This weekend marked the end of my first season of cyclocross. For once, the weather bordered on Belgian, with an Alberta clipper rolling through and dropping some serious cold weather precipitation across New England.
The prospect of two 630 am departures was enough to make me fork out the dough for some plush accommodations at the Best Western in West Greenwich, which, along with the Super 8 that occupies the same terribly named road, win the prize for being situated on New England's worst-named roadway - Nooseneck Hill Road.
I digress.
I arrived to cold weather and snow on the ground. I settled into my usual pre race panic routine of getting from parking lot to start line in 45 minutes. CB was on the ball (trolling the net) for the pre-registration, so Erik, Nick, and myself were able to line up in the front row. The usual pre race nervous chit chat gave way to the minute of silence, or rather, minute of Richard Fries babbling about some nonsense, before the whistle. I had a good jump, was clicked in, and began working the gears on the extremely long uphill paved start. The pace gradually increased as I worked around a few riders and settled into the front group.
This idea of "racing" wore of rather quickly as most everyone decided that the big ring was off limits. So I was faced with a decision. Sitting there in the draft this was far too painless for a cross start. I drifted a bit out of the draft to test the wind. Yep, that has the potential to hurt.
So I went for it.
I came around the left hand side of the group as another rider came around the right. He and I hit the hole neck and neck. I wasn't about to let some snot nosed cat 4 brat steal my glory. After all, this was the ultimate goal - the Verge Hole Shot. I made one move to cut the kid off on the first turn.
There I was - leading the race.
This oddity lasted about 2 minutes, long enough for me to assert some sort of dominance on the field, but not so long as to put any real gap on the field.
Soon enough I fell to the back of the group of the top 4. I held the group for a while until a few guys, including CB teammate Erik, got past me, leaving me in 7th. On the last lap the sand pit decide to swallow my front wheel during my dismount, effectively pile driving me into the ground, and eliminating my hopes of reclaiming any places.
The good news? I got a point! 7th place gets me my first upgrade point (finally) of the season. 30 seconds off of first ain't bad either.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Monday, December 3, 2007
Minuteman Road Club Cyclocross - Wrentham
The past few weeks have been a bit of a blur. An unnecessarily drawn out move to an apartment down the street, thanksgiving in VT, and a completely useless cold have taken up most of my time. The rundown:
What happens in Vermont, stays in Vermont:
..but nothing much happens here.
I got some cold weather acclimation training in, and also began my pattented "intensive immune system intensity training block." Its best to schedule these training blocks before important events, and with the final Verge races around the corner it was high time I caught up on some serious T-cell work. The workout itself is fairly simple. The trick is to get a bit of a sore throat going - once you feel the burn put in some 2 x 2am nights, and finish with some jager sprints to really get everything moving. You know its working when the burn in the throat reaches the upper respiratory track. We're working towards the kind of cough that says "I'm a homeless man sketching you out on the bus."
MRC Cyclocross - Wrentham
Partially recovered, and feeling wholly unfit, I signed up for Sunday's race at Wrentham. Get good sleep? Eat well? Fuck that. What good would racing in 20 degree weather be with fresh legs. Can't feel anything at that temperature anyway.
Thanks to colin and his work down in the nerdatorium, I was seeded fairly well based on my crossresults.com points. Do I get credit for all the referrals I just gave? So a 7th place seed, puts me on the second line of a 5 wide start.... ok. That's fine. 45 seconds to go. Someone asks "how much time do we have." The whistle blows. Cross is great.
Slow start into a series of S-turns. One thing you learn in cross, is that you don't "keep a line," there's a competitive advantage to cutting off your opponent in a series of turns. However, the next time a cyfac kid almost wrecks me in two subsequent turns, the story is gonna be me putting him through the tape. So we roll on - and I'm feeling surprisingly good. The cold weather has left the mostly grass course incredibly bumpy, but I feel like I made a good tire pressure course, and for the first lap I stay closed onto the back end of the front group of six - first place is clearly within my view.
