Here is my report from Milwaukee last week. We had a great time. August 8. We left Nashville on Thursday morning. We consisted of Kinji Tanaka, Paul Matrisian, and myself. I had checked out our rental van from my friend, Bill in Donelson at 8:30 AM. It was a 12-foot Ford E-350 passenger van, with the two back seat rows removed to make room for our racing machines. Paul had constructed a clever wooden contraption to lock the front forks to the floor. But knowing Paul, I was not surprised to find that he had also bought a whole set of top of the line moving straps, which he used to secure the bikes left, right, up, down, back and forth. If we were in a head-on collision at 70 mpg, our bikes would not have a scratch. Our plan was to take Briley Parkway to I-65 and head towards Chicago. TV had shown that morning that our route was under water at Opry Mills. Well, we should try and see if they had not opened it by now, I suggested. No, we will be stuck here all day, Paul said. Kinji had to be the deciding voice. He said Briley, because that is the only way he knows, with his Garmin being left in Japan. Miraculously, the road was just opened and we were on our way. Neither Kinji nor I were allowed to drive, ever since Lynda had filled Paul’s head with horror stories about our driving habits. Fine Paul, you drive all the way. And so he did. Through Kentucky we went, past Louisville and into Indiana. We stopped short of Indianapolis for lunch. Kinji took pictures of the cashier girls. The weather was great for traveling. No rain and light clouds. Before reaching our first stop over in Merrillville, just South of Gary, IN, we saw a gigantic windmill slowly turning its blades. Look, there is another one. And another. And another. We had reached the largest wind farm in the US, with over 100 Chinese-built 1.5 MW units. Paul explained that they were already at maximum rotation speed. Any faster and the tips would exceed the speed of sound, which would have created a lot of noise. Kinji was jumping up and down in the back seat to get a good picture as we zipped by. The whole thing was quite impressive, I must admit. When I got home I calculated the tip speed. Yes, a 160-foot blade could go no faster than 10 seconds per loop. Arriving in Merrillville, we checked in for the night. Kinji, are you hungry? Yes!! Kinji is very hungry, he said and put a finger to his nose. We asked the desk clerk for direction to a good place to eat. He pointed to a sports bar across the street. Kinji took pictures of his plate, before and after. That scene repeated itself every time we sat down to eat. August 9. The next morning was Friday, the day before the race. We took the long detour around Chicago that took almost an hour. It was a toll road with pay stations at every 20-30 miles. Who has a dollar bill? Paul cried out, after he ran out. We were supposed to share all expenses, so the source of all those dollar bills had to be recorded on the back of copies of LA Times crossword puzzles that Paul had brought for entertainment. We passed O’Hare and crossed I-90. There was the Six Flags with roller coasters criss-crossing by the side. Finally, Milwaukee, Wisconsin. It is a big city, slightly larger than Nashville. We wanted to go to the waterfront, where the triathlon was taking place. There was a white structure at the waterfront as part of a pedestrian overpass. It looked like huge butterfly with its wings made out of 2 feet diameter tubes, that were slowly moving up and down. We found a parking garage nearby. We watched swimmers practicing in the frigid water. The crowd was enormous with 2800 participants for the Olympic distance and 1200 for the sprint. The packet pickup and expo was also in size to match. We got our goody bags and race numbers. Kinji, are you hungry?, etc. You know the rest. We left the car in the parking garage and walked into the downtown. Where is nice place to eat?, we asked a passer by. Oh boy, we were sorry to ask. The gentleman was only too eager to give directions and describe the menu in detail at each place. For a while I thought he was going to want to join us. It was only a few blocks and we ended up at Finnegan’s, an Irish pub. It was the day before race. That meant no beer for us. But the food was excellent. They were not supposed to open the transition area until 3 PM. By 2 o’clock the line was so long it stretched 300 yards and they let the bike setup begin. All bikes had to be in place by 7 PM. The transition area looked like a giant labyrinth with row after row of metal bars. Because of security concerns, we were not allowed to bring any tote bags that could hide a pressure cooker. Instead, we were given a large clear plastic bag. It was the only item not to be used in the race that was allowed. Paul looked worried. There goes all my planning for this event, he complained. He always brings multiple choices of food and equipment to place under his bike, just in case. Now, he had to make the final decisions a whole day ahead. Kinji’s biggest worry was to identify landmarks to locate his spot. Luckily, there was a South Carolina State flag right across the field. All the 350 participants in the men 60+ category had race numbers 400 to 750. Our places all had our race numbers pasted on the rack. However, the spot on the other side had a different number. When they put up the bike from