Polluting the Pond, Tour of Fairbanks Part IV (The Bad)
There was a bit of an intentional gap between Part II and Part IV, because I wanted to make sure the message had the proper tone and wasn't a reflection of my personal pain and humiliation (like all of the other posts have been to this date). Hopefully this conveys where I stand on the parts of the Tour of Fairbanks that I didn't find so wonderful.
While certain parts of this year's Tour of Fairbanks were right on target, I think the last two stages were far off the mark. I will admit up-front that my perception is likely affected by the fact I was riding hurt, but the way the packs were spread out across the landscape by the end. The strongest racers won, which is always the goal, but the remainder of the shattered pack limped in at increasingly large intervals. When you're a racer, new or experienced, this is never a motivating place to be. Course selection is a big part of the balance in creating a selective-yet-inclusive race that encourages racers of all ability levels to compete. In our small pond, this importance is increased exponentially.
I still maintain the course has less to do with how hard a race is than how the racers approach it. The post I published last Monday was actually written before I left for Fairbanks. However, certain course profiles result in more separation than others. In your average stage race, where do the time gaps really start to appear? In time trials and hill climbs. Long time trials skew towards the powerful aero guys, and steep climbs are the domain of the skinny. When you don't really excel at either, your deficit just keeps mounting. Again, the strongest rider should win, but repeated kicks to the lady parts rest of the pack is not the way to ensure your customers return.
Balance.
Chris Knott is one of the instrumental idiots in keeping road racing alive in Fairbanks, and comes down to Anchorage a couple times a year to race with the Arctic Bike Club. Despite being a vastly better cyclist than I will ever be (he knows how to put down a fork), I enjoy racing against him. The guy just really likes road racing, and exudes that positive vibe that keeps the sport alive.
We shot a series of messages on this subject back and forth as I waited for the fire to burn its way through Alaska- forgive me Chris if I get the gist of the exchange wrong and feel free to correct me. Essentially he said there were complaints from riders about the epic lengths of the courses, and that they thought that limiting the stages to two hours was the right formula. I disagree. This year there wasn't a stage longer than two hours, but as anyone who races crits will tell you, the shorter the race is the more intense it gets. Plenty of riders got dropped in the 30+ minute crit, as well as every other mass start stage. Miles and time meant less than how the pack was configured. Balanced fields know how much they have in the tank, and ride accordingly.
Fairbanks has roads that create opportunities for stages on a grand scale which Anchorage could never match. In Anchorage the vast majority of venues have you seeing the same mailbox 20 times in order to get any significant distance. People drop out of boredom, because the terrain never changes. You know where the attacks are going to happen. In Fairbanks the roads allow you to make tactical decisions based on your strengths and weaknesses, in places that are harder to anticipate. The next hill is different than the last one. The wind in that valley is different from the one you just left. This descent is more technical... That's why I spend the money to come to Fairbanks. That's why I tell everyone it's the best racing in Alaska. Venues. If I wanted short hill climbs and short courses, we have a whole series of them in Anchorage. A queen stage is supposed to be grand, played out on a large scale so that people that complete it feel like they've conquered something epic. Fairbanks has epic in spades, if you do it right.
That brings me to my next point- uphill finishes and dirt roads on road stages. While they seem really cool when the pros are battling it out, in our amateur reality they just suck. When you stack them back-to-back, you're just beating the weaker riders when they're down. Gravel and other "Roubaix-esque" courses are better suited to one-day events, and certainly not as the culminating event of the race. That sort of "epic" isn't the same thing as a long road stage (like the old Wickersham Dome stage). Like the cobbled classics, it's about bitter attrition and pain- not the last memories you want your racers with delusions of grandeur to have of your multi-day event.
A long-ish TT and a road race with a sustained uphill finish on the same day is a bit much. Older racers don't recover as quickly as younger racers do. A shorter time trial (10-12 miles) and a 35 mile road race with a less-hilly profile keeps the gaps closer and the racing more exciting leading up to the final stage. The guys in the back should not be almost a half hour down on GC rolling into the last day, without having finished with the pack during any of the previous mass-start races. Throw them a bone.
