace, and Fallas fell away. I managed to drop Beattig because I started feeling good in the rolling terrain after the Alaska climb. But then I punctured. Beattig caught me back, but I dropped him again. Shortly after that, however, I punctured again. Robert was quick with the wheel change, and I was still ahead of Beattig. I was hoping to gain enough time to get past him in the overall standing. I was close but then I punctured for a third time. This time Robert didn't have another rear wheel for me. I had to ride the rear flat 16km to the finish on rough roads. Beattig had caught me back, and though I really tried, I couldn't hang on to him. I was heavily disappointed.
I did have two stage wins to console me. It also didn't hurt that the stage finished in Solola on the shore of Lake Atitlan, one the most beautiful spots in Guatemala. Our hotel was the same as the previous two years, a very nice peaceful spot in nearby Panajachel. That didn't stop me from sulking a bit before recovering to a better humor.
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| A bit of sulking before counting my blessings |
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| The volcano opposite the lake from our hotel |
The final Stage 12, Solola to Guatemala City, was the same as in the two previous Vueltas. It started with a very tough climb where there were calls for "Piano", the international cyclist's call for a truce. We soft-pedaled until about 20km to go and raced towards the finish on the cinder track inside the Municipal Stadium. Several riders crashed cornering too fast on the cinders when entering the stadium. Fortunately, I avoided them. Soviet Sergie Timofeuhk took win in front of our own Donny Powell.
Nothing irked me more than having an opportunity for a result taken from me by bad luck and things beyond my control. Nonetheless, a lot of good came from this Vuelta a Guatemala. I had been through a very long year of racing in which I was constantly building tremendous form only to get sick and not be able to apply it. In this race I stayed relatively stronger throughout the race, climbed beyond my usual ability, and kept my head in the race most of the time. In retrospect I realized that a lot of this was due to the late great Bill Woodul. Bill created a positive atmosphere wherever he went. This reverberated through the teams he managed, and certainly through me. At this point I'd been at a lot of international races with several different managers. Bill's style suited me: casual, direct, positive. He understood that a happy racer is a good racer. He understood that if the rider was trying their hardest both physically and tactically, it's all the manager can ask. He never made things stressful.
I ended the race in eighth overall, a bit better than I had expected. Chann McRae was consistently in the second groups and was helped by the 3-minute gain in the Quetzaltenango circuit to finish fourteenth. Donny Powell was not far behind in nineteenth, and young Roger Marr, still a junior, in thirty-second. While the field wasn't very large to begin with, there were a lot of abandons and only thirty-seven finished. I was able to hang on to second in the Meta Volantes with Chann in third. I was also fourth in the Regularidad (consistent stage finishes).
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| Final GC |
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One of the several crashes entering the track
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Adolfo Rico paraded about
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After arriving home, I was almost immediately off for the Tour of Palm Springs in California, starting October 19. The first stage was a time trial up the very steep tramway road. I felt terrible. That night I felt very sick. It really felt like I was dying. It just felt like every bit of energy and life inside me was draining away. But, when I woke up the next morning, I felt fine. I started the criterium stage but again felt awful. I again felt like I was going to die that night. Waking up the next morning though I again felt fine, it was obvious I shouldn't contest the stage 3 RR.
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| Looking like hell on the tramway road Palm Springs |
I returned home to Albuquerque and convalesced. Frey was headed up to Colorado Springs to make an Hour Record attempt at the velodrome, so I went up to help out, and also to have something to do. Frey's attempt was successful, but while he was testing prior to the actual attempt, he was also in the midst of planning an apparent opportunity to race the Ruta Mexico which started November third in Augualeguas, Northeast of Monterrey. John was putting some pressure on me to go.
There was a much bigger story behind this invitation to field a team in the race. Most Mexican states would field one team, while some of the larger states had two. We were told that the Chihuahua state team wasn't able to afford to send a team or didn't have any confidence in their pool of riders. They wanted to field a team of 'gringos' who would shoulder the expenses. They called Paul Chandler in El Paso to round up a team. Chandler in turn called up Frey and asked him to fill out the slate of riders.
As it turned out, and we didn't know this until afterwards, this wasn't exactly the case. The real story was that there were two warring factions in the Chihuahua cycling federation. One wanted to field a team of the best riders in Chihuahua. The other faction wanted to hire riders because they thought that Chihuahuan team would get slaughtered, would be an embarrassment and not be worth the expense. The latter faction apparently won out.
