Cyclo Cross Tokyo 2012
I didn’t realize this, but this was the first ever Cyclo Cross Tokyo, and to say it was a success is an understatement.
We all woke up early to be at breakfast in the hotel by 7am. We were at the course with bikes, wheels, trainers and other supplies by 8 for the 40 minute course inspection, since Tim and Erik had not yet ridden the course.
There was still roughly 1.2km of sand on the course, so there was that. Knowing that, I took great pleasure in not racing.
Crowds were already starting to fill in and there were tents already raised for manufacturers and vendors.
The guys were immediately bombarded by requests for autographs, photos, interviews and introductions.
The prevailing mood for this event was excitement; not just for the fans and spectators, but for the competitors as well. The local, Japanese racers seemed thrilled at the opportunity to race along side some of the World’s elite cyclocross racers.
Cannondale’s Japanese MTB rider, Kazuhiro Yamamoto, and the local Cannondale guys offered their tent, tools, and anything else we needed to make the race go as smoothly as possible. Here, Kazu has his number pinned by his wife, Erina Yamamoto.
Our hosts from Champion System were very busy with the days duties, particularly Ryoji, who was promoting his first ever cyclocross race!
Chiharu was also busy and kept us on task with where we needed to be and when, since we understood none of the instructions and information sent out over the loud speakers.
Before we knew it, it was time to race. Hiroki Ito, Watase Yoshiki and the Cannondale crew helped out immensely by running the spare bikes to the pits while I met the guys to take their gear at the start.
The whistle blew, and the guys headed down the start stretch, immediately into a double set of barriers. On the pavement. Tim almost killed himself, but didn’t, and it was off to the pits for me.
I have some video of the race, but that will have to be posted later since internet speed at the hotel makes uploading video very difficult.
To quickly summarize, a local Japanese racer, Yu Takenouchi, took off like a bat out of hell and put a sizable gap into the entire field, making Ben Berden, and every other racer say, “Oh S***!”
Ben eventually caught Takenouchi, who appeared to have gone out a little too fast from all the excitement of the huge hometown crowds.
In the end, only five racers finished on the lead lap, with Tonkin being the first lapped rider. The final results were Berden, Johnson, Heule, Takenouchi, Driscoll, and Tonkin.
After the race, I caught some photos of the women’s podium awaiting presentation.
Spectators.
And the fun on the podium.
Champion System threw an amazing race, and the fact that this was the inaugural event is extremely promising for the future of cyclocross in this great city. This event proved that cyclocross is more than just UCI races and World Cups and SuperPrestige. Cyclocross is what you choose to make it and Tokyo has made something special with this event.
Enjoy these final, few images I think best summarize this great race:
Dinner Before the Race.
Back to chronological order, here…Friday.
On Friday, the rest of the racers arrived in Tokyo: Ben Berden, Tim Johnson, and Eric Tonkin.
Christian, Jamey and I were passing time in my hotel when Berden arrived at the hotel in Daiba late Friday afternoon and stopped by our room to say hello.
Ben’s most pressing question was what we were going to do at night.
He was welcomed to our room by a pant-less Christian, who spent many hours like this on Tim’s bed before he arrived to that evening.
“I can do this because I am Euro.” That is an actual quote. And he’s right.
Local Rapha rep, Daisuke Yano, also showed up to join us for a course pre-ride that would be happening a few hours later.
I sat where I usually do, in front of the laptop trying to upload photos, videos and write posts like this one…
A few hours later, Tim and Eric had arrived, the course inspection was done and we were on our way to another authentic Japanese dinner with our Champion System hosts, Ryoji, Shinya, and Chiharu.
The dinner we had is called Shabu Shabu. It’s basically a large pot of boiling water and oil, into which you dip an assortment of vegetables and, more importantly, delicious, thinly-sliced beef.
I ordered myself a Ginger Ale. It turned out to be one of the best I’ve ever had.
I had told our hosts upon first arriving here, when asked what type of Japanese food I knew and liked, that I loved Tempura. They were thrilled about this, so naturally they surprised us with some appetizers of Tempura fish, shrimp and vegetables.
The Tempura was amazing. Light, clean, and delicious. The shrimp barely required chewing. I don’t know what the fish was, and I don’t care, because it was good.
They placed three large pots of the water and oil mix on our table and beneath them were what basically amounted to gas-fired Sternos.
Then they brought out three large plates of items we would be dropping into the boiling pots.
There was cabbage, Udon noodles, mushrooms, carrots, seaweed, tofu (which is amazing here - more soft and gelatinous that what we find at home), green onions, and more.
Then came the thinly-sliced beef.
Once the water oil was nearly boiling, we received two dipping sauces, a sweet, almost citrus soy sauce and a sesame-based sauce. We also each got a bowl of rice to pair with all the other items. We got the nod from the server to start dropping food in the pots and we had at it.
