Rapha Gentlemen's Race: Post-Mortem

"139,000 FT" is a bit of a stretch. It was not quite that epic.

I covered the course and preparation previously. So if that's your thing, skip ahead back to the older post.

Musical Captain's Chair
By the time I began the race, I'd ridden the course three times, more or less. I wasn't getting any faster; I was coming off a fractured elbow, with only about four weeks of slow riding in me after four weeks off. But I was at least going to finish. But enough about my excuses.

The Rapha Gentlemen's Race (RGR) was a race of attrition, and that attrition began with the team, which was captained by Jack Hartley.

Sorry, Jack, but you bit off a bit much for your group of friends, who dropped out en masse before they'd even seen the course. ("Family obligation" seems a bit of a crutch when you have six weeks notice.) Unfortunately, Jack was coming back from shoulder surgery, and dropped out much more spectacularly by bonking and falling off his bike, in the dark, in the middle of Angeles National Forest. This was all harsh, all real.

That left me—who'd dropped off the Bike Effect team due to the whole fractured elbow thing—as the team captain. What a weird chain of events. Awkward.

Ethan and Attila.

In the end, we managed to hold onto a six-man team, and four of the riders were hired guns: Paddy "Wack" Hannon, Karim "Reembo" Qazi, Ethan "Sweatsuit" Milius, and pro cyclist Bobby "Did I mention I was in the Olympics? I didn't" Lea. It goes without saying that Bobby was head and shoulders and torso above the rest in every regard. We also had Attila "Attila" Reisz from Bike Improve, who I didn't really know beforehand, but proved to be a cool dude more than up to the challenge. Overall, good group.

Our team was called La Chiesa della Ruota Parlata, spaghetti-mouth for Church of the Spoken Wheel, after a Sunday ride the guys that did not ride typically ride together. Jack had kits made and everything. It doesn't take a rocket surgeon to see that this event was a significant event for Jack, and that he was downtrodden to be unable to even ride along with the race. We were all sympathetic, but thankfully Jack overcame the disappointment and decided to follow the race as our directeur sportif, providing us with beverages, smiles, and encouragement.

Race? Not an Issue
Nothing very exciting happened in the first half of the race, starting at Golden Road Brewery, except that Bobby drank about four tallboys of Miller High Life along the way to the climb, two of them before 7:30 am. (This guy could be the Bodie Miller of Olympic track cycling.)

As a team, we were making good, conversational time. No other team had passed us despite our missing the first turn and taking a long-cut to the first climb. Once off-road, we still were never passed. I did have a funny moment, however, seeing Max and "Bradford" from Team Mudfoot along the course with a flat. They weren't racing, but I'd ridden with them at 8 the morning before, and I'd spent a lot of time making fun of "Bradford" for being the slowest changer of a flat tire in the universe, because he gave me so much time with which to do so. So seeing him changing another tire at 8 am on consecutive days, I said something along the lines of, "Did you bring a headlamp to finish the job?" And rode away. Not my best story.

Ethan is a phenomenal climber. He won't admit as much; he'll just ride away from you ever-so-humbly on every incline. And that's what he proceeded to do. That doesn't make him very valuable as a teammate, but at least you know he's not behind you alongside the road. And it's not like he does it out of spite or anything; he's simply a great climber.

As we climbed the dirt road up Mount Gleason, Ethan was out of sight. He'd linked up with another guy who'd been a good teammate and left his whole team in the dust. Coincidentally (or not), he was Ethan's friend. They were the only ones ahead of me on the course when the guy flatted. Ethan stopped to help him, and I went past, and ended up tagging along with the very serious Bike Effect team when they came up, all the way to the top.

Bike Effect: all-over-print jerseys, 'cross bikes, and tan lines.

