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I have been excited about this weekend since it happened last year! The US Grand Prix of Cyclocross. This was the event that sort of sparked the desire to race ‘cross to begin with. And I am pretty damn exhausted from it now that it’s over. It was a great time!
Saturday. Day One. Crack of dawn start, somewhere six rows back. I call it mid-pack. The pre-race jitters were at bay probably because of this start position: if I’m this far back, I can’t feel obligated to make the hole-shot and contend with the leaders. Not that that was an accurate perspective, but it seemed to be a good position for me mentally anyway. At the whistle, there was the usual carnage seen in a big Cat 4 field, I managed to steer clear of the majority of it, and got ahead of the massive group. The big thing I felt confident about was the ability to hammer past loads of riders who were determined to take the “obvious” good line. This turned out to be a great strategy, perhaps it was home-field advantage, but I frequently took the bad line through the straight-aways, the sandpits, and the mud trenches. I felt strong picking my way through the field. Somewhere in the final lap I found one of my target competitors, happily smoked him on the uphill exit from the long sandpit (derailleur grinding audibly) and kept him behind me the rest of the way to the finish line. Yowza!
I should have known something was going to go awry when the official at the finish line on Saturday asked me if I was third place. Isn’t that their job to track us, or are we tracking ourselves now? I couldn’t wait to find out the results though, I had to high-tail it to work. I only heard an hour or so later that I finished in fourth place; pretty satisfying result for me. The issues for my finishing results wouldn’t occur until the Sunday race though.
Sunday, I was so proud and happy to have been able to ride to the race again, this time towing a trailer. Simple pleasures, right? Feeling good after placing well the day before, I was again, pretty much mid-pack and was beginning to realize that that might be a decent strategy. Survive the carnage and pick off the twenty or so riders ahead to score at least a top ten finish. Top five or podium would be ideal of course. But that wasn’t in the cards for me on day two. Dropping into the sandpit after going under the Green Monster on my second lap, I struck my pedal. Thinking nothing of it, as it happens pretty frequently with these 172.5mm cranks, I rode it out and continued on. Unfortunately, I noticed a big problem a little while later. Even more unfortunately, I noticed it dramatically worsened about ten meters past the mechanics pit entrance. Dramatically, because the pedal I struck earlier had completely fallen off the crank arm. They wouldn’t let me in, so I had to run it. An entire half lap, on foot wherever I couldn’t pedal one-legged. I was determined to finish this race.
Much to the amusement of the spectators and the announcer who thought I was dismounting hundreds of meters before the barriers, I hadn’t realized how tiring running with a bike could be. Finally, back at the pit they apologize for the 61cm bike they could loan me, it was all they had left. No worries, I told them, slam the saddle and go! I managed to pick off a few more riders and was mildly thankful that the race was shortened to only three laps. (Lame on the one hand that I might have placed slightly better had there been more time, but a relief on the other that the XXL pit bike was close to unmanageable).
At the finish line, though, back on cement, I tried my hardest to pass friendly racer Christian from Covington to no avail. Just a pedal stroke or two behind him at the line. It looked like a 49th place finish out of 90 or so guys, which was acceptable considering the severe mechanical I had. Evidently though, even this lame victory wasn’t to be. When the results were posted I was given a DNF (Did Not Finish). So I was off to contest and dispute, (which ironically is about a 15 minute walk from where the results are posted). The official told me that they didn’t see me cross the line at any point but the first time. So I mentioned my only having one pedal, my running the half lap, and thankfully they recalled that and agreed that yes, I did finish the race and agreed to award me the 50th place finish. Yeah, big whoop, but at least that’s a finish, and ahead of thirty or forty other guys. (This breakthrough correction obviously didn’t make it very far from the officials desk, as it seems the final results have me still not finishing the race. Why have the timing chips, why bother having loaner pit bikes? Why oh, why?)
The rest of the day consisted of hanging out and drinking beers with friends, screaming a plethora of garbage at the other racers, and being amazed at the elite rider’s skills and speed. (Having Ryan Trebon wreck hard and land directly at your feet was certainly an unexpected highlight. That one that definitely made a sound when it fell; quite the thud and many colorful expressions).
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I helped Will protest his finish on Sat. The official was nice about it & agreed to the change but he had us take the additional step of going back to Mike Hewitt at registration & to tell him that the official said to make the change. Mike did it on his computer while we waited to verify. The official had said he’d radio Mike while we walked back over to him but that apparently had not happened in the time it took us to walk, which was several minutes since I’m slow. It probably helped that Mike knows us & we told him who the official was by name, so he took our word for it.
Comment by Debbie 10.26.09 @ 10:50 amLeave a comment
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