I had the misfortune of sharing a pot with Jamey Driscoll. He eats quickly. He eats a lot.
After we could eat no more, Ryoji and Shinya had to leave to attend to preparations for the next day’s race. Chiharu asked if we needed anything else and I said we needed dessert. Christian, Jamey and I had stumbled upon a crepe/ice cream vendor earlier in the day, so we went there.
After eating some crepes filled with ice cream and chocolate covered bananas, the fatigue started to show on the faces of everyone and we called it a night.
Saturday morning would be more course time for Cyclo Cross Tokyo 2012 and then the big event at 12:00. None of us knew what to expect, but this being a blog, and tomorrow actually really being two days ago, it would turn out to be amazing and more than anyone could have expected. More on that soon.
Sushi in Tokyo
After leaving the airport, Shinya brought The Dangler and me to meet two more Champsys hosts, Chiharu and Ryoji, at a local Sushi eatery, not far from our hotel.
Bear with me on these next photos because, like I mentioned, I would prefer to not have to think at all when using a camera and it stresses me out having to do so. As a result, Todd edited these remotely and did what he could to fix them for me. I promise, though, they’re getting better.
Our host, Chiharu.
Host Ryoji.
Outside most of the restaurants near the hotel they display all the menu items in the windows.
We let our hosts order our dinner and while it was similar to sushi you might find in America, there were subtle differences. There was no pile of wasabi that many Americans use to pollute their soy sauce and prove their tolerance for spice.
Many of the items were familiar, but some were more intimidating, like the large eel seen in the forefront of this photo.
The chu toro (fatty tuna) was the best I’ve ever had and the Salmon roe was less salty and less potent than what I’m used to.
#Japandler
A few months ago, I got an email from Tim Johnson saying he had two options for after the World Championships in Koksijde; A race in Costa Rica or a race in Tokyo, Japan.
My response to him was something along the lines of, “Is it even a question?” While I’m sure Costa Rica is beautiful, Japan has always seemed, well, like JAPAN.
Shortly after the email exchange, Tim asked in passing, “Want to go to Japan?”
I laughed and shrugged it off. Not an option, really.
A few months later, Tim sent me a text message from Europe asking again, “Want to go to Japan?”
Up yours, Tim. Up yours. I get it, you’re going to Japan. I should have told you to go to Costa Rica. I wouldn’t have cared.
“We need a mechanic. The flight and expenses are covered.”
Up mine.
Japan was one of those trips my wife and I had reserved ourselves to making when we were old and retired. The cost and length of the flights has always been a deterrent, so the idea was put in the back of our minds, on temporary leave, so to speak. Who was I kidding, I’ll probably never retire.
“Yes, I want to go to Japan.”
Three days before the scheduled departure, I booked my flight. I spent roughly three hours comparing aircraft options, available seats, and flight paths. Did you know it only takes one more hour to fly from Toronto to Tokyo than from San Francisco to Tokyo? Arctic Circle #FTW.
#.
Final decision was Air Canada’s 777 in seats 12F, 18K, 31K, and 12F. Windows. Bulkheads. Empty rows. Total flight time: 16 hours.
Now, I have never been on one plane for more than 8 hours. I start to crack at hour 6. This was starting to stress me out.
Then I remembered something. I drove 21 hours from Wisconsin. Straight. Alone. It’s hard to admit one’s own stupidity, but in five less hours, I could be in Tokyo, Japan. And I wouldn’t be going through Pennsylvania.
I was over it.
I cleaned the house for my wife. Bonus points.
Todd loaned me a Canon 20D and told me to read the manual to learn how to use it.
Manual? For that camera? Looks pretty easy, and from all I could tell, Todd just pointed the thing at people, held his breath, made weird noises and magic appeared in the viewfinder. No manual. No way.
Wednesday arrived, at it was time to depart the country.
Travel from Boston to Toronto was uneventful.
In Toronto, I told the manual Todd have given me to shove it and I did what anyone in this Golden Age does, I googled how to set that camera up. Isn’t the Internet wild, guys? It has EVERYTHING.
If there’s one thing I don’t care about, it’s “Metering.” Or aperture. Or exposure. Or shutter speed. I just push the effing button, and it is supposed to look good. Why else would someone spend so much money on a camera?
They have moving sidewalks in Toronto that tell you where to hold on for safety.
As I made the journey down that moving sidewalk, I realized with every lurch and lunge it made I was getting closer to my sealed fate of 13 hours in a thing that is, for all intents and purposes, made and operated by people. And people make mistakes. Example: My Life. Just kidding.
I bought a big bottle of water. I put two Airborne tablets in it. I had a mini-nervous breakdown.