As the second lap progresses, I become aware of a bit of a rattle. These things are hard to notice in these conditions, or at least to identify with any degree of certainty. But still, I was certain that I was rattling more on the course as time went by. I lost two spots in the second lap, but was still holding my own. A primordial ooze was excreting out of my face - a thick amalgam brought on by the cold temperatures. While I am no medical doctor, I'm certain that at least some part of that cold weather snot is liquefied brain, most likely the bit of sensibility that every cross racer must kill on a regular basis. Snot rockets were all the rage.
But the rattling. It got worse. Soon I noticed that I was having to rotate my right heel quite a bit to disengage from my pedal. I soon realized my cleat was loosening. My release angle was about 100 degrees. Three dismounts per lap, three remounts, and I could feel my cleat sliding each time I ran. Pretty awesome.
Not worth quitting for, not many things are, so I pressed on, fearing the inevitable endo (do people still say endo?) at each barrier. I held it together though, lost a few spots, and came in 10th. You know, the usual - slowest of the fastest group of the slowest racers. Upgrades are lame anyway - too much pressure. Plus, I'll be laughing on the front line in RI next week.
What happens in Vermont, stays in Vermont:
..but nothing much happens here.
I got some cold weather acclimation training in, and also began my pattented "intensive immune system intensity training block." Its best to schedule these training blocks before important events, and with the final Verge races around the corner it was high time I caught up on some serious T-cell work. The workout itself is fairly simple. The trick is to get a bit of a sore throat going - once you feel the burn put in some 2 x 2am nights, and finish with some jager sprints to really get everything moving. You know its working when the burn in the throat reaches the upper respiratory track. We're working towards the kind of cough that says "I'm a homeless man sketching you out on the bus."
MRC Cyclocross - Wrentham
Partially recovered, and feeling wholly unfit, I signed up for Sunday's race at Wrentham. Get good sleep? Eat well? Fuck that. What good would racing in 20 degree weather be with fresh legs. Can't feel anything at that temperature anyway.
Thanks to colin and his work down in the nerdatorium, I was seeded fairly well based on my crossresults.com points. Do I get credit for all the referrals I just gave? So a 7th place seed, puts me on the second line of a 5 wide start.... ok. That's fine. 45 seconds to go. Someone asks "how much time do we have." The whistle blows. Cross is great.
Slow start into a series of S-turns. One thing you learn in cross, is that you don't "keep a line," there's a competitive advantage to cutting off your opponent in a series of turns. However, the next time a cyfac kid almost wrecks me in two subsequent turns, the story is gonna be me putting him through the tape. So we roll on - and I'm feeling surprisingly good. The cold weather has left the mostly grass course incredibly bumpy, but I feel like I made a good tire pressure course, and for the first lap I stay closed onto the back end of the front group of six - first place is clearly within my view.
As the second lap progresses, I become aware of a bit of a rattle. These things are hard to notice in these conditions, or at least to identify with any degree of certainty. But still, I was certain that I was rattling more on the course as time went by. I lost two spots in the second lap, but was still holding my own. A primordial ooze was excreting out of my face - a thick amalgam brought on by the cold temperatures. While I am no medical doctor, I'm certain that at least some part of that cold weather snot is liquefied brain, most likely the bit of sensibility that every cross racer must kill on a regular basis. Snot rockets were all the rage.
But the rattling. It got worse. Soon I noticed that I was having to rotate my right heel quite a bit to disengage from my pedal. I soon realized my cleat was loosening. My release angle was about 100 degrees. Three dismounts per lap, three remounts, and I could feel my cleat sliding each time I ran. Pretty awesome.
Not worth quitting for, not many things are, so I pressed on, fearing the inevitable endo (do people still say endo?) at each barrier. I held it together though, lost a few spots, and came in 10th. You know, the usual - slowest of the fastest group of the slowest racers. Upgrades are lame anyway - too much pressure. Plus, I'll be laughing on the front line in RI next week.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
On Training...
Recently I purchased Joe Friel's book - mostly for that false sense of achievement of reading about and planning about the "training" that you "will do." But the book has some interesting points, and should provide useful in planning out next season.
