Gun Club CX

Alternate title: Boom Boom, Out Go the Lights.

Sunday morning was cold, crisp, and sunny as I trundled two tired legs out to the Sycamore/Pheasant Hill Gun Club for round 9 of the OVCX series. For the past several weeks locals have had the chance to hold Wednesday practices on this course, so I knew it would be tough, muddy, and technical. I like the course, but am painfully aware that it doesn't suit my strengths, such as they are. (This, to me, is the paradox of cyclocross: CX racers relish exposing and testing their weaknesses in a masochistic adrenaline rush.) I also knew that in a couple places I might benefit from the home-court advantage -- especially on the wicked up-across-and-down hillside cut. Finally, I had this pie-in-the-sky hope that the suffering I had done the previous day had opened my legs up, and that I'd feel strong and ready to go for this race.

Ha.

But I get ahead of myself. I lined up with the rest of the 35+ and 45+ cat 4 men; my OVCX series position got me a nice front-row callup, right next to Butch, who was itching to race after a couple weeks off. I think I saw flecks of saliva on his lips, and he may have barked once or twice. A man fired a shotgun, and we were off. I tuck in behind Butch and Scot Hermann, and we make our way through the "easy" wooded section: a straightaway, then a soft right bend up into the woods, a steady uphill on dirt, left and then right around some bushes, and then a gently curving 180 that better riders -- like Butch and Scot -- took at speed without touching their brakes. At this point I had let a small gap open up, and my legs were tight and sore already. Uh-oh.

A long straightaway back to the finish line, over the pavement and into the sand. By now I'm fourth or fifth wheel, but doing okay. Out of the sand, 180 degrees on the grassy hill, and then the off-camber 180 back around a small tree. I screwed this turn up every lap, but never more so than on the first lap, when I slid out, unclipped my downhill foot, and stumbled to get going again. By this time Butch and Scot are gone with a number of other riders. Down the hillside and sweep left through some mud to the first barrier and runup. Around and down to the right through the bushes and then up to the second time through the sand. It was here that I knew I didn't have it today: it was slightly uphill, and pretty churned up, but should have been rideable (and was for many). I got three-quarters of the way through and just kind of keeled over when I didn't have the power to finish it off (2nd lap: tried to ride again, but dismounted 3/4 of the way through; 3rd lap: "ran" it). Get up, run the rest, hop on, and head for the wooded gravel stretch.

Pick up a little speed there, but scrub it at the end for the left hander into the muck. Pedal pedal washout pedal washout through a couple of twists, and then the out-and-back along the fenceline. About 3/4 of the way coming back the ground turned to mush, dismount, shoulder the bike, and slog along the fence to the righthand uphill turn. Slog up, find the footholes of others for traction, use the fence to make a tight 180-degree turn, and remount before getting too far down the hill. Sweep right (watch the rut) and set up for the left-and-right swoop leading up to the cut in the hill.

Here's the one place where I made up some ground during this race: dismount before the hill, shoulder the bike, and run up, across, and down as tight on the inside as possible. Many riders tried to ride the uphill and washed out, others ran the uphill and struggled to remount while crossing the hill, which was virtually impossible unless you could remount from the right (uphill) side of the bike. Set the bike downhill, remount, and use momentum to curve in a big rightward sweep back into the woods.

And here, in the wooded section, is where I gave up spots all day: grind uphill, then left, right, and left over some loose dirt, mud, and gravel. Okay there. Painful, but okay. Back further into the woods for a gentle downhill to the left turn creekside. Okay there -- I actually worked that turn out with a left-foot-down-and-take-it-tight technique. Then loop toward the steep little kicker that had been rideable in practice, but was a runup (at least for me and those I saw) in Sunday's mud. Remount, and then take the downhill righthand bend tight into the section of the course that made me ride like a clumsy donkey: a slippery little uphill where I kept losing traction and actually dismounted once or twice, a mushy lefthander that I took very gingerly, another tight mushy lefthander that came out of nowhere and kept going left left left, until it came back right and down to solid ground.