That is how this unbelievable and madcap adventure began. Frey gathered up two more riders from Albuquerque and found 6 matching pink Descente jerseys on special at Gardenswartz Sports. They had a print shop and Frey had them screen "Chihuahua Nortes" on the front and back. For a bit of flair, a green cactus was added to one sleeve.
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In case you thought I was kidding
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Frey was unable to convince a sixth rider from Albuquerque to join us, so the Albuquerque contingent included Frey, Rod Bush, Desi Brown, and me. With Chandler there were five of the six slots filled. Frey wanted to include Scott Romero, also from El Paso, a solid racer that everyone liked except for Chandler (in fact he rather hated Romero). When Frey pitched Romero to Chandler, Chandler was dead set against it. He was determined to start with just five.
Frey was correctly convinced we needed to start with a full roster and called up Scott Romero to ask him if he'd like to do the Ruta Mexico. Scott was up for it, even after it was explained that Chandler didn't know he was coming. We piled into Frey's overloaded Subaru and drove down to El Paso and picked up Scott. We then drove to Chandler's place a few miles to the east outside El Paso. Chandler at that point had no recourse but to accept matters. Along for the trip also was a young Cat 3 racer/bike shop mechanic to act as team manager and mechanic. He had harbored hopes of starting the race when he learned we only had a 5-rider team. Frey convinced him that he didn't know what he was getting himself into. Indeed, I wasn't sure Chandler or Desi quite knew.
We then loaded all our bikes and baggage into the back of Chandler's huge pickup. We thought we were off to Monterrey, but there was one more step. Driving into downtown El Paso, Chandler walked into a jewelry store and returned 10 minutes later. "We've got to wait for the TV to come across the border" he explained.
I had no idea what this was about. Eventually, we would all learn that part of the deal to get a Chihuahua team with a 'Gringo' roster into the race would take some greasing of palms. We were waiting for a big screen TV to be brought across from Juarez which we were to then deliver to one of the race organizers in Monterrey. It was our ticket into the race.
We waited about an hour and half and then loaded the boxed TV into the pickup. We then started the drive to Monterrey, turning into Mexico at Laredo, Texas. We arrived in Monterrey early afternoon November 2nd. We waited while Chandler tracked down 'our' man. We then saw Chandler walk past us with a well-dressed man. After another 10-minutes or so, they walked back in, and we were motioned to the registration table. We were issued our numbers, had pictures taken for and given our rider accreditations. We also met our surprise support, a man from Ciudad Chihuahua who would prove to talented only at being constantly drunk.
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| My accreditation for Ruta Mexico '90. |
We were now here to race. I was tired from the drive, and not so sure I was up for it, as the Ruta Mexico was not a race to be taken lightly. 15 stages of tough racing in tough conditions. Not only the weather, the roads, and the racing, but also the conditions of lodging, food, and dealing with everyday matters. It's a damn hard race to begin with, without all the other obstacles you will have thrown at you over two weeks. Jonathon Vaughters (either still a junior, or a first year senior) was riding the race with the US National Team. I later heard from Mark Southard that Jonathon was frightened at the idea of the Ruta Mexico and asked for advice. Southard said he told Jonathon to "never attack".
None of us knew about all of the wrangling that had occurred to get us in the race. Chandler was privy to some of it. The rest of us, as far as I knew, were simply being asked to race. We learned only a few of the particulars as it all snowballed and became apparent. I had no idea if there were racers in Chihuahua that were fuming because a bunch of Gringos were taking their place. Likely there were. At least one person in the race organization didn't care, but most others did. Throughout the race these people did everything they could to make things difficult for us. I can't say I could blame them. Any hint of US hegemony in Mexico would draw attention and hostility. Especially if there was something 'fishy' about it.
The first difficulty was that we were not issued a team vehicle, while every other team was issued a VW bus. We had to use Chandler's pickup which was driven by our manager/mechanic with the drunken Chihuahuan in the passenger seat.
The field was huge, more than 200 riders. It was a mixed bag of talent ranging from the Mexican state teams (including us the Chihuahua Nortes), to PDM, a top-level Euro pro team featuring top Mexican star Raul Alcala. The other top Mexican star Miguel Arroyo was there riding with a Nuevo Leon state team rather than his Euro pro team Z. There were a few other pro teams, including Postobon from Colombia and Spago from the U.S.. National teams included the U.S., Czech Republic, Poland, Norway, and the Soviet Union headed by Vasili Davidenko. The U.S. National Team included Darrin Baker, with whom I spent a lot of time chatting in the bunch when we were rolling along.
