OBX

Destination of the week: North Carolina's Outer Banks. Think of it as the land of the lost; the land that time forgot, where the locals are as worn and weathered as the landscape. I think of it as vacation and a really kick ass place. A place to get sweaty, salted, sanded, and baked.

My family has vacationed here for awhile now, but this was our first return in nearly seven years. The place has changed a lot since then; strip malls and mega-marts popping up everywhere, more kiteboards than surfboards, and overall, less quirkiness. Apparently during our seven year absence, it had been discovered. It is the collection of hodge-podge and randomness that make the Outer Banks great. For me, the allure of the Outer Banks has faded some. Or perhaps, it was me. I no longer have to own a T-shirt and sticker from every surf shop on the island (my board barely saw the surf). I didn't feel the urge to purchase everything at every general store I visited (most of which, in my opinion, had lost their lustre and intrigue). I didn't stop at every roadside dune to check out the break (though I wanted to). I did get to do everything I wanted, almost.

It is the almost and everything that hasn't changed that will bring me back. The almost I refer to is the 'kid in a candy store' feeling. Unrealistic as it may be, I see something and say, "Ooh look, I want to do that!" Guess I'll have to come back. What hasn't changed is the awesome food and home cooking (which I ate too much of), great times with family, and killer surroundings. Trip highlights included relaxing with the fam, trips to the NC Aquarium and Jockey's Ridge, splashing in the waves at the legendary S-Curves, bonfires and S'mores on the beach, and some 'fishing.'

My Hatteras top five:

1. The Wave Magnet--The Hatteras Light. Been there before, but didn't make it this trip. Extremely cool.

2. The Atlantic--The awesome power of this wave machine. Huge glassy barrels and crushing power.

3. Outdoor showers--My next house will have one.

4. Highway 12--A simple one-lane stretch from Nags Head to Hatteras. It has to be considered one of America's greatest.

5. The vibe--Sea breeze with a light hint of fishiness fills the air. Shirt and shoes are optional everywhere. Everything is chill.

When you leave them, the Outer Banks evoke a great sadness. Sadness at leaving Nature's beauty, good times and memories, and vacation. The sadness of returning to work (like a kid at the end of Christmas break or summer vacation). Work is for sucks. The OBX is for me.

World Championship Wednesday

WCW. It's no coincidence that World Championship Wednesday (as I dubbed it) shares its initials with he former wrestling league. The team's newest training criterium promised to be a knock-down, drag-out fight. Last night was my first participation, and I must admit, that I wasn't feeling too good about it. Be it getting ten hours of sleep in the last 72, or just knowing some of the names that might show up, I had a feeling that I was going to get shelled. No, shellacked.

Last night's small group of six had me feeling better about my chances. Five of us would be racing for second as there was no chance that we'd beat one guy. The course is a .5 mile loop with wide roads, good pavement, and two turns in a yet to be developed subdivision; a far cry from the previous training crit on the old Navy base (insert any of the following synonyms: hood, ghetto, Compton, projects etc). Fifty minutes plus five laps for the World Title!...or just some recognition among the local cycling circle.

Down to business. The race was on at a steady 24-25 mph, but rather than feeling like a crit, it felt more like a team time trial. Each person took a lap-long pull at the front and rotated out. There were no attacks, though there were a few charges and a few people dropping out. The thought of sitting out a lap did cross my mind. It sounded enticing. It sounded demoralizing. "No, I won't quit," I told myself. There were only three of us still on the same lap and therefore I had a chance at second if it came to a sprint. The lap countdown had begun and on the bell lap, Jamie put in a huge pull. A 30+ mph, three-quarters of a lap lead out for the final sprint. I was in second coming into the final turn and I could feel third coming up fast. Apparently he was starting to feel it too, so I gave it what little I had left and managed to hold on. Second. I'll take that.

Don't expect those kind of results often, but do expect more appearances at the WCW crit. This was awesome crit training and loads of fun.

Royale with Cheese

Destination of the week: Port Royal, SC. Situated near Beaufort and about 90 miles south of Charleston, Port Royal is one of a countless number of small Low Country coastal towns revolving around easy living. It was recently voted one of the top ten "coolest small towns" in America by one of these worthless internet polls. Having been there before, I could agree that it is a quaint little town. Coolest towns in America? I think not. But since I was in town for some bike racing, I decided to make the most of my once a year visit.

