From Brooklyn to Milan to Barcelona, Red Hook Crit Grows Into Global Championship Series

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By Daniel McMahon

I remember standing in a light mist on a chilly night back some years ago, somewhere on a street corner in the Red Hook neighborhood of Brooklyn, New York. I’d gotten word from a teammate that a guy named Dave Trimble was organizing a little nighttime bike race. It was the second edition of the Red Hook Crit, I learned later.

With my then new girlfriend, I headed out sometime around 10 to see what the chatter was all about, despite the weather. Being the romantic type, and wanting to impress on one of our early dates, I stopped in a bodega for chips and a couple cans of beer. After a short walk along some old cobblestoned streets, we found ourselves among a small handful of spectators watching an even smaller pack of racers huddled together at a makeshift start line.

That was 2009, and the rest is some pretty cool history.

Trimble has been really impressive in growing his Red Hook Crit into a major event that today is a four-race series complete with big-name sponsors, world-class competitors, and lots of style. It’s exciting to see all the new stuff he keeps bringing to his race. Digital tech. A slick iPhone app. Beautiful design. Respect from everyone. It just gets better each year.

If you’re hanging around the New York City area this weekend, be sure to check out the race.

And if you want to learn more about the RHC, check out this short history I wrote for VeloNews.

Kudos to Dave for following his dream and all his hard work. It’s totally paid off. He’s got one of the coolest races in the country, and Europe. Who knows where he’ll be taking his crit to next.

P.S. I’m not really that unromantic. We ended up having a proper dinner over candlelight. There’s good history there too.

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Photo for 2r Magazine

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Empty pits on the eve of the 2013 UCI World Cyclocross Championships, Louisville, KY. (Photo by Daniel McMahon)

By Daniel McMahon

Tonight I was happy to download the newest edition of 2r magazine on my (girlfriend’s) iPad. I was even happier to see that 2r chose a photo that I took—shown above—for its second issue.

2r has been running a photo contest, and I thought I’d enter. Why not.

So I submitted a snap that I took with my iPhone 5 at the 2013 UCI World Cyclocross Championships in Louisville, Kentucky, back in February. The photo that gets the highest rating in 2r’s iPad app wins a prize. Everyone likes winning prizes, but I’m just flattered that 2r selected my photo. I’m not a photographer, and yet I like to try to take a nice pic whenever I can.

The photo shown above was shot the day before ‘cross worlds. You would not have noticed the place the next day as it was packed with bikes and mechanics. Anyway, I was walking around the course with a friend and we stopped here and there to grab a few snaps. The pits are shown in their austere beauty. The little lone bucket was just sort of there, and it works as a nice prop. At any rate, there are many great photos in the new issue of 2r, most better than mine.

I’ll write a review of 2r somewhere down the road, but for now all I can suggest is that you give the new publication a look. It’s the brainchild of Gérard Vroomen, probably one of the more interesting guys in the sport. There’s lots of really good reading. In the last issue, the first, they ran an interview with Greg and Kathy LeMond written by Paul Kimmage (who I interviewed in December). Kimmage’s 2r piece is the best cycling interview I have ever read.

Note that 2r is available only on the iPad at the moment.

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A screenshot from the second issue of 2r magazine on the iPad, taken March 28, 2013.

A screenshot from the second issue of 2r magazine on the iPad, taken March 28, 2013.

A screenshot from the second issue of 2r magazine on the iPad, taken March 28, 2013.

 

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The Sprinter

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By Daniel McMahon

He kicks
with head down,
nose above his stem,
popping into open air
from behind a spent, fading lead-out.
He jumps hard,
really hard,
and darts across the road.
He jerks his handlebar violently,
left, right,
thrusting his feet downward,
stroke after stroke after stroke after stroke,
his bicycle lurching, jutting, shunting forward.
With each tug on the right of the bar
the left foot smashes down,
and with each grab of the left
the right pedal sinks,
in a blur.
And with every flex
he works the frame that won’t give,
forcing it to give.
Behind, rivals strain,
inelegantly,
eyes squinting, mouths stretching,
fixed as if frozen, quaffing oxygen.
The sprinter’s
chunky
squat
body
is
low, bending over itself,
compactly,
back and rump
arcing like a fairing.
He drives headlong into thick air
neatly, crossing the line,
arms raised,
a length to spare.

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