Stage 1 started the next morning, and everyone had to drive out to the start in Augualuegas for a 130km stage back to Monterrey. There were a lot of crashes, but I managed to avoid them and arrived in the bunch. Nico Verhoeven of PDM won in a field sprint.
It rained on Stage 2, a circuit in Monterrey. I already knew that rain in Mexico makes staying upright nearly impossible. At the start line I was yawning repeatedly, I couldn't stop. Once the yawning attack was over, I saw that Peter Gylling, a Danish guy on Spago I had raced with many times, was next to me. Joking, I said to him, "I shouldn't be here, I should be taking a nap". He looks at me and says flatly, "Well if you don't want to be here you know, you should have stayed home. I mean, there are lots of guys who would like to be here you know..." I looked back at him drolly, "I was joking man," I informed him. He was not amused.
Once we got going, it was so slick practically everyone in the field crashed at least once. I managed to stay off the ground but was almost down several times and had to put my foot down multiple times. Eventually Raul Alcala played boss of the bunch and ordered a truce. We gingerly made our way back to the S/F line and stopped. Raul spoke to the officials. We ended up waiting for it to dry up a bit, then restarted. We still had to take things easy, but it wasn't as bad. Verhoeven won again. It was a fairly easy day of only about 70km.
At about 88km Stage 3 Monterrey-Saltillo was also short. It is a mostly flat route, but with one draggy gradual climb up to the desert plateau. I tried to stay closer to the front but struggled a bit. The breakaway whittled down to one rider who got swept up in the local circuits. Davidenko won.
Stage 4 San Tiburcio to Zacatecas is long and boring 214km. The distance between Saltillo and Zacatecas is so large that the only real option is to transfer by car to San Tiburcio for the start. San Tiburcio was just a PEMEX station, not even a crossroads or a town. From there the road is straight as an arrow until a left turn to Zacatecas. The block headwind we faced until the turn made this long stage feel even longer. The action started when the road turned slightly southwest, with crosswinds for about 50km. I was doing fine until I punctured, and it took a long time for the team truck to reach me through all the echelons as it was nearly last in the caravan. I lost about 4 minutes, but that wasn't so bad on a day when many lost half an hour. Alberto Bailon of the Nuevo Leon team escaped the front echelon for the win.
Zacatecas is a lovely little city. It sits in an arid little valley and has clean streets and colonial architecture. A nice breeze took the edge off the heat, which went a long way towards bringing my morale back a bit from a tough day.
Stage 5 was the second longest stage of the race, 200km rolling down from the desert plain into a pleasant area of farmland and industry to San Luis Potosi. A lot of early crosswinds split the field into echelons but largely came back together for the finish. Rafeal Gonzalez took a home win for his San Luis Potosi state team.
The race continued southwest for Stage 6, San Luis Potosi to Leon, 180km. I was feeling really very tired. We got to the start early and were waiting around in the town square when there was a sudden commotion, and everyone started making for the start line. But about forty percent of the teams had yet to arrive. Nonetheless we started and raced on, quite rapidly to the bottom of the climb out of San Luis Potosi. About halfway up the climb, and with the pressure definitely on, the lead vehicles slowed, and people were hanging out the windows and sunroofs motioning for us to slow down and, eventually, to stop. A number of cars and buses then came up behind us and the missing racers piled out hurriedly putting on their shoes and collecting their bikes. Upon restart, it was another day of fierce crosswinds that ripped the field apart. Frey got off the front with Mike Engelman (Spago) for a long spell, but eventually much of the peloton came back together, and Davidenko won his second stage.
We had to transfer some distance south for the start the 150km Stage 7, Manuel Doblado to Guadalajara. I woke up feeling very run down and afraid I might be getting sick. It was a day of aggressive racing right down to the Soviets attacking in the feed zone. I tried as hard as I could to make the front splits but that did not work out. A 10-rider group driven by the Soviets with both Alcala and Arroyo attached to the back fought out the stage win. Alcala won it. I dragged myself home in the re-formed second group.
Stage 8 was a mercifully flat circuit race in Guadalajara, followed by a rest day. The circuit in Guadalajara is a simple one, flat with four corners. I imagined a fast but easy day of sitting in the wheels. Of course, it wasn't that simple or easy. I got tangled up in a crash, and the group I got stuck with lost a lap. The winner was Soviet Evgueni Zagrebelny.
