Blythewood Cobblestone Classic

Day 1 - Prologue - Race #12

I arrive at the venue at 7:45. It’s a cool clear morning, beautiful spring weather. I complete registration, double check the Cervelo TT bike to make sure everything is working right, and am on my way to check out the course by 8:30. The race organizers advertised the TT course as “Eddy Merckx style with minimal advantage for using a TT bike.” I know who Eddy Merckx is, but I have absolutely no idea what invoking his name in reference to the layout of a course means. I am very comfortable cornering and climbing on my TT bike so I decide to use it. I do a warm up lap around the course, taking it easy, checking out the turns, thinking about how I will race it. I am around the course in less than 10 minutes. This is going to be short and painful! I head to the start line and take my place in the cue. As the other riders take off, my heart rate starts to rise in anticipation. I watch the other riders start. The guy in front of me is wearing a UNC Tarheels kit. I wonder if I will be able to catch him. He’s away...my turn. I move up to the start line. A race volunteer grabs my seat post and steadies the bike. I get myself situated and wait for the countdown. 15 seconds. 10 seconds. 5...4...3..2..1...GO!

I stand and stomp on the pedals, spinning up to speed quickly before I drop down into the seat and aero bars. I run through the gears as the bike gathers speed. I’m charging downhill at thirty miles an hour before I know it....then 35....I just barely hit 40 before I start up and over a little rise and then I’m hard on the brakes scrubbing speed for the 90 degree off camber left. I stand and sprint out of the turn then settle back into the aero bars for the winding rolling road ahead. My heart rate is pegged at the redline. I am looking up the road trying to catch a glimpse of that Tarheel. I finally see him coming back the other way. I make it to the turnaround, brake hard, and compete the 180 degree turn. As I sprint back up to speed I wonder if I am slow or Mr. Tarheel is just really fast. Thoughts of the other riders fade to the back of my mind as the present reality of this sustained effort becomes all consuming. My field of vision narrows, my lungs burn, my legs spin, my heart beats 3 times a second and that is all I know. A hard right turn, then a sweeping left, then another hard right, and I am sprinting up the hill. There is the finish line. 6 minutes 22 seconds. I left it all on the course. I am toast.

Later in the day, I would learn that I came in second...to the Tarheel...at least is wasn’t a Blue Devil.

Day 1 - Criterium - Race #13

After the prologue I make my way back to my car and collapse into a chair. I have a little over an hour before the start of the crit. Cat 5’s really get the raw end of the deal on the start times. I close my eyes and wonder how my body will respond to racing a crit an hour after an all out effort. There is only one way to find out. I grab my road bike and head out. The course is fast. The only tricky spot is an off camber downhill left turn that looks more formidable than it really is.

Standing on the start line at the crit, I look around. I don’t recognize anyone except Papa who is on the microphone delivering the pre race speech reminding us to “keep your skin on” and “pay attention”. The race starts. We go out fast. A few guys take turns driving the pace right out of the gate. I hang towards the middle of the pack. I plan to avoid doing any work and show up at the front when it matters. The laps roll by. I feel comfortable with the pace, but my legs feel a little sluggish. I wonder if I will have the kick I need for the sprint. 6 laps to go. No one is attacking. 5 laps to go. I size up the riders around me. Everyone towards the back of the pack seems to be struggling to hang on. 4 laps to go. I am sitting comfortably in the middle of the pack. The riders up front are all taking turns pulling. I don’t know who to mark. 3 laps to go. I move up to the front third of the pack. 2 laps to go. I am near the front on the right when someone launches an attack off the left. The pack shifts to the left and chases and before I realize it, I am back on the back. Bell lap! I am desperately trying to move up, but I can’t find a wheel to take me to the front. I come out of the last turn in the back third of the pack. I see a wheel moving up and follow. He runs out of momentum so I go around him and latch onto another then another and I am sitting on a train of three riders in matching black kits. This looks good. Wait! There is a rider off the front and they aren’t closing. The sprint opens up. All hell breaks loose. Chaos. The black kit riders fan out in a V like a gaggle of geese heading south for the winter. They box me in and I am forced to wait on a gap to open towards the middle. I launch my sprint. I come to the line within inches of two other riders. The guy who went off the front stays away. I end up in fourth. I should be happy with fourth but I know that I could have won if it had played out differently.

As I lay in bed that night. I pick up Chris Carchael’s “The Time Crunched Cyclist” I jump ahead to a chapter about race tactics and skim through it. The last thing I read before I drift off into sleep is “When it’s time to burn matches, do it with confidence and conviction....don’t be afraid to light your last match.”