13 hours.
You know when there’s a plane crash and there’s always this one person who didn’t get on the flight because “I just had a bad feeling about it?” I didn’t have that feeling. But how could I be sure.
I should have flown Qantas. #Wopner.
I felt pretty good knowing I had an empty row to myself with all the leg room I would need, but Air Canada reminded me one last time that I was, much to my dismay, one of the sheeple.
There were a few fellow Americans chomping at the bit before take off. The cause of the hullabaloo:
Yup. Look at that oasis. I had no qualms, as I had my own mini-oasis.
Have you ever heard the phrase, “Unlucky Lottery?” I first heard this term on an old radio show that was in Boston, then wasn’t, then was again. Opie and Anthony. Good stuff.
They used to do a bit where they talked about people who have the wrong kind of luck. One example was a guy who was cruising on a lake on his brand new jet ski and a duck flew in his path and took his head clean off.
Well, I like to think that I win the “Unlucky Lottery” every time I fly.
Here I am, all alone in the next best seat to Business Class and I smell something reminiscent of cat urine. The culprit?
Yep. It smelled like cat piss. And it was a culprit.
Halfway into the flight, one of the Flight Attendants stopped to speak with the cat piss foot culprit’s daughter who had, apparently vomited on herself.
Flight attendant (FA): Are you taking any medication?
Cat Piss Culprit’s Daughter (CPCD): Yes, Antibiotics.
FA: For what?
CPCD: Infection.
My ears started ringing. I tried to sit perfectly centered on my seat as to block any potential germ penetration.
Naturally, the Flight Attendant then asked, “Would you like some chicken soup?”
CPCD: Yes.
No.
No you do not want chicken soup.
But I do.
In case you’re wondering what someone looks like when they fly for 13 hours, here it is, condensed to a little more than a minute.
Riveting.
For the last 55 minutes, I stared at this, while I wondered if my tail bone would ever be the same:
The approach to Tokyo looks like this:
Once you pass through immigration, you are welcomed by a sign that says, “If you were ill during your travels, come to this area.” I probably should have stopped, preemptively.
I was intimidated by the health specialist, so I balked at a photo. I did grab this photo, though, once I passed him.
Shortly thereafter, I passed through baggage collection and then customs. Upon exiting the terminal, I was greeted by one of the Champsys hosts, Shinya.
We had some time to kill while we waited for Jamey “The Dangler” Driscoll, so we did what anyone would do upon arriving in Tokyo.
Having recently spent a month in Brooklyn, Shinya had no problem sharing a Starbucks with me.
I had no idea what time it was.
The Dangler was late, though, I did know that.
I used the airport bathroom and when I came back, Shinya had Jamey in his possession.
We hopped in a minivan from the future and headed to meet Chiharu, Ryoji, and Christian Heule for dinner, but that’s for another time.
Set Yourself Up. To Fail.
I like to set unreasonable goals for myself.
In doggy classes they call this, “setting your dog up for failure.”
For example:
My wife will not take the dogs off leash in a busy parking lot. She will wait until the dogs are in the car and then unleash them.
I, on the other hand, will unleash them 50 yards before reaching the car to see if they will go to the car like I want. Inevitably, they do not, and I end up spending an hour trying to get the dogs into the car.
I can’t explain why I do this. Like Richard Sachs says, “It’s simple. But not easy.”
Is it?
For days leading up to Gloucester, I told everyone I was going to win.
To be more specific, I said things like, “I am going to win Gloucester.”
As the race drew near. er. I said things like, “I think I can win.”
Then, “Definitely a podium.”
Finally, on the eve of the big weekend, when Stu Thorne asked me what we were looking at for results from me I offered, “Top 5?”
Yes, with a question mark.
Saturday morning, I awoke to rain. Christian Heule had told me at the Cannondale p/b CyclocrossWorld.com team launch the night before that I would need mud.
“For a rider like you, who has no acceleration, you need mud. You have only one speed, so mud, for you, is good.”
Who did this guy think he was?
Six-time Swiss National Champ, that’s who.
Whatevs, yo.
I took three more hours than I intended to get ready Saturday morning, but luckily the race was 12 miles from my home.
12 miles that take 30 minutes, but who’s counting?
Upon arriving at the event, I saw the ridiculously awesome CyclocrossWorld Grassroots team area Chris Ragusa will be setting up at all the Verge Events, parked right next to my teammates Tim, Jamey, Nicole, Christian, and Kaitie. It was good that we all were so close. They would be asking me a lot of questions about tire selection and pressure.
Nice shirt.
We had a freaking pressure washer. Translation: Pre-ride the muddy course, wash your bike in 2 minutes, start with a clean bike.
And Chris has one of those air pumps that looks like a cordless drill with a digital reading. I kept deflating and inflating my tires to 26.5 pounds.