For the rest day I felt completely blown up. We went for a nice 42-mile spin to the east of the city, then I spent the rest of the day sleeping, waking up only to eat. The race from here was only going to get harder and more mountainous. We had already lost half our team. Paul Chandler was the first to go by time cut then Desi Brown and Scott Romero either got time cut or dropped out. After the rest day it was just John, Rod, and me, and I was hanging on by a thread.
Stage 9 was long with a fairly testing climb close to the finish. At 218km, I wasn't looking forward to it. Contrary to my pessimism, I felt good. The rest day had done me a world of good. My sixteenth-place result was nothing earth shattering certainly, but much better than I had expected. I don't recall any other details of the stage, except that we got lost looking for the hotel, and put on an extra 8km.
Zamora to Morelia, Stage 10, 150km, had the most climbing yet, including El Puerto del Tigre. It wasn't such a bad climb really, but it came fairly close to the finish. I climbed well all day, not having too much trouble, but was out of position for the Puerto del Tigre. I had some chasing to do on the descent and on the run-in to Morelia. The group I was in was good and motivated, and we caught back by 3km from the finish. Alcala rode everyone off his wheel on the hump before the finish except for Davidenko, who passed him for the win. I felt like my small run of feeling good was beginning to wane. Fortunately, Morelia is a beautiful little city with wonderful people. It raised my spirits again.
Stage 11 from Morelia to Ziticuaro,150km, also had one big climb. I had breathing problems going up the big climb and had to pace myself, but I managed to get in a good group and we caught back before the finish. Dimitri Zhdanov got off solo for the win.
At only 100km and with no big climb, Stage 12 was still mostly uphill from Ziticuaro to Toluca. I had more breathing problems and totally cracked. I dragged myself to the line in a laughing group. A small group of favorites got away in the finale and Zagrebelny won his second stage.
Other problems were beginning to mount for our squad. Rod Bush either quit or was time cut somewhere between Guadalajara and Toluca. Now the race organization was denying John and me lodging because, they said, we weren't a team anymore with just two riders. We argued steadfastly and managed to convince them to give us two rooms, one for John and me, the other for our staff (and our growing list of abandons). Then we had to argue to get food, which they extended to John and me, but not the staff. The other problem was the truck. The brakes were fading. They needed to be pumped one or two times to have enough power to stop. Chandler took the truck over to the guy who maintained the race fleet of VW busses to see if he could fix it. When Chandler came back to the rooms, he said the brakes felt ok.
I was now running on fumes. I had been tail-gunning the leading bunches for most of the stages. I really just didn't care much. I only wanted to put in just enough effort to stay with the quickest and easiest way to the finish. I just about quit on the spot when we had to argue to get food and lodging. But after the organization relented, I elected to finish a race out of spite for the second time that year. And anyway, the end was in sight,
Stage 13 from Toluca to Cuernavaca was183km but started with a long gradual downhill before flattening out to a short climb into the finish. Not so bad. Not so bad except it ended up being a tumultuous day that went comically bad.
John and I started the stage which rolled out easily enough because of the long descent. The long gradual downhill was a very nice way to warm into things, and I could confidently tail-gun the bunch as we sped along the flats towards Cuernavaca. Nothing at all happened in the race until we got to the final 40-50km. What happened wasn't race action, but a lot of bizarre crashes. The road was wide, and the field was just rolling along fast, filling the whole width of the road. I could then see ahead of me, a crash, a pretty violent one, take out perhaps 5 or 6 guys. This sort of crash then started happening with increasing frequency. It was like hand grenades were being randomly lobbed into the bunch. After a while, the bunch slowed considerably. The problem was that the road had long, narrow jagged potholes that you couldn't spot. You would be following someone, and they might miss it, but you then wouldn't see the fissure in the road. The front wheel would then slot in and down you would go.
We slowed to an absolute crawl. Up ahead it looked as if everyone was dismounting, some pushing their bikes, some carrying, some walking, some running for a bit, then hopping up on the other side and remounting. Moments later I found out why. An entire section of the road was gone. Off my bike I jumped down into a 1.5-to-2-foot drop-off and ran to the other side, roughly about 15-30 meters. Approaching the little wall on the other side, I could see the layer of pavement and the gravelly bases underneath, like sedimentary layers. It was like a big knife had come through and just sliced this section of the road out. There was a gravel bypass on the side, but we were given no warning and no one directed us to it.
I jumped back up on the road, remounted, and had to put in a fair effort to catch up to the tail end of the bunch. Shortly after that the bunch picked up speed as it chased the breakaway. I moved up a little, not looking for a result or anything, just trying to avoid getting split off as the road turned uphill. With about 10km to go there was a big crash in front of me and I had no way to avoid it. After picking myself up, I saw that my rear wheel was completely destroyed. Our truck was nowhere in sight, but I got a wheel eventually from neutral service.
