Eighteen hardy souls lined up on a perfect autumn day to start not just another race, but perhaps to start a new adventure in wisconsin cyclocross. Perhaps it will be a return to the roots of the sport, or perhaps it will be the next step forward. The Le Mans start left me somewhere near the back of the pack and wondering why people in the south of France are required run and jump into/onto their vehicles all of the time.
As the terrain and oxygen deprived madness worked their magic, I worked my way closer to the middle of the back of the pack in the first lap. Or was it the back of the middle? As the next few laps came and went; so did my strength, speed, and any drive to actually race. Midway into the fourth lap, a well placed shot in the dodgeball section sent me to the beer pits with a bad wheel.
I arrived in the pits to find the need for proper hydration had claimed a pair of victims already. The rest of my race was spent as a superfan and pit official. We issued several stop and go penalties for infractions ranging from overzealous racing to judicial prerogative. Despite our best efforts, the men's and women's races were won by riders who were trying way too hard.
Afterward, came the telling of tales and sacrifices of flesh to the pagan wheel gods on the great fire.