I'll skip the parts from 7 am to the start of my race at 12:30, and from 1:15 until I rolled home at 9:15 pm, because, after all, they weren't racing -- well, the parts from 1:15 until 6:30 featured racing, but not mine, and I'll let others tell their own stories -- they were all that other stuff that goes into putting on a race: unloading and setting up barriers, taping the course, manning the course crossings, shuttling messages between registration and the announcers, breaking down and re-loading barriers, pulling stakes and tape in the dark, etc. (Okay, so maybe I won't skip those parts.)I will add also that after forecasts of a deluge, the rain itself for the most part stopped Friday morning and, except for a few drizzles and spits, held off until we had wrapped up the last bit of yellow tape. But the course -- wow, was it wet. And my teammates had designed a diabolical course that would have been challenging and technical in the driest of conditions: tons of off-camber, some short but steep little legbreakers, a fair number of grass-to-pavement and pavement-to-grass transitions, and several nice little twisty sections.
But I'm getting ahead of myself: the dual logistics of running a weekday race and a UCI race meant that cat 4, cat 35+, cat 4 45+, juniors, and women cat 3/4 and 35+ would all be racing at the same time. I heard someone mention a total of 155 riders, and I'd believe it in a heartbeat. We were also going 30 minutes instead of the usual 40, but given the conditions and the challenging course, I didn't hear a single complaint.
My race kinda went like this: sprint off the line, weave through as much of the cat 4 open field as possible on the paved section up past the finish line and then right up toward the museum, watch Greg Fasig (Cycledots) power away through some magical hole in the field, never to be seen again, and then hit the greasy downhill from the museum toward the golf course. Whoa! Gridlock, and guys behind yelling "Ride! Ride! Don't stop!" and people stopping and dabbing and cursing until back out onto the pavement and right into off-camber #1 along the golf course; left foot out, coast through, and then a series of rollers and twists until up up up can I ride this? No. But look, I'm running past guys who are riding it, so let's run from now on. Back over the path and a few twists (where I'd have a slo-mo crash on a later lap) and down the cart path where, like on all the paths, mud would build up in a slick mound down the middle, so you'd think whew, I'm on pavement and safe for a few seconds, but oh no: on the second or third lap I'd see a guy wash out right in front of me. Carry some speed up and over, and then down past the barn and -- hey look, that rider (Kerry from Hungry) is dismounting before the end of the gravel -- wonder why. Round the bend, into the muck, up a little rise, bog down -- oh, that's why. Smart Kerry. Awkward dismount, run up, remount and ride down the slogfest clip in clip in clip in arrrgghhh oh well at least get one of your feet on the pedal, dismount and slog up the muck. Onto the path, back onto the bike, heading for off-camber #2. (This became a great spectator spot later in the day, since it got so bad that the pro riders would propel themselves as fast as possible along the off-camber until they couldn't pedal any more, hold their skid/slide/hydroplane until the last moment, dismount and find some way up the steep little kicker back to the road. Many superb riders misjudged this delicate ballet, and much tape was broken.) Claw, scrabble, and slide my way up to the road, remount, and head through the pits. The pits had one of the most deceptive difficult sections all day: a stretch of innocuous flat ground that was so soaked that it took forever to pedal through -- didn't look bad, didn't take riders down, but it sapped a lot of energy and stirred the seeds of panic: hey! I should be able to get through this no problem -- what's wrong? everyone's gonna catch me! Up out of the pits toward off-camber #3, this one with roots and juniors and a hill that was rideable the first lap, and maybe the second, but after that, get off, run up to the path, remount, back towards the road -- oh, crap, I forgot: barriers. Who put barriers on this course? -- that's inhumane, I tell you. back down twisting past the pits, and up
through the finish line.One down, three to go.
The race was a survival fest, and I had little sense of how I was actually faring. In fact, I had little sense of actually doing any racing, until the last lap: I got caught by a guy in my field (Sparky from QCW). I knew he had better handling skills than me, so I followed his line as much as I could through the lap. I decided I wouldn't panic if he gapped me, but that I'd sprint on the pavement to the finish line to catch him if I could (a roadie's revenge if you will). After the barriers he had 15 meters on me, and he gained a little more through the pit area. I hit the pavement, shifted (it still worked -- small miracle) into a harder gear, and passed him at the line, mouth open and totally gassed. It's little things like that I love learning in each of these races: where I can give ground, where I can make it up, how to recover just enough to make one more effort, and even when I've gone too hard and need to cut my losses by letting someone go.
There's no hiding in cyclocross, even when you're covered head to toe in mud and muck. Of course, the finish-line grin gives you away every time.
[Jeffrey's pictures are now up from Friday's race]
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