their side the bike number on the back was on our side. My spot had a small sticker that said 557. Beside it was a bike with a large number on the back that said 467. Confusing, indeed. I was worried about Kinji, who is known to spent long times at finding his bike. Anyway, we got our stuff ready and left to check out the bike course. It was 3 miles north along the water past a public beach, then up a hill to a turnaround, back onto an interstate by-pass for 6 miles, and 4 miles on a plateau overlooking Lake Michigan. Then, a second turnaround and 10 miles back to the finish. A fast, easy bike course. Our hotel, Best Western Inn, was at the airport, not far from the bike course second turnaround. We unloaded the van and went to find a Chinese buffet. This is a tradition. We always eat Chinese on the night before a triathlon. It started in Guntersville, many years ago. Each one of us believes it gives extra power, even though we cannot agree on which ingredients are responsible. Kinji thinks it is the sushi with green seaweed. Paul thinks it is the fried rice and maybe spicy chicken. I think it might be the soy sauce and Mongolian beef. Back at the hotel we laid out our clothes and worked on applying the temporary tattoos for arms and legs. We had learned from 3 years ago in Tuscaloosa that you must first remove the plastic film before adding water. Then, hold firmly for 30 seconds before removing the paper part. Paul had discovered that if you put talc powder over the tattoos, the numbers would not rub off by your pyjamas or bed spread. August 10. I had set the alarm for 4:35 AM. It was still dark. At 4:45 Kinji and Paul were already dressed and ready to go. We drove in silence, wondering what would lie ahead. At our age, a wrong step or a bike wreck is a bad, career-ending event. Kinji was worried that he would freeze to death in the 69 degrees water. Therefore, he had had chosen a long sleeve wet suit, making it much harder to move your arms. Paul was worried that he’d be trampled below the water, as younger, faster swimmers would overtake him. I was worried that I would run out of gas with 4 miles or more to go in the run. It was a beautiful morning with great weather. Sunny with 63 degrees and a light wind from northwest, perfect. The swim started at 7:30 with 7 minutes between each group of 400 or so. Kinji and Paul were already at the dock. I had not yet put on my wet suit. Once I get ready for the swim, I leave my glasses at the bike. That gave me only my swim goggles for vision. Not much of a vision with all that anti-fog stuff that I had smeared on. I decided to go to the van and remove my long sleeve shirt. I managed to put on the wet suit. Now, I had only to get back to the dock. Oh no, my crocks were still on my feet. I rushed into the transition area to place them with my bike. Where is my bike? Where am I? I looked through my goggles for the rebel flag. You must leave the area immediately, the loudspeaker droned. Number 557, you will get a 2 minutes penalty, if you do not leave, now! I tossed my crocs high in the air and ran to the side of the transition area. Come quickly here, a lady whispered, and sneaked me through a side gate. I never found my shoes. When I arrived at the boat dock, all the blue-capped men in my group had already lined up. In our black wet suits and blue swim caps we looked like emperor penguins, all alike. Paul finally recognized me. Where is Kinji? I said. We searched but never saw him. It is not easy to spot one out of 350 identical twins. The start of the first wave got delayed by 15 minutes. The police had not cleared the entire bike course from traffic. I felt sorry for the first group, who had to tread water for 15 minutes. We were in the third wave, 14 minutes behind. The blare of a horn signaled the start. We had to swim under a small bridge, where swimmers in the opposite direction were kept to one side, making it very crowded. I decided to go out slow and stay way behind. It was my first Olympic distance this year, since the river swim in Chattanooga got canceled. Our longest training distance was a 20-minutes pool swim in March. Except for Kinji, who had already done two triathlons in Japan. I only breathe on the left side. That meant that I stared into the sun for every swim stroke. I tried to close my eyes and only open them under water. Nope, that is not a good way to navigate. I got disoriented and tried to do some backstrokes to calm down. Now, I was looking straight up into the blue sky. Soon, I discovered that I had turned around and was heading towards the start. Get serious, Tomas, I heard my mothers voice in my head. I resumed my usual swim style and managed to reach the halfway point. I looked at my watch. Nineteen minutes, that was good. Suddenly, I was surrounded by yellow-capped swimmers passing me. It was the 50-59 women, who had started 7 minutes behind. I followed in their wake. With 300 yards to go, I finally got into a good rhythm. The finish ramp was a steep platform that you could see in the clear water. Several people grabbed me as I staggered to the rail. As I was hanging there and gasping for air, they asked, Are you OK? Yes, of course, why are you asking? The same thing happened after every leg of the race. I could not understand until I saw the finish line pictures. I looked like death warmed over in every one. I unzipped