Because I could.
I think I actually ended up going with 26 pounds rear and 24 pounds front on Dugast Rhinos.
I warmed up on a trainer. I know. I know.
Soon enough, it was time to race, but I had to give my teammate a hug before I took to the line.
Me: I’m so nervous! Tim: You’ll do great, Chan!
Everyone says I’m fat, but I see a rib.
The officials did the call-ups and I was second row. But there was an open spot in the first row.
So I took it.
On the front line it was me and a lot of teenagers. I begged them to take it easy on me.
They ignored me.
The whistle blew and we were off.
It started fast, but I think I am getting used to this. At some point I will just learn that the youngsters can, in fact, maintain that speed, and I might not ever see them again during the race.
I think I settled in somewhere around 6th place heading into the dirt, which then led to some oddly spaced stairs near the beer garden. As we ran the steps I heard some comments from the crowd. One of which was, “You’re the first person who is old enough to drink beer!”
Honestly, everything was happening so fast, I don’t even know what happened for the first two laps. I know we got off our bikes four times - run up, stairs, barriers, flyover. Ouch.
The first real memory I have from the race is finishing lap two and seeing the lap cards read “4.” I thought to myself, “How is that right? I don’t think I can make it another four laps?”
I thought about quitting, as I always do, but then someone told me I was in 5th place. I had never finished higher than 6th in a Verge Series race. It was my time to shine.
Up front, Nate Morse and Peter Goguen were flying.
Then it was Brendan McCormack, one of the 300 McCormacks that are attending cyclocross races now, leading Curtis White.
I was haunted by Hot Tubes Juniors 20 years ago. And one of them was a McCormack. Go figure.
I was somewhere behind these guys, crying for my Mommy.
Early into lap 3, I saw Nate riding very slowly. Turns out he went down when he hit an unmarked rock that threw him into the only gravel on the course.
When I caught up to him, he said, “Owwwwwwwww. I’ve never been in so much pain. I think I might cry.”
I have to be honest, for a second, only a brief one, I thought, “Maybe I can beat him now.”
I snapped out of it and told him he was fine. “Get back up there,” I said.
Crybaby.
So he took off again and left me fending for my life against Brendan McCormack, Curtis White, and another junior phenom from North Carolina, Chase Dickens.
Look at them, they are everywhere.
To set the current situation, at the end of lap 3, with three laps remaining, it was Juniors in 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 6th. I was in 5th. Barely.
Curtis White had a mechanical.
Brendan McCormack needs to work on his bike-run-bike transitions, so I was able to gap him at the flyover.
Meanwhile, Steven Hopengarten was upholding his reputation as the host of the Party at the Back of the race.
Hi Ryan! Hi Steven!
I spent another 1.5 laps trying not to die. Chase Dickens and I seemed pretty evenly matched and Curtis White kept having mechanicals, dropping back, and then fighting his way back.
How do you do that?
With one lap left, the adrenaline finally appeared to have worn off for Nate and he dropped back through us. He was making weird noises, but I assumed he would be fine.
In retrospect, I was probably thinking about as clearly as a mountaineer at 25,000 feet above sea level.
Not that clear.
Or it could have been the realization that I, for the first time in Verge Series history, had a chance to finish in second place and I would not be letting some blood and tears of a 16 year old get in the way of this dream being realized. Not now. Not never.
Or it could be that I hate my teammate and just want him to fail.
That’s probably not true. Or is it, Nate?
Up ahead, Peter Goguen had held a ridiculous gap over the rest of us, and the win was his.
Slow down, please.
Coming through the last few winding stretches of the course, I sat behind Curtis and Chase. I was fairly certain I would be able to come around the two of them on the pavement, but I had underestimated these little savages in the past, so I really had no idea what to expect.
We would never really find out, though, as Curtis and Chase tangled on the second to last corner in the sand pit. Only Chase went down and I stopped short of a collision with Chase.
We watched Curtis ride away and Chase expressed some unhappiness with Curtis’ chosen line.
I just wanted this all to be over because I was in a considerable amount of pain from being smashed over the head for 50 minutes by 5 juniors, so I had no real reaction to anything.
I led Chase to the pavement and saw that Curtis may have actually been beatable, so I sprinted as hard as my failing legs would allow.
We didn’t catch Curtis, but I managed to hold off the pride of the south.
Photo: Wil Mathews
3rd place. A monument of sorts.
I was the #weenar of the Cat 3s, but let’s be honest. Races within races are for the weak.
They called the wrong names for the 2nd and 3rd placed Cat 3s, who were nowhere to be seen, so I got the podium all to myself.
To some this might be awkward. Not to me.
Would a win on day 2 of the GP Gloucester be possible?
