USGP of Cyclocross Derby City Cup Day 2

Day two of the USGP included a few changes to the layout of the course: most notably, the demons in charge had used the runoff from the cleaning area to create a new obstacle on the backside: a large mudpuddle curving around the hill to yet another runup of RR ties. The conditions were also significantly different: it was colder (cold enough that after my pre-ride of the course my fingers hurt enough to throw a couple chemical warmers into my gloves), and yesterday's slick, sloppy mud had turned to a thick peanut butter that was significantly faster along the straightaways and that had created little berms in the corners -- if you caught them correctly, you could actually hold some real speed through them. Otherwise, they were just there to knock you over.


I lined up mid-pack again, on the right side of the field, with one guy between me and the barricade. Moments before the whistle, I noted that the guy on my left had his left foot up on the pedal, whereas I and the guy on my right had our right feet up. Now the tendency when you slam your top foot down in a start is to drift a little to the opposite side of that top foot. That meant the guy to my left and the guy to my right could both be angling toward me at the start, narrowing my window of forward progress.


But that wouldn't happen, right?


Nah. Worse. Three-Stooges worse. The whistle goes, the guy to my left moves in front of me and my bars hook into his. The guy to my right bumps shoulders with me as he drifts left, and my bars hook into his. The bump into me knocks him back toward the barricade, and the other side of his handlebars hook into the barricade. For a moment (as the rest of the field pedals by), the three of us are locked together, and then the guy on my left takes off (after all, he had nothing impeding his forward momentum, since I was hooked behind his bar). By the time I got untangled from the other guy, the pack was almost to the turn onto the grass. (I should mention here that the whole comedy sketch was amazingly polite, given the possibilities for frustrated outbursts and obscenities: "Sorry -- Here --" "No -- My bad..." "Okay, got it -- good luck!").


So not only am I starting 100th of 100+ riders, I've given them all a 200-meter headstart. I sprint and catch the tail end of the pack right before the turn onto grass, and come across two riders sprawled across the course. Slow down, go around, accelerate to the next left, where I avoid another downed rider and head toward the money pit. More carnage, riders sprawled left and middle -- dismount and run around right (oooh, that mud is cold!), remount, and then try to settle into a routine of passing riders, moving up, keeping my cool. At least one guy asked "what are you doing back here?" I chose to take it as a compliment.


After Saturday I had spent a lot of time thinking about how I could improve in Sunday's race, and here before I even got off the start line all those thoughts had been thrown out the window, at least in terms of overall placing. There was no way I'd see the front of the pack again -- or even the back end of the front -- and for a second I was kinda bummed and pretty frustrated. Then I took a deep breath ...


... And had a great time. I moved up throughout the first lap, and came across the finish line to discover that they were shortenning our race to 3 laps today instead of 4. "Two to go?!" I hollered to the officials. "Really?!" "Yep." For the first time ever, I was a little bummed that my race wasn't going to be longer -- I was moving up on every lap, getting the feel of the course, the cold and wet weren't cold anymore, and I felt pretty darn good. So for the final two laps I held myself closer to the redline, pushed when I might've let up in a one-lap-longer race, and tried to make the most of it. I took too tight a line in one corner, ended up in the brush, and dropped my chain again, but today it seemed like a minor inconvenience. Dug cheeered me on when I finally caught him, I heard others out on the course cheering me on, and at one point my heart lit up when I heard Carole and Mairin hollerin' for me. Eamon was ringin' the cowbell.


I rolled across the line tired and smiling, figuring I might have broken the top-50, and maybe squeaked into the 30s. Cleaned off the bike, changed, and was more than a little pleased to see my name next to #28.


A great weekend of racing, socializing, and spectating. The USGP and Louisville really put on a show with this event, and combined with the emergence of the UCI3 weekend in Cincinnati, the Ohio River Valley region is becoming a real heavyweight in the national CX scene. That's a Very Good Thing. (third photo courtesy of Ben Wilson.)