Mostly it reminded me that I need to start lifting again. I knew this. After stumbling out of the woods, about 8 pounds underweight, i looked like this:
Vermont Refugee.
Mostly it reminded me that I need to start lifting again. I knew this. After stumbling out of the woods, about 8 pounds underweight, i looked like this:
Vermont Refugee.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
South Plymouth Cyclocross
Sunday morning, like most cyclocross mornings, arrived with the best intentions. Despite a few hours of inhaling VOC's while painting the new apartment the night before, I awoke feeling rested and ready to get back on the bike. I'll spare the details for the lot of you, but some are already aware of my unfortunate remounting incident that has put a little swagger in my step, and kept me off the bike for the past few days.
Corner Cycle paid some respect to the cat 4 fodder and offered a 10 am start time, which allowed the temperature to rise, slightly... maybe. The air was bone dry, and after the first warm up lap I was already feeling the deep burn of the New England air. It felt like nordic skiing. It felt good.
I got to staging and found myself an outside position on the front line. The whistle blew and for once it was perfect. Gear choice was superb, feet clipped in -- I began to run through a few gears before the first 90 degree to the left. Another 90 degree over a sloping curb (less of a pinch-flat-waiting-to-happen then Chainbiter) and we were in the grass. And I was in second.
Here's where I made my first mistake. At this point, Todd Burns, who after today needs an upgrade, let up a bit. The first lap should be an all out war to drop the guys behind you, allowing you to "cruise" the last few laps. That is, of course, unless you've been dominating the cat 4 field the past few races and know you're fine where you're at, eg. you're last name is Burns.
So I held this pace through th first few turns, sitting in second. In hindsight I should have pushed him harder - yeah I wasn't going to drop him, or even the guys right on my wheel, but it would've given me a better cushion. And in about two laps I really would've appreciated a cushion.
We hit the first technical single track section, which featured a sweeping right hand turn into the woods, then a 90 degree left into a loamy uphill that you could push through in the right gear. Burns shifts poorly, drops his chain and comes to a stop, all over the course. I lose momentum, and hop off.
"I dropped my chain," he mutters, with a hefty column of air.
"mneph," I reply, as tiny bits of lung tissue get caught in my teeth.
This gave enough time for 3,4, and 5 to nip our heels. Two of them get me in the flats, and as we hit the second single track section, I'm sitting in 4th.
This section featured large cement slabs that kind of resembled stairs, running across the course about every 10 to 20 yards. There were about 6 spread out through the course. At the start a guy standing next to me voiced his concern over them. I told him they weren't as scary as they looked.
And they weren't... the first time. We came through fast, and I cut around the ones I could, and hopped the others. I was determined not to lose sight of second and third place. The course then ran into a pretty solid ascent. It was totally rideable, but if you slipped too much you were done. I made it through and came out of the woods ready to come through lap one in 4th place.
But what about the barriers? Let me preface this by saying, this course was almost, almost a great cyclocross course. The only problem was that as you came through to lap, with less than 200 meters to go, you had a sand pit, followed by barriers 25 feet later, followed by another sand pit 25 feet further. It was a tough section, I'll give them that, but the barriers could've been moved to a more suitable place - they were kind of an afterthought.
Second lap goes by without much incident, and I'm still with this group. We're pulling off 6 minute laps.
And then came the third lap. I was pushing hard through the second single track section, and I was losing my focus, and my finesse. As I hopped the last piece of cement my front wheel turned 90 degrees to my direction of travel. As soon as that tire hit the ground, I hit the ground -- fast and hard. Within 5 seconds I had six guys around me. With no momentum to carry me up the hill I was forced into a 30 second run up. My heart rate hit the roof and I was done.
From there on it was just damage control. Struggling to keep my place and not take out any of the juniors or 3/4 women who were all over the course. As I rode there was the obnoxious rustling of a leaf in my tire that I couldn't find. Turns out that when my tire struck the ground, it rolled off the bead, a leaf got stuck in the bead, and the tire sealed back up, without flatting. At least I had the perfect pressure.