Day 2 - The Circuit Race - Race #14

I get to the race venue early. I take my carbon rims off of my TT bike and mount them on my road bike. I change out the brake pads, change the cassette, adjust the derailleur and finish my coffee. I am in the lead for the omnium, but my head is not in the right place this morning. This is a hilly course. I am not a climber. I feel tired. Maybe its not a good idea to race four weekends in a row. Why am I coughing so much this morning? I take a lap around the course to warm up. The course is very technical. Six laps of twists and turns with a big hill in the middle. It’s a course that is begging for a breakaway. I will try to be in it.

The race starts smoothly, a hard left, another, a roundabout, a little rise, down the big hill, through another hard left. We pass a big pothole in the road just before a little roller and a couple of ninety degree turns. I think about what a great place that would be to attack. We go through a few more turns and we are on the hill for the first time. I make it to the top still in the pack, but I am pegged out. We make the hard right that leads into a big downhill sweeping left and onto the final straight to the line. I am still anaerobic when we cross the line. This is not a good course for me.

As the laps roll by, the hill takes a progressively harder toll on me. I pop off the back of the lead pack and chase them all the way to the line. There is no way that I am going to be able to contest a sprint with a strong climber on that home stretch. I hope for someone to attack, a breakaway is my only shot at a decent finish. On the fourth lap we top the hill. I am still off the back when I roll through the line. Papa is shouting “Two Laps to Go”. I am worried. This does not look good for me. Something has to change.

We top the hill on the 5th lap. I stay with the group this time, but I am so far into the red zone that there is no way I will have any kick or a sprint. As we cross the line, Papa yells “Two Laps to Go!” What??? This is the final lap!!! We make it through two turns before a moto official pulls up and yells “Final Lap!!!” Everyone in the peleton relays the message and we are all back on the right page. We speed down the big hill, I move up towards the front. I think about my odds. If someone was going to attack they would have done it by now. I need a head start on that hill.

Option 1: Sit in the pack and finish somewhere in the middle or worse...off the back.
Option 2: Launch an attack and most likely go down in flames, but maybe...just maybe...take home a win.
I like Option 2. “Don’t be afraid to light your last match.”

I see the pothole ahead on the left. A rider takes a pull at the front and moves off to the left tight to the pothole. I change gears and spin up into his slipstream, reaching him just as we pass the pothole. I jump and sprint up to thirty four miles and hour. I am 100 yards up the road before they know what happened. I approach the hard right, braking hard and then letting go and coasting though the turn. I sneak a glance over my right shoulder. No one is with me. No one is coming. I power through the left, standing and sprinting out of it. I round another hard left and sneak another look. The front of peleton is animated now. They are chasing. I drop into a TT position and ignore what’s going on behind me. My consciousness seems to slip backwards as if I am looking out of a tunnel. I am aware of myself and the road and my pain. The competition has been reduced to the role of chasing. Rolling, and winding, spinning and hurting, I stay off the front. I power through an uphill right. The Corner Marshall yells something at me as I pass. I can’t hear her. I glance over my shoulder. The peleton isn’t gaining ground, only a few more turns and then the hill. I round a downhill right, then a big sweeping left bend. One more turn, a downhill right. I take it too fast. My back wheel feels like it almost comes loose, but I stay up. I think I am going to stay away.

I am on the hill standing, climbing with all that I have to give. There is a short reprieve in the middle.. I sit for a moment and look back. They are close and closing. I refocus. I stand and pour myself back into it. I am pedaling squares before I reach the top, my heart rate is higher than I have seen it go in years. I am making the right turn at the top when the first rider catches me. He is a kid. I see his braces. I hate him. I try to grab his wheel but I can’t. Another rider passes me, and then another, then several. I manage to get into the slipstream and suck wind. I didn’t know that I could hurt myself this deeply. I feel others around me without seeing them. When the sprint opens up I stand and kick as hard as I can, running on nothing but instinct and willpower, I come to the line somewhere in the top ten....I think....can’t be sure....the pain is unbelievable. I drop into my little ring and spin and try to breathe. Someone asks “Did you stay away?” I can’t talk yet so I shake my head. “That’s too bad man, that was a bold move.” I smile and wheeze “Thanks.” The guy had just payed me the greatest compliment I could have hoped for.

I limp my way back to my car and fall over in the grass. I prop my head on a water bottle and wait to feel somewhat normal again. I look up at the sky and smile. I know that I left it all on the course. I went deeper than I have ever gone. I didn’t win the race, but it doesn’t matter. I lit my last match fearlessly.

I gather myself, put on some dry clothes, and walk down to the registration area. The race results are posted. I came in 6th place. Nice. As I stand there, a guy walks up and posts the omnium results. My name is at the top. I can’t believe it. I look again. It sinks in. I won.