On the third lap in this section I was passed by the two leaders in the 45+ category; I was tired; I was cranky and a little puzzled by how poopy I felt, and I was in a lactic haze. I lost traction in one of the mushy lefthanders, dismounted, and actually ran along behind those two guys through this section until we headed to the righthand downhill. Mind you, it was relatively level here -- tight and twisty, but far from a running section of the course. But I was so dismayed at my lame-o handling skills that I chose to jog until I found safer ground. Part of me also thought, hey, we're in the woods, so it's not like anyone can see us. And then, to my horror, I heard the clipped British accent of our announcer describing the very duel for the lead of the 45+ race going on right in front of me. I almost stopped and left the course in mortification as it dawned on me: if he can see them, he can see me; and if he can see us, everyone over on the hill can see us. I kept waiting for him to say something like "and as these two duel it out for the lead of their category, some Darkhorse chap has forgotten how to ride his bike and is trudging along on foot behind them. That's a puzzling tactic, and not one you normally see in a cyclocross race." After all, he had earlier pointed out that I had dismounted "a little early" before the double barriers, so I knew he wasn't afraid to offer, um, constructive criticism. Mercifully, he refrained from commenting on my hike through the woods, or at least I didn't hear him.

Anyway, after the diabolic wooded section came a little passage through some trees, the "horseshoe" with Tony on the drums, the double barriers and a gravel downhill to the start line. Each lap concluded with the same "easy" wooded section that kicked off the race. Three laps, barely hold off Sparky at the finish, and be happy with 7th.

And I am -- happy with 7th, that is. At least, I can talk myself into being happy with it, even though it was disappointing to push the accelerator and have no response both days this past weekend. Sunday was, by my count, my 28th race in 2009, and while I've had significant stretches of not racing (mid-July to mid-September), that's more than double the number of races I've ever done in one year, and triple what I did last year. The smart part of my brain tells me to shut it down, to increase race and training loads more gradually year-to-year, to rest, recharge, and begin building a base for a bigger season next year.

This other part of my brain, though, I can't seem to shut up. It's whispering to me: Lexington -- come on, just one more ...

[pictures from Jeffrey Jakucyk]

Uncle Steve's Halloween CX

Ventured north on Saturday with the family for a big day of cyclocross, hanging out with friends, and trick-or-treating in the state capitol. We had rain all the way up 71, and my enthusiasm for a rainy, cold race waned with every drop. But (as the weatherheads promised), once we turned west toward Marysville, the skies cleared and it turned into a crisp, sunny, lovely autumn day.

With really muddy ground. Again.

Uncle Steve's, round 2 of the Cap City Cross series, was a different animal than the OVCX races: fewer racers, fewer races (3), more casual. Add in the Halloween celebration, and you had an atmosphere of general fun and good times.

Which was good, since we got a later start out of Cincinnati than I wanted, and we got a little lost on the way, so I was totally off my game by the time we arrived. Plus, after putting on my costume (Darkhorseman of the Apocalypse, of course), pinning my number on twice (to ensure visibility even with the cape), and riding my sole practice lap, I realized that the cape on the costume turned me into a windsock on a windy day, made remounts a blind leap of faith (and if there's anything in CX you don't want to be a blind leap of faith, it's the remount), and was destined to snag me on multiple tree branches and course stakes. So I made a quick switch into more typical raceday garb, which entailed re-pinning my number super-fast, and telling the organizers that I was forfeiting the half-price entry fee because I couldn't wear my costume because it wasn't safe but I had to race right now and I'd get them the $10 after my race. Which of course, I forgot. (Team Awesome, I owe you $10.) All of these things had me just frazzled enough that I forgot my helmet when I headed to the start line. Only the kindness of a competitor saved me from realizing this too late. Add in the fact that I was venturing into the B field (aka 3s, aka 45 minutes) for the first time, and I needed a fun, positive atmosphere around me.

We lined up, about 30 racers: costume callups to the front, everybody else behind, and we're off! I started back row left, and hit the first left turn pretty much near the back. The main field -- essentially a large back yard, now that I think about it -- was set up as a series of taped twists and turns: not really a pinwheel, but I imagine it had a similar effect for spectators. The first set of barriers was in here somewhere, and they were tough: the tape narrowed to make them at most two across, they were spaced awkwardly to disrupt running rhythm (mine, at least), and there was a righthand 180 afterward that made remounting before the turn too tricky for most to try. We rolled through a dirt trail in the woods, and turned up to a few taped switchbacks: up, and then down, and then up, and then down, and finally up again to the road, a muddy 180 next to the road, a long sloggy straightaway where, if you took the fastest line, you'd get whacked in the head by tree branches, up and over the driveway, and left down toward the pond and the technical stuff. Loop around a tree, drop down a muddy leftward stretch with water on the right, curve around the water and hit a steep little mudslide that I only ever managed to ride up once, and wished I hadn't (since it was slower that way), along a ridge and left back down into some swampy suff that was turning to peanut butter. Right again to a short RR-tie runup, and then back along the ridge to drop down left again. Short straightaway, right turn, and then 180 around a tree; left onto another straightaway, another 180 around a tree, and then a long swooping left toward the second, wider barriers. Remount, loop around a couple more trees, then up the hill, hairpin, and down through the finish line.