I've got the classic hip scrapes, some minor leg cuts, and a very unhappy rib that revolts every time I cough up a bit of lung. I actually left before results came up, but I hear I was about 12th - I'll update this when I get the official results.
Corner Cycle paid some respect to the cat 4 fodder and offered a 10 am start time, which allowed the temperature to rise, slightly... maybe. The air was bone dry, and after the first warm up lap I was already feeling the deep burn of the New England air. It felt like nordic skiing. It felt good.
I got to staging and found myself an outside position on the front line. The whistle blew and for once it was perfect. Gear choice was superb, feet clipped in -- I began to run through a few gears before the first 90 degree to the left. Another 90 degree over a sloping curb (less of a pinch-flat-waiting-to-happen then Chainbiter) and we were in the grass. And I was in second.
Here's where I made my first mistake. At this point, Todd Burns, who after today needs an upgrade, let up a bit. The first lap should be an all out war to drop the guys behind you, allowing you to "cruise" the last few laps. That is, of course, unless you've been dominating the cat 4 field the past few races and know you're fine where you're at, eg. you're last name is Burns.
So I held this pace through th first few turns, sitting in second. In hindsight I should have pushed him harder - yeah I wasn't going to drop him, or even the guys right on my wheel, but it would've given me a better cushion. And in about two laps I really would've appreciated a cushion.
We hit the first technical single track section, which featured a sweeping right hand turn into the woods, then a 90 degree left into a loamy uphill that you could push through in the right gear. Burns shifts poorly, drops his chain and comes to a stop, all over the course. I lose momentum, and hop off.
"I dropped my chain," he mutters, with a hefty column of air.
"mneph," I reply, as tiny bits of lung tissue get caught in my teeth.
This gave enough time for 3,4, and 5 to nip our heels. Two of them get me in the flats, and as we hit the second single track section, I'm sitting in 4th.
This section featured large cement slabs that kind of resembled stairs, running across the course about every 10 to 20 yards. There were about 6 spread out through the course. At the start a guy standing next to me voiced his concern over them. I told him they weren't as scary as they looked.
And they weren't... the first time. We came through fast, and I cut around the ones I could, and hopped the others. I was determined not to lose sight of second and third place. The course then ran into a pretty solid ascent. It was totally rideable, but if you slipped too much you were done. I made it through and came out of the woods ready to come through lap one in 4th place.
But what about the barriers? Let me preface this by saying, this course was almost, almost a great cyclocross course. The only problem was that as you came through to lap, with less than 200 meters to go, you had a sand pit, followed by barriers 25 feet later, followed by another sand pit 25 feet further. It was a tough section, I'll give them that, but the barriers could've been moved to a more suitable place - they were kind of an afterthought.
Second lap goes by without much incident, and I'm still with this group. We're pulling off 6 minute laps.
And then came the third lap. I was pushing hard through the second single track section, and I was losing my focus, and my finesse. As I hopped the last piece of cement my front wheel turned 90 degrees to my direction of travel. As soon as that tire hit the ground, I hit the ground -- fast and hard. Within 5 seconds I had six guys around me. With no momentum to carry me up the hill I was forced into a 30 second run up. My heart rate hit the roof and I was done.
From there on it was just damage control. Struggling to keep my place and not take out any of the juniors or 3/4 women who were all over the course. As I rode there was the obnoxious rustling of a leaf in my tire that I couldn't find. Turns out that when my tire struck the ground, it rolled off the bead, a leaf got stuck in the bead, and the tire sealed back up, without flatting. At least I had the perfect pressure.
I've got the classic hip scrapes, some minor leg cuts, and a very unhappy rib that revolts every time I cough up a bit of lung. I actually left before results came up, but I hear I was about 12th - I'll update this when I get the official results.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Sunday: Cycle Smart Cyclocross Northampton MA
Saturday after the race we made our way up to Springfield MA, undoubtedly one of the most depressing places in the world. We split our recovery time between our luxurious accommodations at the HoJo Express, breadsticks at Olive Garden, and cruising the strip at the local mall.