I did like their jerseys, and they did appear to ride much better than us as a team, but they seemed to take the race a bit too seriously, with their full arsenal of fully-kitted-out 'cross bikes. Bringing a 'cross bike to this gentleman's challenge of a road race seemed like a bit of a cheap cheat to me, since part of the RGR's challenge was to conquer the course on a road bike. That's just me though. I think they would've done as well on road bikes, anyway. They were beaten by guys on road bikes, after all.

Dirty job for a road bike. Not so much for a 'cross bike.

I was a bit glad I hadn't ridden with Bike Effect, as a couple of the guys seemed to be dying along the way, and there was no relenting and no smiles in the group, just panting and pain. Their ride did not look fun; they were on a mission. To their credit, they ended up getting second to the stacked Ritte van Vlaandeereen team, which featured supreme climber Aaron Wise, a man with biceps so vestigial to his higher purpose that he may be the only man Chris Froome could beat in an arm wrestling match.

Ritte's Aaron Wise looks down on me, with his loose sleeves on extra small jerseys.

While I waited at the top of Gleason, teams began going past. And I waited. More. Laid on the ground, had a bit of a nap. Finally, Paddy rolled up with our ringer Olympian, looking dead. Paddy'd had four flats, and was last up each climb even before all that. I sympathized with his condition, but also felt that setting up your tires the day before broke every rule of common sense, including to ride at least twice on the setup you'd be using. That wasn't the time to tell him so. I did feel bad that he was having both a bad day and bad luck, if that's what you want to call it. It was a shit sandwich either way, and he was eating it. Bummer. I sincerely hope Karim experienced a touch of schadenfreude after the beating Paddy put on us during Reembo's birthday ride up Baldy.

Paddy gutted his way through the day.

For the rest of the ride, I pretty much just rode alongside Paddy, taking it easy and encouraging him to keep going, not give up and get in a car, giving him a gel when he needed, etc.

The winners had passed us. It was just a ride now. Jack and his better half drove alongside us up Upper Big Tujunga, kindly. As we summitted on Angeles Crest Highway, Paddy found a second wind, and ripped down the descent into the sunset, into LA. Maybe it was that the Rapha film crew with the crazy RED camera that inspired him, but he was on one.

As we neared the end, Bobby drank a few more beers, bringing his total to a very impressive dozen or so. ("There's method to my madness" was the quote I got out of him as he descended, hands off the bars, chugging what may have been his tenth beer.) It was fun riding behind him; I spied some neat little moves and handling tricks from his track background. And he smelled like a brewery, which was motivational.

Ethan was the last rider to hit the bottom—he goes up so well, but descends like his huevos are actual eggs. From there, we rolled easy back to the brewery and finish. Paddy's bad luck wasn't quite over, as he rear-ended Karim, taking Reembo and his back wheel out of the race only a mile to the finish.

Nice aero helmet, dork.

Finally, we arrived at the finish and had beers. We were all in good spirits (beer has that effect), and Jack seemed happy. I was glad he had fun, even if he couldn't ride.

La Chiesa didn't win, but we had a higher purpose this day—to serve—and I'd say we more than fulfilled our duty.

... God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best
Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best. His state
Is kingly: thousands at His bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait.
—John Milton

Post-Mortem Postscript
In the end, we ranked 15 out of 24 teams, with teams like Golden Saddle Cyclery ahead of us in seventh.

Which is total bullshit, because GSC didn't go up Upper Big Tujunga (cutting off like 20 miles) nor finish with six men. (Not that we did, but according to the 3 km rule, Reembo gets the same time.)

Like I do with everything else, I'm going to note it, remark about it, but I'm certainly not going to worry about it.

We're still homies, but I count five dudes (three over 6'4!) who finished a shorter course.

We should've won jerseys for Lanterne Rouge, but instead we just got consolation caps.

Biggest surprise of the day? Ex-pro skateboarder and cinematographer Greg Hunt shooting a bike race for Rapha.

*All pics stolen from Instagram. Since they own the pics once you upload them, I'm stealing from them and not you.