After the second lap, the official shouted "6 to go!" as I rode by; I had to fight the urge to get off and throttle him then and there. I thought better of it when I realized that my legs were such jello that I might not be able to walk. I think he took mercy, because by my count we only did 5 more, for a total of 7 laps.

This was racing in a paper bag, the course was so tight. And where it wasn't muddy and swampy, the ground was bumpy and rutted enough that I was never comfortable: at different points in the race I was sure I had pinch-flatted my rear tire and broken my seatpost. Just a tough tough course. At least, that's what I kept telling myself, even as I knew that I also just wasn't having a good day: my legs weren't responding, and they hurt when I tried to power over little rises and around tight corners. I'm pretty sure I wasn't the only one suffering: on the last lap I rode back up to a rider who had passed me earlier in the race. Coming up the last rise and around the final hairpin into the finishing stretch, I caught him, and then gunned it a little to pass him in the stretch. He wasn't happy about someone "sprinting for 14th place," and let me know. I smiled and said "It's racing, man -- come on!" I don't think he was persuaded.

Looking back over this race report, it might seem like I didn't have a good time, but that's just not true: my family was there with cowbells, our Columbus hosts were there for their first-ever cyclocross race, and the Farmers were out there giving me extra cheers. Mark even told me that his grandmother would beat me, which really inspired me to ride harder. With the tight course, they could all pretty much stand in once place and holler for me five and six different times per lap. It was like having an entourage, and I loved it. I wish I could've raced better, but I loved it. And at least once per lap, the announcer would exhort the crowd to have more beer. And the Jeni's guy who raced in a diaper got his costume stuck in his rear brake on the second lap and raced the rest of the day in his tiny red tighties. I beat the cheerleader (I think), but got beat by the wizard, the skeleton, and several zombies, which is okay, since they probably ate the brains of anyone who beat them. The Mormon missionaries were drinking Miller High Life, and my remount is getting smoother and faster, although I'm still losing time getting clipped back in.

In short, I'm keeping this one on next year's schedule, and I'm already looking for the right costume: scuba diver, maybe?

Happy Birthday Brett!

Brett,

I wanted to wish you a happy birthday and to tell you that you are an excellent team mate and great human being! I am proud to call you my friend.

Lungbuster CX - Mayberry, MI

So, Nate and I didn't think we'd get much competition if we headed south to the USGP's so we went 5 hours North to the little town of Mayberry, MI.  I had a family reunion in norther Ohio, so it worked out.

It is interesting to head to a race where you do not know a single other racer there...  feel like a real Darkhorse (pun intended).  Anyways, Nate lined up w/ 30+ other riders and got a great start and settled into 6th place for most of the race.  A ferocious battle of man vs chain ensued, and he ended up loosing several spots on the last lap due to some untimely mechanical to finish 12th.

I lined up w/ 22 other B racers and headed into the sigletrack 6th.  There was lots of singletrack, and MTB's at this race.  I moved into 5th on the first lap and took a bike so that Nate could untangle the weed that had engulfed my cassette.  Pit bike worked great and I kept 4th place in sight, hoping to make a move on the last lap.  The 4th place rider ended up having some problems, and I caught him early in the last lap.  I waited and waited till the last real straight heading into a single high speed barrier before sprinting around, taking a very hot dismount and remount, got a mall gap and kept it for 4th.  Great little road trip w/ family and friends there to enjoy it with.

-tinny out

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.)

USGP Derby City Day 1

Made the pilgrimage to Louisville this past weekend to race both days in the USGP of Cyclocross Derby City Cup. The races are already starting to run together into one big lump of pain, so I'd better get these race reports out fast.

Saturday: We cat 4s got the 8:30 start (apparently an improvement over last year's 8:00 start, which happened to be two minutes before sunrise), which meant that most prerace preparations happened in the dark. by 7:45 it was light enough to preride the course without a headlight. I wish it had still been dark, because what we saw was the promise of sweet pain, a gift from the rains on Thursday and Friday: wet, boggy straightaways, greasy off-camber turns, a mucky down-up-and-back-down through a soggy drainage ditch, and four (4) rideable-but-only-on-the-right-line sandpits.