Sunday we made our way into NoHo. Registration didn't open until 8 am - a bad move when you have 100 over zealous cat 4's set to go of at 9 am. The course was a bit of a disappointment during the pre ride, but a lot of that had to do with the fact that you had to hop on mid-course to pre ride.
In classic a Jordan-hurts-himself-in-the-warmup moment, I took a softball sized rock to the shin on the run up. I'd like to send a personal thank you to masters riders who kick their feet like their warming up for the 100 meter, and adrenaline, for negating any damage to my body I sustain prior to a race.
Got staged about 6 rows back. The start lane was narrower than I'm used to, and led about 75 yards into a 90 degree right hand turn. I assumed that unless I somehow made it out front in those first 75 yards there was no reason to worry too much about this start.
Well, that mentality was just what I needed for a mediocre start. Made it without trouble in the first few turns without much room to pass. The course shot down into the fields and over the first railroad track crossing. Here riders got to choose their adventure:
a) Ride it like its 1986 with all the ground hugging physics knowledge of a pro BMXer
b) make it all Hans "No Way" Rey and take it like a car on a LA freeway. Did someone way Pacific Blue?
c) Break that tape like you finally won something!
I read Mountain Bike Action, I oogled over the first Y frames - I took option B. Yeah, there's nothing like catching air into a 90 degree left hand sweeper. But hey, if we really cared that much about that kind of stuff we wouldn't race cross.
So then the course got a little frustrating. 300 feet of flat grass, 180, rinse, repeat. In the sand pit I had plenty of time to analyze the tread patterns of the riders in front of me; hmm, chevrons or tiny circles? Is this a conga line?
The run up was a clusterfuck, and it started to string out a little when we got through the barriers. As we came into the second lap I realized I was a lot further up than I thought - top 15 or so. Here we go again with this whole achieving goals routine.
So there was some jockeying for a few laps. Each time that I came through the boring 180's with a group I would pull some annoying move and try to cut them on the turns, only to fall back, then get them on the pavement. Finally I was able to drop a group and came through the finish alone in 13th. Not too shabby - at least the officials got my placement right.
Sunday we made our way into NoHo. Registration didn't open until 8 am - a bad move when you have 100 over zealous cat 4's set to go of at 9 am. The course was a bit of a disappointment during the pre ride, but a lot of that had to do with the fact that you had to hop on mid-course to pre ride.
In classic a Jordan-hurts-himself-in-the-warmup moment, I took a softball sized rock to the shin on the run up. I'd like to send a personal thank you to masters riders who kick their feet like their warming up for the 100 meter, and adrenaline, for negating any damage to my body I sustain prior to a race.
Got staged about 6 rows back. The start lane was narrower than I'm used to, and led about 75 yards into a 90 degree right hand turn. I assumed that unless I somehow made it out front in those first 75 yards there was no reason to worry too much about this start.
Well, that mentality was just what I needed for a mediocre start. Made it without trouble in the first few turns without much room to pass. The course shot down into the fields and over the first railroad track crossing. Here riders got to choose their adventure:
a) Ride it like its 1986 with all the ground hugging physics knowledge of a pro BMXer
b) make it all Hans "No Way" Rey and take it like a car on a LA freeway. Did someone way Pacific Blue?
c) Break that tape like you finally won something!
I read Mountain Bike Action, I oogled over the first Y frames - I took option B. Yeah, there's nothing like catching air into a 90 degree left hand sweeper. But hey, if we really cared that much about that kind of stuff we wouldn't race cross.
So then the course got a little frustrating. 300 feet of flat grass, 180, rinse, repeat. In the sand pit I had plenty of time to analyze the tread patterns of the riders in front of me; hmm, chevrons or tiny circles? Is this a conga line?
The run up was a clusterfuck, and it started to string out a little when we got through the barriers. As we came into the second lap I realized I was a lot further up than I thought - top 15 or so. Here we go again with this whole achieving goals routine.