It's about building slowly to a climax. Everyone has different goals when they enter a race, but most of the racers up here aren't sacrificing themselves for the glory of a teammate. They're riding their own race, and when you're 30 minutes down on the third day of a stage race it can be demoralizing. Four days of what turns out to be individual time trials after you're dropped is not a lot of fun. I can ride by myself whenever I want. Riding against other people is what makes racing so addicting, but you have to be in the pack to get hooked.
As always, I could be wrong.
I still maintain the course has less to do with how hard a race is than how the racers approach it. The post I published last Monday was actually written before I left for Fairbanks. However, certain course profiles result in more separation than others. In your average stage race, where do the time gaps really start to appear? In time trials and hill climbs. Long time trials skew towards the powerful aero guys, and steep climbs are the domain of the skinny. When you don't really excel at either, your deficit just keeps mounting. Again, the strongest rider should win, but repeated kicks to the lady parts rest of the pack is not the way to ensure your customers return.
Balance.
Chris Knott is one of the instrumental idiots in keeping road racing alive in Fairbanks, and comes down to Anchorage a couple times a year to race with the Arctic Bike Club. Despite being a vastly better cyclist than I will ever be (he knows how to put down a fork), I enjoy racing against him. The guy just really likes road racing, and exudes that positive vibe that keeps the sport alive.
We shot a series of messages on this subject back and forth as I waited for the fire to burn its way through Alaska- forgive me Chris if I get the gist of the exchange wrong and feel free to correct me. Essentially he said there were complaints from riders about the epic lengths of the courses, and that they thought that limiting the stages to two hours was the right formula. I disagree. This year there wasn't a stage longer than two hours, but as anyone who races crits will tell you, the shorter the race is the more intense it gets. Plenty of riders got dropped in the 30+ minute crit, as well as every other mass start stage. Miles and time meant less than how the pack was configured. Balanced fields know how much they have in the tank, and ride accordingly.
Fairbanks has roads that create opportunities for stages on a grand scale which Anchorage could never match. In Anchorage the vast majority of venues have you seeing the same mailbox 20 times in order to get any significant distance. People drop out of boredom, because the terrain never changes. You know where the attacks are going to happen. In Fairbanks the roads allow you to make tactical decisions based on your strengths and weaknesses, in places that are harder to anticipate. The next hill is different than the last one. The wind in that valley is different from the one you just left. This descent is more technical... That's why I spend the money to come to Fairbanks. That's why I tell everyone it's the best racing in Alaska. Venues. If I wanted short hill climbs and short courses, we have a whole series of them in Anchorage. A queen stage is supposed to be grand, played out on a large scale so that people that complete it feel like they've conquered something epic. Fairbanks has epic in spades, if you do it right.
That brings me to my next point- uphill finishes and dirt roads on road stages. While they seem really cool when the pros are battling it out, in our amateur reality they just suck. When you stack them back-to-back, you're just beating the weaker riders when they're down. Gravel and other "Roubaix-esque" courses are better suited to one-day events, and certainly not as the culminating event of the race. That sort of "epic" isn't the same thing as a long road stage (like the old Wickersham Dome stage). Like the cobbled classics, it's about bitter attrition and pain- not the last memories you want your racers with delusions of grandeur to have of your multi-day event.
A long-ish TT and a road race with a sustained uphill finish on the same day is a bit much. Older racers don't recover as quickly as younger racers do. A shorter time trial (10-12 miles) and a 35 mile road race with a less-hilly profile keeps the gaps closer and the racing more exciting leading up to the final stage. The guys in the back should not be almost a half hour down on GC rolling into the last day, without having finished with the pack during any of the previous mass-start races. Throw them a bone.
It's about building slowly to a climax. Everyone has different goals when they enter a race, but most of the racers up here aren't sacrificing themselves for the glory of a teammate. They're riding their own race, and when you're 30 minutes down on the third day of a stage race it can be demoralizing. Four days of what turns out to be individual time trials after you're dropped is not a lot of fun. I can ride by myself whenever I want. Riding against other people is what makes racing so addicting, but you have to be in the pack to get hooked.
As always, I could be wrong.
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