I lined up in the middle of a one-hundred-odd man pack, and when the whistle blew I got the best start I've had yet this year. Long paved start where I moved from fifth row to about second (row), a sweeping left across the field, left around a tree and then a curve right down into the drainage ditch (aka "the money pit") -- ran it the first lap in the crowded carnage (rode it otherwise), and moved up a little more -- up and then down right back through it. Turn through some trees and then a sloggy straightaway to the barriers, which felt deceptively high after grinding across the muck. Under the Green Monster (renamed "The Jolly Green Giant") and toward the pits. Over the pavement and a couple of twisties, and then the first sandpit, which had a drop-in to a nice (narrow) hardpack line where you could pick up speed all the way through. Left turn right out of the pit, so don't carry too much speed or you're breaking tape. Not much later you hit the second sandpit, which was hardpack for half, and deep sand for the second half: if you carried speed through the first part, you could get through the second without much pedaling. I know this because I dropped my chain first time through, and made it to the end coasting (more like flailing, but hey, it's my story, right?). Pulled off to the side, watched the lead group ride out of sight and a bunch of the others pass me as I forced the chain back on, hopped on, and rolled down the off-camber to a paved section. Back up through some muck, around a tree, down and up a tricky little grass-paved-grass off camber, and eventually you hit two more sandpits, both rideable (first one hardpack all the way through, the second a sloggy grind, but not too bad).



Somehwere in here on the second half of the course (or right after) was the Bob's Redmill RR-tie runup, as well as a long headwind straightaway so sloggy that I thought it would never end, the very entertaining off-camber positioned right near the beer tent (many slideouts with many beery "Ooohhs!"), and finally a straightaway toward the Green Monster: for me it was hoist the bike up, get up there, throw a leg over and let go, trying to at least get my feet (or one foot) on the pedals for the down ramp, followed by another downhill off the shoulder of a former tee-box. A real-live roller-coaster-type whoop-de-doo. Get around the corner, clip in if you haven't yet (and I hadn't, believe me), and pedal toward the start-finish area: loop around a tree and head out to the road. For all the manmade and other barriers and features of the course, the last 20 meters before the roadway on Saturday were the cruelest: flat, swampy, slower than slow, with speedy pavement sticking its tongue out at you just a few feet away. Finally back up on the road, and let's do it again!

On Saturday we did four laps: by the fourth I was pretty much on my own, although a Bob's Redmill guy was hanging with me, catching up on the technical stuff and after remounts. He slid out on a corner, but got up and rejoined me. Then, on the second sandpit (the same one! my nemesis) I came off the hardpack into the deep stuff, and saw a rut going the wrong way: sideways. It ate my wheel, took me down and bent my right shifter in. Got up seeing a few stars and rolled the rest of the lap solo, finishing 21st.

I was very happy, both with the course and atmosphere, and with my race. I had made a good start, and (I thought) except for my chain dropping, had put myself in position for a pretty high placing. I had kept an eye on the riders I know have scored in my OVCX field, and think I fared pretty well. (The plan as I understand it is that the OVCX scorers will separate out the age-group categories for purposes of that series -- all cat 4s regardless of age were scored together this weekend in deference to the "big show" in town). Plus, I knew there was tomorrow, which held out the promise of fairer conditions, and where I could work on improving some things from today.

Heh. More on that later... But before I go, let me give a shoutout to all the Rogues who put up with me this weekend. Special thanks to the OVCX Commissioner of Results Agitation Brian Segal, who not only put up with me, but put me up for the weekend. Those Rogues act all tough, but they're a bunch of softies, and they love their CX. (photo by Marcia Seiler)

Harbin Park 35+ 4s

I know Friday's wet trench warfare conditions got everybody all hot 'n' bothered and squeakin' 'n' squawkin' "epic! epic!" but with beautiful fall conditions and a good time racing, the chill sun of Sunday morning at Harbin Park was more my style. The ground was still wet, several places on the course were muddy enough to matter, but the sunshine made the festivities even more festive and the racing more racy.

Mitch designed a great course -- plenty of fast, plenty of turns, some off-camber, a diving downhill familiar to anyone who's done the Wednesday night practice rides, and the classic double sandpit, complete with Tony on the drums.

Lined up with my field, and was surprised not to see Greg (ZWS), who had taken first and second on Friday and Saturday. Saw him later, and he was an injury scratch. I was sad to see him go, although it most likely meant that almost all of us would move up one spot in the results. Chatted a little bit with Scot and Joern from Dayton about the little mulch bed with RR ties on either end: I had no spare wheels and couldn't afford a stupid pinch flat, so we were discussing whether or not it was totally lame to run it, or worth the risk to put my (questionable -- oh who am I kidding: nonexistent) bunny-hopping skills to the test. I asked Scot where his spare wheels were in the pit. He laughed.