So there was some jockeying for a few laps. Each time that I came through the boring 180's with a group I would pull some annoying move and try to cut them on the turns, only to fall back, then get them on the pavement. Finally I was able to drop a group and came through the finish alone in 13th. Not too shabby - at least the officials got my placement right.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Chainbiter 9.0
Two back to back VERGE races this past weekend meant it was time to pack up and head out for a good old fashioned race weekend. Its been over two years since I've traveled all weekend for races, and while sketchy hotel rooms and restaurant meals can get old, it was a good escape from the daily grind back in Boston.
I headed down to CT on Friday night with my support crew in tow to meet up with Brian and another Cornell rider at a hotel in New Britain. By the time we rolled in it was about 930 and we were all in need of some food so we headed to the adjacent BBQ restaurant for some late dinner. Note: the consumptions of large quantities of pork within a 12 hour window of racing is not recommended.
Despite mediocre sleep and a stomach full of pig flesh we made it out the next morning to the course. The weather forecast was horrific, with predictions of massive wind gusts and torrential rain from a northbound hurricane system. Luckily it held off, and instead we enjoyed balmy temps in the mid 40's, and only a limited amount of airborne objects - more on that later.
Warm up was a little frantic, but I got in a couple of laps and headed to staging. I had learned my lesson at gloucester, and had signed up early enough to get about a 4th row spot. Once a few of us shouted about how we were supposed to line up, the officials got their act together and staged us by number.
The start was a fairly steep uphill pitch into a right hand sweeping turn (the first hole shot) that sent us down a paved section into a 90 degree left and then a 180 degree left over a curb with about 3 feet of non-curb trail (second hole shot). I got pinched in the first few seconds but made it to the outside and worked through some gears before we hit the right sweeper. Down the pavement I moved along the left hand side to clip off a good glob of riders and hit the curb-shot in about 20th.
The course shot through a rocky, loose dirt section before the first sand pit. Not too much mayhem here, and I continued to move forward a bit. The course climbed through a false flat, before swung down an off camber downhill into some fields, some 180's and barriers in the woods, back to the field around to a straight shot deeper sand pit, some curbs, a tennis court that apparently killed someone(or hurt enough so they were there the whole race - whatever) through a run up, more curbs, pavement uphill finish.
OK, its a reasonable course. There's rests, some grinds, opportunity to float or lose it through the sand. Once the first few laps settled down I was cruising somewhere between 12th and 15th. On the paved downhill I made a big move and knocked off a group of about 5 guys. I came past Sarah and she said I was in 8th.
So there I was. Sitting two places inside my goal, a top 10 Verge finish. What now? I've got 5 ticked off guys coming up behind me, and I'm running the redline every time I hit the false flat, which is totally screwing my control on the off camber. I'm losing time. Within a lap I've fallen back out of the top 10.
So I'm clinging on. Last lap, and I'm holding back too much. I make the effort where I can, but its sloppy. I've got a guy sucking my wheel when I come to the off camber. There's a dumpy guy about to get lapped, spinning circles in my line. As I choke on breath to make the obligatory "on your ____" call, the wheelsuck behind me lets out a startling "On your right!" pushing country crock across my front wheel and me into to the brush. Now I'm pissed.
I recover my terrible line, but now I'm stalling cause I'm shifted to deep. I pop some hard gears and wince as my derailleur threatens a bloody coup.
Somehow though, I'm closing on some guys. I see Matt from Green Mountain Rehab as I come into the final pavement. This sprint thing is getting sort of familiar. I have no idea what position I'm in, but I begin the routine.
Click. Click. Deep breath, and gun it. I nab one guy by a bike length and I'm even with Matt going into the last 25 yards. With all the precision and timing of a much more experienced cyclist, I throw the bike forward at the line and nip him by half a wheel.
Good move, right? Would've been great if the officials had counted, oh, I don't know, either of the two riders I passed. Apparently having cyclists between you and the officials equals being behind them. Now, normally I wouldn't care. Come on, cat 4 cross? Well, they have me as 11th. I'll let you figure out where I actually finished.