I dragged myself to the line and gave neutral service their wheel back in exchange for my destroyed one. I found John and we waited for the truck to come in with water, food, towels, etc. We waited for over half an hour before deciding to figure out where our rooms were. We had to argue just a bit for our keys (they were determined to keep us stressed about that), but fortunately the hotel was close by. We continued waiting. Another 30 minutes passed, and we decided to get out of the kits and shower. We sat in the room with towels around our waists and continued waiting. We were getting very hungry. But we couldn't even put our kits back on and go out to find something to eat because we had no money with us. We also thought about asking another team for something, but there wasn't anyone we knew in the same hotel.
After another half hour we could hear Desi calling us from the hotel courtyard. Very much relieved, we threw open the door and called him over. He had our bags and looked quite frazzled. "You guys will never believe what happened," and shared his story.
After the race start, the truck joined the race caravan. Everyone but Frey and I was in it, and Chandler was driving. Leaving Toluca some local traffic mixed in with the caravan, and a small car in front of the truck stopped for a traffic light (as everyone else in the caravan just rolled through). Paul had to slam on the brakes. The brakes caught for a little bit, but the pedal then collapsed to the floor. At something like 10-15 mph, the truck slammed into the back of the car.
The police were called and statements taken. Fortunately, miraculously, the damage to both vehicles was not very bad, and no one was injured. After the small car had driven off, the police man told Chandler (Chandler was fluent in Mexican Spanish). that he "had to pay for the car", and the truck would be impounded until then. Chandler started arguing, pointing out they were part of the race caravan, and what was that person doing in the caravan? etc. Since the car he'd hit had already left, it was obvious what was going on here. After Chandler finished his push back, he pulled out his wallet and asked, "How much for the car?" He started pulling out $100 bills until the police man was satisfied with the bribe. Chandler's argument probably saved him several hundred dollars.
This had taken about two hours. They were now facing driving the racecourse with no brakes, with a long curvy descent to start. They hailed a taxi, pulled John and my bags out and put Desi in the cab. Chandler told the taxi driver to go as fast as he could and get Desi to the back of the race caravan.
At the bottom of the descent, Desi recognized some of the Federal Police crew that were working the race. They were taking a break, drinking beers under a big billboard highway sign (that's what Desi told us anyway). He told the taxi to stop. Desi explained his situation to the Federales. After they assured Desi they could get him to Cuernavaca, Desi dismissed the taxi driver. It took them about half an hour to finish their beers and set off in pursuit of the race. The cop apparently wasn't driving with much haste but then started picking up speed as he got closer to Cuernavaca. Desi estimated that they were going about 80kph when they saw that huge chasm in the road. The cop slammed on the brakes but only succeeded in slowing to perhaps 40 or 50kph. They launched over the edge and slammed into the other side. When the car hit the ground initially, Desi got bounced vertically up off the back seat and hit his head on the ceiling of the car. When the car hit the other side of the chasm, he was thrown forward into the back of the passenger side front seat.
After ascertaining that they were both basically ok, Desi had to crawl out one of the rear windows and use a screwdriver to pry open the front driver side door so the cop could get out. The cop then radioed for another cop car to take Desi to the finish. Desi then had to find out where John and I were, then walk to the hotel toting our three bags.
Meanwhile, the team truck was moving slowly down the descent in the creeper gear and driving cautiously along the route. When they came into Cuernavaca, they put the truck back into the creeper gear. Romero got on the hood, sliding off the front at intersections so that he could run out to the and stop traffic while the truck rolled through. The truck finally reached us about 3 hours after the stage finish.
It seemed a major miracle that we were now all back together. Paul took the truck back to the race motor pool and talked to a different mechanic, who put in a new master brake cylinder. Paul took the truck out to some quiet streets to test it out. Fortunately, they were solid once more.
From the ashes of the previous day, we began another. The penultimate Stage 14, Cuernavaca to Mexico City, was mercifully short at 80km, but went uphill 20km straight from the gun. Mexico City sits in the caldera of an ancient volcano, and the road climbed from Cuernavaca up the side of the volcano and runs along the rim for a while before descending just a bit down into the horribly smoggy city. I went ok in the stage but came unglued when the grade pitched up and we really started racing. I ended up in a group with Steve Speakes who wasn't having a particularly good day. I had been in many races with Steve before but had never actually spoken to him. I tried talking with him but he wasn't in a very good mood. I finished with our group with thirty-eighth place and a terrible coughing fit from the sooty air. Alcala won the stage and put his stamp of authority on his first place overall GC standing.