my wet suit and found my bike. After Paul had got his suit stuck on the timing chip Velcro in Music City Triathlon two weeks before, I thought it would be a good idea to first remove the chip before pulling off the suit. One leg went OK, but the other seemed stuck around my ankle. I was too weak and inflexible to reach it with my hands. I was laying there on the ground, wiggling like a worm, trying to use the other foot to push and pull. I finally had to get up and step on the suit with one foot to finally get out. Now, where was my timing chip? I search in the grass. It must be in the wet suit. Yes, there it was, stuck to the neck Velcro. Now, the biking shoes. But first the socks. Where are the socks? Lynda had found me a pair of thick, wide socks that were easy to roll back. My shoes were on the feet and tightened. Now, what? Ah, a drink of Gatorade. I reached for my helmet. Aha, there were my glasses that I should have put on first. I could see, again. I exited the transition area and looked at my watch. Five minutes. All the gains from wearing a wet suit were gone. I climbed the bike and headed out. No speed readings. The display said 0.00 mph. I must have disturbed the magnetic sensor on the front wheel. After three miles at the turnaround, I stopped to fix the problem. I got off the bike and turned the wheel. No magnet. It had fallen off somewhere, somehow. I had no speed readings. This could be a disaster. I normally stop pedaling downhill when I reach 26 mph, because my legs cannot handle any faster cadence. Now, I had no idea so I kept pedaling. It was probably a good thing, because I kept passing other bikers, including several women in Team USA uniforms. The second turnaround came up. Now, I could feel the headwind with 10 miles to go, including one high bridge. No need to spare myself, because the run will be a disaster on dead legs, anyway. After a long down hill, two sharp right turns and I saw the red dismount tape. Get off your bike, get off, they screamed. I hit both my brakes and stopped right on the line, as usual. The second transition went fairly well, I thought, until I heard: Wrong way. Come back. I had exited in the bike lane. Stupid road monitors. They should have told me at once and not let me runout there at all. I had not yet seen either Paul or Kinji on the bike. I was wondering where they could be. The 10K course formed the letter Y with the left, second out and back 2 miles and the first being 1 mile. So, I knew I would meet them twice on the run and figure out how we would finish. Yes, there was Paul about 3 minutes ahead. He looked good with a big grin on his face I made the turnaround and saw Kinji in the same spot, 3 minutes behind. No grin. The course was absolutely flat along the lakeshore. At the second turnaround by the beach, I met Paul and Kinji in almost the same positions. That meant that our paces were similar and that our run times should be too. After a fast first mile of 8:29, Paul had settled down to a 9:15 pace, slightly faster than ours. At the finish line we were greeted and cheered on by big crowd of people. Paul was waiting for me and we both waited for Kinji. We went to the results tent and printed out our result stickers. NATL-2013 Age 1.5K T1 25 Mi T2 10K Time Place Paul Matrisian 64 33 22 3 46 1 19 01 3 15 57 23 2 56 47 66 M60 Tomas de Paulis 70 37 11 4 51 1 17 25 2 28 1 02 27 3 04 22 18 M70 Kinji Tanaka 72 40 56 3 59 1 19 12 2 40 1 02 31 3 07 30 23 M70 It turned out the Paul had won the swim and the run. I had won the bike leg. Paul beat Kinji on the bike by 11 seconds and I had beaten Kinji by 4 seconds on the run. Kinji pointed out that he had won T1+T2, a new category, called The Combined Transition Time. Only the top ten in each age group were given awards, so we left. On the way home, we stopped again in Merrillville, IN, for the night. We wanted to celebrate and went to a nearby Hooters. At first, Paul did not want to go there. How can there be any good food at Hooters, he complained. We don’t care about the food, we want beer. But we must have worked up an appetite, because we ate all kinds of good food. Kinji started with a bowl of giant legs of Alaskan Snow Crab. Then, a plate of 12 oysters. Paul and I ate spicy chicken wings. Paul said that we were too far from the ocean to safely eat oysters. Kinji looked up after the last snail and said: I want cooked potatoes. Cooked potatoes? It took us a while to figure out that he wanted French fries. We ordered two plates of fries and he finished one of them himself. The waitress was very friendly. She was 25 years old, a mere baby to us. We told her about our adventures. I showed her my temporary number tattoos, which I keep on my arms until the next race. Paul tried to talk her into doing a triathlon. A mean looking bouncer kept looking our way, making Paul nervous. I don’t think he goes to Hooters much. August 11. The next day, we stopped in Louisville, KY, for lunch. I wondered what would be open on a Sunday. We found a great place near the university campus, Pleasure Ridge Pizza. They had three flat screen TVs, one showing live golf, one live tennis, and the third had live football. We stayed there for over an hour, before Paul drove the last 200 miles home. Mission accomplished.
Posted on: Sat, 17 Aug 2013 02:22:41 +0000
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