Much like my last race, I have no idea why I decided to do this. I certainly hadn't been training a lot lately (read, at all), nor even riding terribly much. The notion to do a CX race was probably fueled by a healthy dose of "how bad could it be?"
The answer, as it turned out, was horrible.
At any rate, it's a Tuesday afternoon and I stumble across a link for an upcoming CX race. On Sunday. Like this Sunday. I think about it. I think some more. I think, "how bad could it be?" They're even marketing it as "rolling out the red carpet" for beginners and MTBers. So I emailed my once-upon-a-time climbing partner Mike who I know to be a CX racer and tell him that I'm thinking about entering a race. His response:
"oh, you silly, silly man"
Over the next couple of days I get Mike's general take on what to expect and what to do in the limited time available to me. I watch and practice some tips on dismounting and remounting for clearing obstacles (turns out this isn't that hard). I buy some skinnies to replace my big fat 2.1 MTB tires (where I discover to my dismay that the manager of the LBS is riding the same class as me). I watch inspirational videos like, "Cyclocross: An Hour in Hell," which, despite the title, does not really delve into the more hellish aspect of things and makes it seem like a big party with beer and bikes. Like you know, fun. Mike has warned me that fun in this context should be in quotes.
So Sunday arrived and I make my way to the Tacchino Ciclocross. Lindsey at registration managed to pierce my disguise and pegged me as a first-timer as I completely cocked-up pinning my bib to my jersey (btw, how on earth do people manage this without a second set of hands?). I stretch for a bit and then get to spinning around looking [mostly in vain] for fellow MTBers. Due to time constraints (overslept) I didn't pre-ride the course. I'm not terribly upset by this as I think it will only tire me out or scare me. Or both. I determined I was better off just flying blind.
I finally lined up at the tail end of a massive (at least to me) pack of somewhere around 100 riders. The coordinators announced that due to the shortness of the course, lapped riders should drop to allow for more accurate times for the leaders. A fellow MTBer mutters, "great, I just paid for a 15 minute race." I make some small-talk with riders around me. And then we're off.
It's a short bit of road before a turn onto the grass and then a hard right off-camber uphill turn which grinds the pack to a halt. I'm surprised at the twitchy-ness of all the CX bikes as I bob and weave around a few riders. I actually tiptoe into a bit of confidence here. If this is enough to screw with these riders, I'm set. This is easy riding and last time, once I established my place, I was able to hold it.
Another turn and climb is followed by a fast downhill followed by a big sweeping off-camber turn. Again, I'm completely confident in this - this isn't hard at all. I see a flat section ahead and then a huge hill.
This is when the passing both starts and ends. A number of riders whizz past me and on up the hill. I don't know if I'm technically DFL but it sure feels like it. But I'm not out yet. There are two riders 10 yards ahead of me and another couple 30 yards beyond them. I'll just keep pace and try not to blow up.
Some twists and turns around trees follow, a run up a gravel path, a U-turn, back down, another 90 degree turn and then out into the main pavilion/pit area for the first and only obstacle. This is straightforward and I'm back in the saddle easily. A hard right-left off-camber turn (someone will break their ankle here later) then then downhill to some dirt double-track with an easy to carry uphill. A long-ish grass uphill is followed by a series of 180 turns, a hard right-left-right off-camber, and then downhill onto pavement and back up.
End of lap one.
I'm heaving at this point. I haven't blown up yet, but I'm not too far off. But I'm still on the rider in front of me and determined not to quit. Lap 2 goes along as these things do. There was one uplifting moment as I passed the pit area and someone yelled out,
"Keep on him! He's lollygagging up there."
I smile grimly but know that it's true. I can see him starting to fade and know that I at least have the determination (if not the fitness) to pass him soon.
Lap 2 ends and we're back in the woods. I'm grinding out a muddy hill when I hear someone bellow behind me,
"GET OUT OF THE WAY!"
And just like that I'm lapped and my race is over. I'll be honest and admit there was a certain sense of relief. I'd known this was coming, I just didn't know when. I pulled over and let the lead pack go by. Some of the riders even thank me. I remount and keep pedaling figuring that I'll ride out the course until I can bail out without getting in the way. I walk it up the big hill and read the sign at the top:
"If you can read, this, you're probably walking."
Too true. I rode the next twisty section and then back out to the field where I bailed. I pedaled over to the officials tent and reported bib 189 as out and then moved to just before the finish line, or what I like to call "Losers Lane."
While physically I resemble the turkey, I think of myself as more of the hunter here. Not from the careful pursuit and capture of prey perspective, but rather more from the seeing another rider far off in the distance and knowing that I will never catch them perspective.
Several other lapped riders joined me as we watched the rest of the field pour in. Chatted with Adam (40th) from The Bike Lane (the aforementioned LBS manager) and then made my way back to the car to change. At this point, there was only one way to salvage the day - sausage and beer.
Back at the car, I ran into fellow rider and, as it turned out, geek Aron (who I just learned placed 33rd). We made our way back to the pavilion to watch some races, talk shop, and down sausage, pommes frites, and beer. I will say that the atmosphere at these races just rocks. Cowbells are clanging, people are shouting, the band is playing and the announcer is alternating between belittlement and encouragement. It really is a party and highly spectator friendly.
So, closing thoughts. It's hard to put a positive spin on this type of thing. I could hang my helmet on the fact that nearly 40% of the field didn't place. That I was out of any kind of condition and riding a bike ill-equipped to the task at hand. But in the end, I think, there is some value in what Jennifer said. That stepping outside your comfort zone is always a good thing. That at least trying is important. It's hard though not to hear that as "loser talk," but she's right of course. Still sucks to not even get to finish.
Mike has already asked when my next race is. I don't know that I'm there yet. It's something that I plan to do again. I think I'd just like to be better prepared.