The race ended with Stage 15, a mere 80km circuit. No problem except that I couldn't stop coughing. The race was an easy sleigh ride on a flat six-corner course, and I even managed fourteenth place. Davidenko won his fourth stage. Coming to a stop, my lungs hurt so badly I couldn't cough without excruciating pain, and my lungs were itching like crazy. It was a painful exercise to cough out as much of that soot as I could. It took several days before I felt my lungs could fully expand.
Raul Alcala won the overall only two seconds ahead of Miguel Arroyo. I did not record, and don't remember my final overall finish position. I was likely close to an hour down.
A note here about my main source of information about this Ruta Mexico in general. I have almost no information about the race other than what I noted in my training diary. I got the stage winners and an idea of how the race formed from a collection of videos from Mexican TV of each stage except Stage 9, on You Tube. If you want to see John and/or me in some type of action, check out this link on You Tube Ruta México 1990 - Etapa 6. San Luis Potosí - León. You can see John on his move off the front with Mike Engleman starting about 10:17. I appear in reasonable resolution at 11:50 in the bunch, though I am misidentified by the announcer.
The following morning, after a night of carousing in the Zona Rosa, we packed up the truck and began the long drive home. We toyed with the idea of driving up through Chihuahua and entering back through Juarez, but Chandler wasn't having it. "We're getting back to the U.S. as fast as we can". We went back through San Luis Potosi, through Zacatecas in the night, through Monterrey, and then into Laredo. Other than for eating and gassing up, the only stop we made was for a flat tire fix at a PEMEX station where the truck teetered off the jack. The station attendant calmly brought 'round a tractor with a skid loader, hoisted the truck up, and got it back on the jack. This time with more stability.
After the long drive from Laredo to El Paso, we loaded up John's Subaru, dropped off Romero, and made the four-hour drive back to Albuquerque. I had never been so glad to be home.
The Ruta Mexico ended on November 18th. Upon getting home to Albuquerque, I slept a lot, sat on the couch a lot, and eventually got out for some light rides including fun mountain bike rides. I went out at night with friends and struck out at my half-hearted attempts trying to pick up girls.
In just two weeks I felt very rested. I entered the New Mexico cyclocross series, held on an empty lot on far Southeastern edge of town. I only had a mountain bike suitable for the series, but in those days, that was what most people had. Only about three people in the field had real 'cross bikes. I won the first race handily. It felt easy. The only thing that made it slightly challenging was Laurence Malone was there. While well past his prime, he was still in shape and none the worse for his years of experience. At the end of the race, we were talking, me quite starstruck and I told him I had just finished the Ruta Mexico. "Ah, that's why you're so strong", he said. High praise, I thought, from such a legend of U.S. cycling.
I won the second race of the series over Bart Bowen and "Electric" Larry Risley. The third and final race on December 30th was also the state championship, which I also won ahead of Electric Larry and Bart.
I ended the year with 15,330 miles and 149 races. 82 of those races were international (All the Argentine races, Tour of Texas, Tour de Trump, the Milk Race, Guatemala and Mexico). Not including the end of year cyclocross races, I had seven wins, three of which weren't of any real significance (but a win is a win, they often say). Two were my Guatemala stages, and the other two were domestic wins with significant opposition.
In this year I had felt like I had several cycles where I built up tremendous form only to get sick before I could really take advantage of that form. There are a lot of pieces that go into making a top cycling athlete. You need to be both physically and mentally strong. You need a good work ethic. You need to be healthy. This last one seemed to be my failing. When I was in top form, all it took was one person near me with a virus to knock me down, like I didn't have an immune system at all. Bronchitis knocked me out of Tour de Trump and ground me down at the Milk Race. Colds and other viruses plagued me through the year, making gaining traction difficult.
It may be easy to say (when you look at the numbers above) that I was over-raced and or over-trained. I never felt like that though. I never felt so tired that I felt like I couldn't go on. I really didn't feel overdone, I felt unlucky. I ended the year feeling like I was sitting on a vast reservoir of strength and fitness that was waiting to be used. Of course, there were times when I felt exhausted, yet I recovered quickly each time.
The next year would be a lot more domestic racing, possibly nothing international. I would also go into 1991 with a bit of a chip on my shoulder. I wanted to prove wrong those who had doubted me, and I had some confidence I could do it.