Oh, and those airborne objects I alluded to earlier? PA loudspeakers are not nearly as stable as you would like, and a fierce gust of wind knocked a speaker over onto my right knee and ankle. Thanks a lot Connecticut.
I headed down to CT on Friday night with my support crew in tow to meet up with Brian and another Cornell rider at a hotel in New Britain. By the time we rolled in it was about 930 and we were all in need of some food so we headed to the adjacent BBQ restaurant for some late dinner. Note: the consumptions of large quantities of pork within a 12 hour window of racing is not recommended.
Despite mediocre sleep and a stomach full of pig flesh we made it out the next morning to the course. The weather forecast was horrific, with predictions of massive wind gusts and torrential rain from a northbound hurricane system. Luckily it held off, and instead we enjoyed balmy temps in the mid 40's, and only a limited amount of airborne objects - more on that later.
Warm up was a little frantic, but I got in a couple of laps and headed to staging. I had learned my lesson at gloucester, and had signed up early enough to get about a 4th row spot. Once a few of us shouted about how we were supposed to line up, the officials got their act together and staged us by number.
The start was a fairly steep uphill pitch into a right hand sweeping turn (the first hole shot) that sent us down a paved section into a 90 degree left and then a 180 degree left over a curb with about 3 feet of non-curb trail (second hole shot). I got pinched in the first few seconds but made it to the outside and worked through some gears before we hit the right sweeper. Down the pavement I moved along the left hand side to clip off a good glob of riders and hit the curb-shot in about 20th.
The course shot through a rocky, loose dirt section before the first sand pit. Not too much mayhem here, and I continued to move forward a bit. The course climbed through a false flat, before swung down an off camber downhill into some fields, some 180's and barriers in the woods, back to the field around to a straight shot deeper sand pit, some curbs, a tennis court that apparently killed someone(or hurt enough so they were there the whole race - whatever) through a run up, more curbs, pavement uphill finish.
OK, its a reasonable course. There's rests, some grinds, opportunity to float or lose it through the sand. Once the first few laps settled down I was cruising somewhere between 12th and 15th. On the paved downhill I made a big move and knocked off a group of about 5 guys. I came past Sarah and she said I was in 8th.
So there I was. Sitting two places inside my goal, a top 10 Verge finish. What now? I've got 5 ticked off guys coming up behind me, and I'm running the redline every time I hit the false flat, which is totally screwing my control on the off camber. I'm losing time. Within a lap I've fallen back out of the top 10.
So I'm clinging on. Last lap, and I'm holding back too much. I make the effort where I can, but its sloppy. I've got a guy sucking my wheel when I come to the off camber. There's a dumpy guy about to get lapped, spinning circles in my line. As I choke on breath to make the obligatory "on your ____" call, the wheelsuck behind me lets out a startling "On your right!" pushing country crock across my front wheel and me into to the brush. Now I'm pissed.
I recover my terrible line, but now I'm stalling cause I'm shifted to deep. I pop some hard gears and wince as my derailleur threatens a bloody coup.
Somehow though, I'm closing on some guys. I see Matt from Green Mountain Rehab as I come into the final pavement. This sprint thing is getting sort of familiar. I have no idea what position I'm in, but I begin the routine.
Click. Click. Deep breath, and gun it. I nab one guy by a bike length and I'm even with Matt going into the last 25 yards. With all the precision and timing of a much more experienced cyclist, I throw the bike forward at the line and nip him by half a wheel.
Good move, right? Would've been great if the officials had counted, oh, I don't know, either of the two riders I passed. Apparently having cyclists between you and the officials equals being behind them. Now, normally I wouldn't care. Come on, cat 4 cross? Well, they have me as 11th. I'll let you figure out where I actually finished.
Oh, and those airborne objects I alluded to earlier? PA loudspeakers are not nearly as stable as you would like, and a fierce gust of wind knocked a speaker over onto my right knee and ankle. Thanks a lot Connecticut.
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