The drive south of Charleston on US-17 is one of my favorites. It is a stretch of the American landscape filled with small towns, open brackish marshes, coastal creeks, and ancient forests. I arrived with a few hours to spare before my race, so I decided to check out some of the town and talk to the locals about how to spend my twelve hours in Port Royal (which is all anyone would ever need). The staff at the Old Village Coffee Haus were more than accommodating. They said I had to have dinner at the Dockside Restaurant and be back by 6:30 for the Saturday evening concert series. Decisions made easy.

After my race, I bummed around town for awhile checking things out. Port Royal is on a small peninsula surrounded by intercoastal waterways and just north of Paris Island. The town is shielded by massive Live Oaks and draped in Spanish Moss. The shrimping industry and Marine Corps presence can be seen everywhere. Every house and business has a large, welcoming porch. I was immediately struck by the shanty shacks next to new construction homes, the older local crowd next to the shirtless, mulletted yokels. A sign of a town growing in no particular direction.

I stuck around to watch the Pro race before heading back to my hotel to get cleaned up for dinner. This was a mistake. By the time I had returned, the Dockside restaurant's parking lot was packed, and by all accounts, I wasn't getting in anytime soon. Luckily I had been eyeing a hole-in-the-wall pizza joint on the edge of town (quite a step down, but I was hungry enough to eat the hind-end off a hobby horse). I decided to waive my other options, a Thai place in an old one-room schoolhouse or a sandwich cafe, for calzones and beer. Another mistake. I make better calzones. At least I could make it to the street concert for another beer, some dessert, and good music.

The street was filled with Port Royalty. Lawnchairs, kids, and the smell of steamed shrimp (quite a contrast to the burgers and potato salad of my Midwestern youth). The sounds of John

McCutcheon's folk and children's music were entertaining and a great endcap for the evening. Retiring for the night, I vow to be back next year, family in tow.

Low Country Challenge

Headed south this weekend to participate in the Low Country Challenge, an omnium consisting of an individual time trial (TT), a criterium, and a road race. This was the second year for the event and my second participation, but it was to be my first time doing a TT. I borrowed a pair of aerobars from a friend and had been working on time trialing over the 40-kilometer distance. I knew the winning time at this distance would be under an hour, an average speed of over 25 mph! I also knew that this was beyond me, so I was shooting for a respectable 1:10:00. This was more than achievable. During practice, I had done 43k in about 1:15 with traffic.

I had always been skeptical of time trials. Aerobars look goofy and who is there to race against but yourself? Exactly. The time trial is often called the race of truth. How hard can you push yourself for a sustained time period without blowing up? Sometimes you surprise yourself and sometimes the truth hurts, either way you learn something. While I did enjoy the time trialing experience, I decided to fore go the TT in favor of sleep. Work was again getting in the way of my professional cycling career.

Other than being more humid than a Norwegian sauna, Saturday's crit went off without much fanfare. The non-technical course and the officials cutting the race short, lent it to being one of the fastest criteriums I can remember. There was no respite the entire time, and my heart rate monitor showed it. I averaged 171 beats per minute, maxxing out at 183. This was after starting with a resting rate of 100 bpm (over 40 bpm higher than normal, thanks to nerves and Starbucks!). I stayed near the front throughout, but got passed twice in the sprint to end up with tenth.

I awoke for Sunday's road race to rain. Not wanting to trash the Tarmac, I considered riding the old bike. "Naah, you only live once right?" I reasoned. The course was another fairly non-technical route on the Marine Core Air Station in Beaufort. Forty-one miles, fresh pavement, a couple of torrential downpours, and not much more. The pack stayed together most of the time, letting breaks go and then letting them get reeled back. I chased one down myself, at about the 25 mile point, as a matter of a personal vendetta. I considered this break a potentially serious one, but mainly I just didn't want this guy to win. He had been riding like a moron, weaving everywhere, so I nailed him back and just sat on him.

I again stayed where I wanted and ended up in third position lining up for the sprint finish. Perfect, except that I was already on the limit. I felt myself fading and about 500 meters from the line, I gave it the last few digs for 17th. Nothing special, but I felt good for doing it.