Sunday, June 7, 2009

And the moral is

MK, never argue philoshophy and life with the Muddy Cup crew.

Posted by ShoZu

Monday, June 1, 2009

It's About Time


At 5’ 6” and 170+ lbs, I am not built like a cyclist. More like a troll actually. In certain circles, the title of “¾ scale Clydesdale” has been bestowed upon me for size and prowess in the consumption of food. It is not a pretty sight when I throw a leg over a top tube. People look away, small children start crying, and Phil Liggett spits curses as I ride down the street. After 10 years worth of racing WORS and a lot of commuter miles, I have had one good season and got kicked into Comp. Like the noble bumble bee, I have managed to pull off a trick for which I am not designed.

On to it:

This gets us into the first 100 yards of the 22 mile Comp race at the Crystal Lake Classic. After the surprise of a call up, a familiar “GOOOOOOO!” and a great start; I worked my way to third wheel on the dirt road. In front of a lot of guys who look like they should be wearing spandex. As we sped up the road to the rolling double and onto the singletrack, riders attacked the front only to slide back again. Once the two track slipped behind us, the course turned to seven plus miles of tight, bumpy, twisty trail with power climbs and some other sweet features which robbed speed and killed momentum. It left little opportunity for a drink or a pass and none for rest as everyone had to ride full on.

Oxygen deprived addition said there were two bibs ahead of me and one just back. Adding in the race factor meant there could be another three riders ahead of me. But how many more lurked behind him. It was now a matter of using the entire bag of tricks to keep ahead, and make any attacks as tough as possible. Passes did come, but the back tags told me hang on and don’t panic. As we started to catch the waves ahead, it became a race of patience. Stay calm and wait for the pass, then listen for the grumbles behind as terrain and passed riders confounded my opponents. More wasted effort for them in their anger and frustration.

As the trail opened up, my man Damm came Rippin’ by and passed with some friendly banter. I was still working on my best finish, but the race was not yet half way. Into the final singletrack and lap through, I played caboose on a fast train from the next wave back. That train pulled all the way to the trees for lap, and gave me a chance to breathe.

As trees and rocks passed, the occasion rain drop fell. The climbs got a little steeper, the rocks got a little bigger, and the roots got a little trickier. Friendly faces came and went offering a good word and a smile. On more than one occasion the familiar flash of Metal appeared. Always there was an eye back looking any riders from my AG waiting to strike.

With the last of the singletrack, came the light but steady rain. Also, the little stab in the back of the calf that let me know time was running short. Fortunately, so were the miles. After a careful ride across the wet boardwalk, it was time to pour on the last reserves of speed and drill it to the finish.

I was greeted with a 5th in AG, and best overall finish to date at 21st.

Buzz, buzz…