The start was a pretty long flat paved section, and by the time we got to the off-camber section next to the road, today's winner in our field was away. Things really backed up, and I wasn't sure where I was positioned going toward the finish. The most aerobically challenging part of the course was the long headwind uphill grind over the field to the finish line, with a cruel little kicker up and over the line, continuing up through the uphill side of the sandpit. Did I mention that this section was uphill? I haven't looked at my max HR from the race, but I'm sure it came right as I exited the sandpit. At this point I make my way through the twisty section and come back down through the sandpit. I ride it clean, and am so stoked that I almost stop and look around for applause. Instead, I keep riding onto the section of the course that suits me better: some twisty sections through the trees, through the little mulch bed (please don't pinch flat on the railroad ties! please?! I repeated every lap). First lap I came off the mulch bed, bounced a little to check rear air pressure, and Joern, right behind me, says in his German-accented deadpan, "Shannon: you have a flat." Scot laughs. I panic for a second until I realize he's kidding, and we ride on. We take a long grass straight onto the backside of the course, 180 around a tree and onto pavement, fast down to a muddy transition back to grass, back to pavement and up around a turnaround, back onto grass and toward The Big Roller, aka Collarbone Corner: a diving downhill where -- with the right line -- you could release your brakes, pick up huge speed (for a CX race), whip up the other side and around the bend into a wooded section. I liked carrying speed into that section because for some reason I had good power through there, and was able to drop some folks and pass others. Around some trees, up and over the barriers, cross the road, around the pine tree and down to the mudhole. After the mudhole, make up as much ground as possible before zig-zagging through the off-camber and then into the headwind and the long long grind up to the finish line, knowing and dreading that the uphill slog through the sandpit awaited once again.

On the second lap I was pretty sure I was riding in second position, and sure enough as I rode the downhill side of the sandpit (cleanly, for the second time), the announcer says "and there's a Darkhorse rider, #601, our second place 35+ rider ... Shannon Smith." Now the pressure's on: one thing about CX I haven't got down yet is riding from the front (and from what I can tell of the first-place finisher's race, we were pretty much in a race for 2nd -- so for me, this was the front). I tried to relax, keep it steady, and push myself to just this side of the limit. But I couldn't help looking back, and it didn't seem like I was getting much distance between myself, Scot, Joern, Butch (Smitty's), and a QCW rider I think was Sparky (there were probably others in there, I just don't know them yet). And once I overcooked a pretty easy corner and went down on the 3rd lap, I figured holding off the chasers might be more of a challenge than I'd hoped.

So I let up a little, knowing that they'd join me, but knowing some of the risks involved with that: I was, after all, letting two teammates join me, but I was hoping to put some of the onus for driving the pace on Dayton, recover, and make a push to get away near the end. And so we headed into the fourth and final lap as 4, competing for 2nd through 5th: me, Scot and Joern, and Butch. We went up through the sand, hung out through the twisties, and headed back into the downhill sand section. I tried to take the same line I had all three previous laps: start right, grind it and drift left, clearing the pit just as I got near the left edge. This put me behind Butch, but no problem: Butch is a mountain biker, and he'll clean this easier than me. D'oh! Butch got sideways, I got into his rear wheel, and Joern and Scot were off to the races. I came out of the pit raring to go, and got a little gap on Butch that held. I rejoined Scot, but Joern was turning in one of his strongest laps of the race, and I didn't see him until he was prostrate on the ground at the finish. I led Scot around for the rest of the lap, trying to hold off Butch and wondering what I was going to do about Scot at the finish. And then I learned I was dealing with a true gentleman: near the end of the final lap, as I was working to keep Butch at bay, Scot told me not to worry about him, that he appreciated the work I'd done and wouldn't come around at the end, and in fact, here, let me see if I can lead you out. I finished as strong as I could, but pictures show that he may have had to hold up to avoid passing me. Let me add here (and Scot may now regret this) that Scot and I are very close in the series points standings for our category. So by removing the final contest for third place, he 1) surrendered a few OVCX points to a close rival, and 2) may have given up a place on the podium -- he definitely gave up a chance at the podium. I believe the term for this is mensch. I now owe Scot a solid, but I told him it might have to wait until road season.